Summary


SUMMARY: She was clearly in pain. She clearly needed help. How could I deny her? How could I ignore the distress of a child of God? I couldn't. And that was my downfall.

BxE AH AU of the spiritual kind

A collaboration between Belladonnacullen & FictionFreak95.

Please note that we don't own Twilight, or Catholic prayers, this is simply a work of fanfiction.

(originally posted to FF.net 01.13.2020)


Chapter 3 - Our Father

 

Chapter 3. Our Father

Bella

"Um, hi." I wave a little as I inch my way toward my seat. Toward the priest.

He's tall, with light brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes.

He's young, just like he suggested in confessional.

He's well respected. I can tell by the way my mom and my sisters are literally looking up at him, like he can do no wrong.

And he's celibate. Because, you know, the collar, the vows.

And me? I'm three sheets to the wind, staring lustfully into the eyes of a man of the cloth. Okay, maybe two sheets. Because I could definitely use another drink to get me through this.

"What's for dinner, Mom?" I ask as I slide into my seat. "Any chance we're having black eyed peas?"

The priest narrows his eyes and I can't help but grin. He settles into his seat next to me and sneaks another look in my direction.

Did it just get warm in here? It's definitely warm in here. Downright hot. How hot, you ask? As hot as the freakin' priest sitting next to me.

(Very hot.)

Alice distracts him by asking him to set a casserole dish down for her. He's glad to help, and I'm glad he's helping too. I can't handle his attention this up close and personal. But just as I'm getting as comfortable as I can, all things considered, the priest flashes me another disarming smile.

"Christ," I mumble.

Mom raises her eyebrows. Rose coughs. The priest covers his mouth and chuckles into his hand.

Shit. I probably shouldn't say 'Christ' next to the priest. Not like that, anyway. I didn't mean to take his imaginary boss' name in vain. I swear to God, I didn't.

Ben comes back from the garage with a folding chair, and everyone on the other side of the dining room shifts to make a tiny space for Jake across the table from me.

"Maybe we should eat," Dad says, giving Mom's hand a squeeze. She nods dutifully and gives me a pointed look.

"Bella, would you like to say grace tonight?" It's as though she's punishing me for something… with someone. Which she most definitely is. His name starts with a "B" and ends with an "N" and he's engaged to my sister, Angela.

I smile. Or, try to. "No, I would not."

"Bella…"

"I"m confused, Mom, were you asking me a question? Because it sounded like a -"

The priest, halfway through his glass of wine, spits it out and nearly chokes to death.

Emmett jumps to his feet in firefighter mode, ready to give the Heimlich.

"Are you okay, Father?" Dad asks, and although the priest can't quite speak yet, he nods, places the remainder of his drink down, and waves Emmett back into his seat. On the other side of him, Grandma pats him on the back.

The priest turns slowly until he's staring straight at me. He looks horrified. Or scared. Amused?

Oh God.

He knows.

This time I really smile. I can't help it because this is ridiculous. "Nice to meet you, Father. Outside of your dark, dank box, I see."

"Bella!" Mom hisses.

"What?" Grandma asks.

Rose glowers.

Ben's head is bent, like he's already praying.

Jake looks between me and the priest. "What box?"

"Confessional," the good Father corrects me, confirming that he knows, and unwittingly answering Jake at the same time.

"Bella was at confessional?" Jake asks loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

"I can't say," the priest explains after looking almost guilt ridden for ratting me out.

"No comment," I tell Jake.

I glance at the priest out of the corner of my eye. He takes a long sip of his wine again. A very long one. When he sets the empty glass back down, I swear the side of his mouth is turned up. Is he smirking?

"More wine, Father?" Rose pours, as though he's already said yes. He nods, as though he's desperate for another glass.

I know the feeling, Father. Try spending eighteen years at this table.

After another sip, the priest glances around the table at my family, then nods his head like he's made a decision.

"I'd be honored to say grace this evening, Mrs. Swan," he tells my mother.

"Thank goodness someone is willing. The food's getting cold."

Mom narrows her eyes at me, like somehow it's all my fault. Sure, I'll take responsibility for refusing to say grace. And the Ben part of things. And the talk about confession. And bringing Jake over unannounced. Fine, it's totally my fault.

Father gives the sign of the cross and bows his head. With his eyes closed, I can stare a little. He's got long eyelashes for a guy and a few freckles over the tops of his cheeks. His five o'clock shadow accentuates his jaw. When he swallows, his collar moves and I find myself peeking over the edge, like maybe I can get a hint about what's inside.

No one seems to notice but me as everyone takes the person's hand next to them. I hesitate when I see the priest's hand, upturned at my side, waiting like an invitation to all things holy.

Or, unholy - if you're me, thinking about what he must be like without the collar on. Pre-collar. Pre-priesthood even.

Fergie concert pre-priesthood.

Did he dance that night?

Did he have a date?

Did he kiss her?

What do his lips feel like?

Shit.

I have to take his hand.

Take his hand, Bella.

The priest blinks his eyes open and peeks at me, like he doesn't understand what my problem is. Like I've hurt his feelings? No, more like he's trying to read my mind.

Christ. I wish he'd stop looking at me like that. And I pray he can't read my mind. If he can read minds at least he'll hear me praying. I've got this.

I give his hand one last glance and then I pull myself together and take it.

And hope he doesn't notice my palms are sweating.

His fingertips are rough and his hands are strong like he's done some manual labor. Probably building houses for the poor, or something. Because he's a priest. One of the good ones, maybe. Who also rocks out to the Black Eyed Peas in secret.

"Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," everyone says in response.

"Amen," I say, looking the priest in the eye.

He squeezes my hand before he lets it go. Then he gives the sign of the cross.

Yes. Help us all, oh Lord… to lust after the right people. Not Mike with his girlfriend, or Ben who's engaged, or the guy next to me who's taken a vow of celibacy.

I should be lusting after someone nice. Someone without a significant other. I glance across the table at Jake. He takes a break from explaining something football related to Alice to grin back at me.

Alice titters and Jake's cheeks go red. He's been busted liking me at family dinner. Too bad I don't like him back.

"So, um, Father, I don't even know your name."

And it sounds like I'm trying to pick him up in a bar. Or maybe it just sounds that way to me. But when I look up and see half my family with their mouths hanging open and their forks suspended in mid-air, I know I'm right. Or very, very wrong.

"Bella," my mother chastises me. But the priest? He's just smiling again.

Damn him.

To make matters worse, he's leaning in. Toward me. "It's Edward," he whispers.

Like it's a secret just between us.

And it's silly, but I shudder.

"Father Edward is new to the parish this year," Alice explains. "He's really good."

"Thank you, Alice," he says like the humble servant he probably is. "I try to do right by God."

Alice beams. Mom pats her shoulder. Alice is the best Catholic of us all. She's probably heard every one of the priest's sermons.

Then, a thought strikes me out of the blue. It's so unexpected I nearly fall out of my seat.

I almost don't want to admit it to myself. I sneak a glance at the priest tucking into his meal beside me and I can't deny it. The thought takes form.

I'd like to see Father Edward up there behind the pulpit speaking from his heart. I'm sure it would be the weirdest sermon I've ever heard. And the most entertaining. And he'd look pretty hot giving it.

"Christ," I mutter again.

"Bella!" my mom scolds, as always.

If there were ever a doubt before, now it's confirmed.

I am most definitely going to hell.


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