Beautiful Sinner: a standalone forbidden romance (Beautiful Series)
Beautiful Sinner: Chapter 4

“YOU’VE GOT to be fucking kidding me.” Staring down at my phone, I wince as soon as the words come out. My voice doesn’t travel far, but I take a cautious glance around the corner, watching the back door for any movement as I quickly stub out my cigarette and toss it into the can I keep back here, hiding my bad habit behind the flowerpot.

I really need to learn to watch my mouth while I’m here, but this text from my sister threw me for a loop. Plus, I’m still nursing a forty-eight hour headache from hell. I don’t usually go to Yeager’s on weekend nights, but I wanted to keep an eye on that group that checked into the house. My instincts are usually right about this stuff, and sometimes I hate to be right.

I sure as shit didn’t see this coming.

The girl wants to work at the house.

The girl I carried to her room two nights ago after I found her passed out in the corner booth of the pub. With those heart-shaped lips and tits like temptation, I had a feeling this one would be trouble.

I feel bad for her, I really do, but she fell for that scam like a child, and that’s not someone I need hanging around all the time. I know Bridget is getting attached already. She’s lonely, I get it, but half the shit I need this girl to do involves cleaning out Misty’s stable and keeping up the grounds.

I’d venture to guess this girl hasn’t mowed a lawn in her life.

My phone won’t stop pinging with Bridget’s texts.

This could be good for business.

Guests would love her.

I need another woman around here.

Someone fun!

Unlike you.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. My sister and her husband took over the bed and breakfast from our grandparents. It was their dream. But right in the middle of my seminary, my brother-in-law had a pint too many, got behind the wheel, and never made it home.

Now it feels like I’m the one being torn in two.

The urge to tell her no is overpowering, but what’s more overpowering is the desire to let her be happy for a fucking second. After everything, she deserves this. A shitty employee if it makes her smile.

We’ll talk about it at dinner.

That’s really the nicest I can be, and she accepts it with an enthusiastic THANK YOU.

When I get to the house that night, the girl’s voice is the first thing I hear. It’s nothing like the despondent victim I saw yesterday. Now she’s chattering on with Bridget in the kitchen about some restaurant in California where they cook on the table.

I stop in the foyer, pausing to hear her rattle on.

There’s a joyful lilt in her tone as she laughs at her own jokes, Bridget falling in line and giggling as they both carry dishes out to the table. This is the person who will help me with the stables and fixing the toilets. This is a fucking joke.

My niece, Daisy, is already at the table, staring down at her phone. Every few seconds she glances up and lets a subtle smile slip into her usually melancholy features. When she sees me, I lift my eyebrows at her, as if I caught her in the act of looking anything but downright despondent.

My sister and Cadence don’t spot me right away, so I clear my throat, stopping Cadence right in the middle of her story.

“Oh,” she says with her round blue eyes focused right on me.

“Callum.” My sister says my name as if it’s required to acknowledge my presence. My eyes don’t leave the girl. Her long dark hair is pulled up in a messy bun on top of her head, exposing the nape of her neck, and I count the three vertebraes on her back before the rest disappear in her loose T-shirt.

Quickly, I busy myself with the papers on the counter, checking for bills and messages. The girls go back to the kitchen, and I hear Cadence carry on with her conversation. My sister’s laugh echoes through the house like the walls are hungry for it. It blows away the dust that has settled since Teddy died.

I’d be a real asshole to deny her this. To tell her she can’t hire this complete stranger who landed on our doorstep twenty-four hours ago.

Am I a terrible brother for saying no to this request? Or am I a pitiful man if I put my family in danger? For all we know, this girl is a scammer, here to rob us blind.

I know she’s not. I saw it in the sincerity of her tears yesterday morning. The fear and the panic was real, but it’s up to me to be cautious.

“Come eat, Callum.” Bridget sets the dishes on the table and finds her place next to Cadence who sits at the corner across from Daisy. I take the seat at the head with her on my right. Her bare knee bumps mine as I sit down.

She begins scooping up my sister’s shepherd’s pie just as I clasp my hands and bow my head.

There are no hotel guests tonight. When there are, we invite them to eat with us. Not many do, but when they do, I keep the grace short and sweet. It makes some of our guests uncomfortable, which is why I see Bridget’s head snap toward me when I start up with a zealous call to Our Heavenly Father.

“Oh, shit.” The heavy spoon clangs against the dish interrupting my prayer as Cadence drops it to clasp her hands together. I glare at her from the corner of my eye. She awkwardly bows her head and mumbles an amen when I’m done. She might be a hotel guest, but she wants to work and live here, so she might as well get used to it.

