"How bad would it be?" she asked.

"Best-case scenario? A transfer, therapy, public ridicule, private ridicule. Worst-case scenario? Laicization. Most people would consider me a s.e.xual predator if you and I were found to be involved."

"That's ridiculous. I'm the one trying to get you into bed. And I'm seventeen. I can donate blood and get the death penalty if I murder someone, but I'm not allowed to have s.e.x at seventeen? Jesus, it's my body," she said. "Mine, not theirs. And it's your body. Why do they get to tell us what we can do with our bodies?"

"Eleanor, are you trying to use logic on Catholics?"

She tried to laugh but the sound didn't come out quite right.

"I think someone smart once said that was a pointless strategy." She smiled at him.

"The whole world is a courtroom. And everyone loves to play judge, jury and executioner. A Catholic priest s.e.xually involved with a teenage member of his congregation? I will be crucified. I've seen this happen over and over again. And the only people who won't hate me will be the people who hate you instead."

"Is this my fault?" she asked, afraid of the answer. She had pursued him, hadn't she?

"No. It's destiny. Or doom, perhaps. Hard to tell the difference sometimes."

"Maybe they're the same thing."

"Perhaps they are." He looked into her eyes and she saw her doom and destiny waiting in them. One kiss. Surely one kiss wouldn't kill them. She leaned in. She knew S0ren would let her kiss him. She knew he would kiss her back.

But then she heard something. Whistling. Somewhere in the building someone whistled. She'd heard the song before but couldn't name it or place it. Hurriedly she pulled back from the embrace and put two feet between her and S0ren.

"I'm changing my answer," S0ren said. "It's his fault."

"Who is that?" she whispered in a panic. S0ren did something she'd never dreamed she'd see him do. He rolled his eyes.

"'La Ma.r.s.eillaise'-the French national anthem."

"Who's in the building?"

S0ren sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead.

"I suppose tonight's as good a night as any," S0ren said.

"For what?"

"For you to meet the in-law."

18.

Eleanor THE WHISTLING SOUND GREW CLOSER. SREN TOOK her hand in his.

"Eleanor, allow me to apologize in advance."

"Apologize? For what?"

"For him."

"Who? Moi?" asked the man who strolled through the nearest door and right up to them. "I hope I'm interrupting something."

Eleanor's eyes widened at the sight of the man.

"I love that reaction." He pointed at Eleanor's face. "That is the 'you didn't tell me how pretty he was' look, oui?"

"Didn't I almost punch you on a set of stairs once?" she asked him.

"You broke into my house. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"You have Eddie Vedder hair," Eleanor said, which was the only thing she had to say for herself. She was still trying to recover from the shock of the man. He wore the most amazing suit she'd ever seen in her life. Black trousers, riding boots, long black jacket, black-and-silver embroidered vest. He had dark shoulder-length hair and a face that belonged on a male model. And to make matters even worse, he was French. So this was the brother-in-law? The best friend? The Kingsley?

He picked up her hand as if to kiss the back of it, but at the last second he raised her fingertips to his nose and sniffed them. She pulled her hand back.

"So this is elle?"

"This is she. Eleanor, this is Kingsley. Kingsley, Eleanor. Now please go back to the rectory, Kingsley, before Eleanor starts liking you."

"Liking me more than you, you mean. Too late. Isn't it?"

"You are seriously French," she said.

"Would you like to see how French I am?" He imposed himself between her and S0ren and stared down at her with the most seductive expression she'd ever seen on the face of a man with all his clothes on.

"Kingsley, please," S0ren said.

"I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to her."

Kingsley stepped even closer.

"How old are you?" he asked her.

"Seventeen. How old are you?"

"Thirty. Is your hymen intact?"

Eleanor stood up straighter.

"Is your brain intact?"

"I ask for a reason." He shook his finger in her face to hush her. "I f.u.c.ked a virgin last week. I didn't mean to."

"What happened? You trip and fall into her hymen?"

"You jest, but do you know how hard it is to get blood off raw silk upholstery?" Kingsley asked, sounding positively perturbed. "She could have told me before I f.u.c.ked her. I would have put a towel down first. But c'est la guerre. What's the etiquette for accidentally f.u.c.king a virgin? Should I send flowers? If I f.u.c.ked you and broke your hymen, what would you want from me after?"