Dinners are usually quiet. If we’re not talking about business, the three of us will eat while scrolling through our phones, but Cadence breaks the silence every moment or so to talk about anything and everything. Her home in California. Moments from her trip through Europe so far. Her up-and-coming artist sister.

I struggle to keep my eyes off her lips while she talks. There’s something about the animated way they move, exposing her perfectly straight white teeth and the subtle dimple in her chin that is so disarming I forget that I’m not supposed to stare, and I’m especially not supposed to stare at beautiful women half my age.

The phone rings in the middle of one of her stories, and my sister jumps up to answer it, leaving me alone with my distant niece and this new stranger.

After a moment’s silence, I turn toward her. “It was a surprise to see you in Mass today.”

She doesn’t respond, but in her defense, I didn’t really say it was nice to see her, just a surprise.

“Are you Catholic?”

I spot a hint of a scoff while she takes a bite of her dinner and shakes her head. “Oh, no. I just heard the music, and I thought I’d check it out.”

In my experience, people don’t just “check out” Sunday Mass. She’s being awkward with me, much more uptight than with my sister, but I can assume that up until today she didn’t even know I was a priest. I understand it can throw people sometimes. The difference in the way they treat you is obvious. It’s like I’m suddenly someone to avoid eye contact with and serve an overabundance of respect.

“And what did you think?”

Cadence’s eyes widen and a thick awkwardness stains the air between us.

“Um…it was nice,” she mutters without looking up at me.

She’s clearly uncomfortable, but I don’t know why I want to know more. I want to hear what she thought of today’s verse, the words I wrote, the wisdom I delivered.

This time, her eyes flick upward, meeting mine. Those round blue orbs seem so innocent and yet so intoxicating, like she’s an angel, but the kind of angel who wants to fall from grace.

When Bridget returns to the table, everything starts to feel a lot less awkward. That is until she starts in on the topic I want to avoid so badly.

“So, when would you like to interview our one and only applicant for the job?”

My lips tense as I glance up at Cadence, who is now perky with interest. There’s an actual fucking sparkle in her eye.

“Right now, I guess.”

“I was kidding, Callum. Do you really need to interview her at all? It’s such a lousy pay.”

“What do you know about tending to horses? Cleaning stalls? General household maintenance?” My questions are aimed at Cadence, and I almost expect her to shrink back. I’m being harsh, too harsh, and I don’t feel good about it, but I can’t help my heels from digging themselves into this whole situation.

“I can learn. It can’t really be that hard,” Cadence answers coyly.

“You want to rake horse shit out of a stall for seventy-five euros a day?”

“Yes, I do.” She’s being proud and stubborn. It makes me want to be proud and stubborn too.

“You’re not working here behind the counter with Bridget. I need someone in the barn, long hard hours. Mowing the lawn, tending to the landscaping. Driving the tractor and the mower.”

“I can handle it,” she answers with her shoulders squared. After a moment, a smile spreads across her cheeks leaving deep dimples on either side of those heart-shaped lips.

With a tone of resignation, I lean back and shake my head. “It’s a man’s job.”

Her smile fades and she glares at me with the fire of the sun, her pouty lips hanging open.

“A man’s job?” she shrieks. “What? Do you steer the lawn mower with your dick?”

Daisy chokes on her own laugh as Bridget slaps a hand over her mouth. My face doesn’t change. I hold my cold, empty expression as she glares right back.

“Watch your mouth.”

“Don’t be a sexist,” she quips back. “Plus you said shit.”

It’s because she said the words your dick to me, specifically those words: your and dick. Saying fuck and shit is one thing, but talking to a priest about his dick…at the dinner table no less, is what practically set the room a blaze. And I realize it was a metaphorical your dick, but my brain can’t get past that exact phrase to make sense of it.

This interview isn’t going well for either of us.

“I assume you two have discussed boarding.”

“We have an extra room,” my sister says in defense.

“Take it out of my pay.” Cadence hasn’t so much as blushed since the your dick moment. Can she see how unravelled I am?

“Listen,” she says, leaning toward me with her hands folded on the table. “I don’t care about the pay. I don’t need it. I would just rather do anything in the world than go home to my boring life without a future. Anything.”

Those crystal ocean blues are boring into me with a slight lift to one brow and a playful half-smile on her round lips. The other girls start giggling, and I know I’ve lost.

“Thirty days,” I answer through clenched teeth. “You have thirty days. If you even make it that long.”

“I guess I’ll be applying for a work visa at the consulate on top of my passport.” She stands from the table with a smile.

“I’ll go make up your room,” Bridget says with a wide grin as she starts picking up our plates. And as I struggle to look away from this firecracker of a girl sitting next to me, I’m afraid of what I just got myself into. Very afraid.

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