"Hair of the dog that bit me?" Eleanor suggested her father's favorite hangover cure. "f.u.c.k me again?"

Kingsley looked her up and down. He seemed to like what he saw.

"Would you like to play a round of Justine and the naughty monk with me?"

"Never heard of it."

"I swear I will have you arrested," S0ren said to Kingsley. He sounded stern but Eleanor saw amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes.

"Have you ever read Justine by Le Marquis de Sade? Wonderful book. Little twelve-year-old Justine runs away to a monastery and the monks rape her and subject her to orgies and beatings over and over again. So that's how you play the game. Shall we?"

"How do we know who wins?"

"Whoever has lost the least blood by the end of the game wins."

"Sounds fun," Eleanor said. "I'll play the monk. You play Justine."

"Why, Kingsley," S0ren said in a taunting tone, "it's like she knows you already."

Kingsley only gazed at her a moment and she sensed him taking stock of her. The smile left his face; the amus.e.m.e.nt disappeared from his eyes. In a warning tone, the man addressed S0ren.

"You are asking for so much trouble with this one, mon ami."

"He didn't ask for trouble," Eleanor interjected. "I offered."

Kingsley nodded his approval.

"You weren't exaggerating," he said to S0ren.

S0ren put his mouth near Kingsley's ear.

"I told you so," S0ren said in a stage whisper.

"Can I have her?" Kingsley asked. S0ren replied something in French, something that made Kingsley grin even more broadly.

"What did he say?" she asked Kingsley.

"He said, 'wait your turn.'"

She glared at S0ren, who only shrugged as if Kingsley had lied to her. She knew he hadn't.

"She doesn't like my translation."

"She should learn French," S0ren said. Kingsley nodded his agreement.

"h.e.l.lo!" Eleanor waved her hands. "I'm still here. I can hear you both talking about me. And you, I can see you giggling." She stabbed the center of S0ren's chest with her finger.

He gave her an affronted look.

"Priests don't giggle."

"What are you looking at?" she demanded of Kingsley, who seemed to be undressing her with his eyes.

"She's spirited, this one," Kingsley said to S0ren.

"Unholy spirited," S0ren agreed.

Kingsley turned his attention back to her.

"Why do you have your clothes on?"

"Was I supposed to take them off?"

"I've never heard a stupider question in my life," he said with a very French, very disgusted sigh. "You weren't supposed to have them on to start with."

"I get it," Eleanor said to Kingsley. "I do. You're Prince Charming if Prince Charming wasn't charming."

"And wasn't a prince but a king." Kingsley raked her body with his eyes. She might have been embarra.s.sed by his nakedly hungry stare but he had a French accent, Eddie Vedder hair and the power to annoy S0ren. The man got a free pa.s.s to make a pa.s.s.

"I could lose my watch inside you," Kingsley finally said to her.

"And good night." S0ren grabbed the Frenchman by the back of the neck. Kingsley shivered as if the viselike grip S0ren put on him seemed to have the opposite effect of the one S0ren intended. "I can't take you anywhere. Go back to the rectory. I will be there soon."

"I have to go?"

"He really doesn't," Eleanor said.

"He really does." S0ren released Kingsley, who gave her an apologetic smile.

"Je suis desole, ma belle. I must leave you. I will be inside the priest's rectory tonight if you need me, want me or desire me. You know where to find me."

"In his rectory."

"Firmly ensconced. If I'm not there, I'll be inside a bottle of Syrah. I'm getting the priest very drunk tonight."

"I think he's already there," Eleanor said. She'd never seen S0ren so playful before. They should get him drunk more often.

"Merely warming up." Kingsley took her hand, and this time he kissed the back of it instead of sniffing her fingertips. "Rest a.s.sured I leave you entirely against my will and with the firmest of convictions that we shall meet again someday."

"Nice to meet you," she said, fairly certain that nice was the least correct word she could have used in that sentence.

"And a pleasure to meet you at last," he said. "I look forward to you making the acquaintance of my ceiling."

He turned on his booted heel and, whistling the French national anthem, again headed to the door.