Chapter 2

Evangelina

It’s Sunday and I’m here, not really knowing what to wear to a church service, I chose a black pencil skirt and white blouse.

It’s a skirt I used to wear a lot as a lawyer’s wife, when we went to dinner parties. Parties where I always felt out of place and like an alien. I didn’t grow up with money, and these parties were a way to flaunt that upbringing with others who had it. Not me, of course, but I had to pretend that I had it too.

I stare at the chapel of St. Paul’s, its towering spires reaching toward the heavens, the intricate stonework illuminated by the soft morning light. The stained-glass windows shimmer with hues of blue, red, and gold, depicting scenes of saints and angels that seem almost alive. The heavy wooden doors, ornately carved with symbols of faith, stand open, inviting yet imposing.

Maybe I can just say I go to church. It’s not like they fact-check anything in court anyway. But with my luck, they’ll probably bring out detectives to verify every word I say.

The sight is breathtaking, the sheer grandeur of the place making my chest tighten with awe and anxiety.

Families spill out of cars in the parking lot, their laughter and chatter a complete contradiction to the silence that weighs on me. I stand rooted to the spot, unable to move. How can I step into this holy place, a sanctuary of peace and purity, when I feel anything but?

Not by myself. I can’t do this alone.

I should have convinced my new friend, Greer, to come with me.

“Are you going to go in? Or just thinking about it?” a man’s deep voice asks from behind me.

I glance over my shoulder, startled. “Oh,” I say, surprised to see the priest. God forgive me, but wow.

He’s dressed in the traditional black cassock, the simple white priest collar peeking out like a halo against his skin. But everything else about him defies the stereotype I had in mind. I expected a stout, older man with lines of wisdom etched into his face and perhaps a bald head reflecting the years of service. Instead, standing before me is a tall, strikingly handsome man in his early thirties. His chiseled jawline, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes give him an air of authority and allure that feels almost out of place in the clerical garb.

His dark hair, thick and perfectly combed, looks like it could have been touched by God himself. It’s hard not to notice the subtle strength in his broad shoulders, the way his presence commands attention even in the simplicity of his attire. He embodies temptation in a way that makes me wonder how anyone could sit through one of his sermons without feeling a twinge of something sinful and to not think about the big dick energy he exudes.

“I’m sorry…” I don’t know what to call him. Father? Priest? Reverend? Sir? I’m terrible at this.

His blue eyes are mesmerizing as he stares at me. It’s like he sees everything about me, but I no longer care about the sins I’ve committed because I just want him to keep staring. “I’m Father Carmichael.” He reaches out his hand for me to shake.

I stare deep into his eyes, trying my best not to get lost in them. “I’m Evangelina Matthews. I mean, Dame.”

He smiles, displaying a slight dimple in his left cheek, and it knocks me off-kilter. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Dame.” The way he says my name, it’s almost sinful.

What is wrong with me? I should not be checking out the priest. Aren’t they celibate? In my defense, he’s fucking hot. I’m going to hell. I realize I haven’t said anything for a whole minute. “I… uh…”

Father Carmichael chuckles softly and leans in closer. “You should join us inside, we won’t bite.”

Is he flirting with me?

No.

Priests don’t flirt.

Right?

“I’ll be right in,” I say, nodding toward the chapel.

“Can’t wait,” he murmurs.

I watch him walk away and can’t help but continue to stare at him, wondering what his body looks like underneath the robe.

I take a deep breath and then propel my feet to move forward, closer to the chapel doors.

There’s a blonde lady standing near the front, handing out programs, and she smiles as she watches me approach. “Hi, I’m Sandy. Are you new?”

I nod. “I am.”

Her eyes light up and she reaches out her hand for me to shake. “I volunteer in the gift shop around the corner, and my husband works closely with Father Carmichael in the Outreach Program. Have you met Father Carmichael?”

I nod again. “I have.”

“You’re going to love him. He’s so nice.”

I smile. “I’m sure I will.”

“I can give you a quick tour before service starts, if you’d like.”

“I’d love that.” I glance around. “Only if I’m not keeping you from your duties.”

She smiles. “It’s fine. And after, you can sit with me, if you want.”

Sandy eases my worry about doing this alone instantly. She’s a touch older than me, and already, I’m happy to have made a friend.

“Sure.”

She glances over my shoulder. “Are you here by yourself? Husband? Children?”

I hate when someone asks me if I have children. Yes, I have a son I’m very proud of, but many people can’t understand why he doesn’t live with me. When I mention that my son lives with his father, I can see the judgment written across their faces. She must be a druggie. Crack whore. Dead beat.

“Nope, I’m all alone,” I finally say.

Sandy doesn’t skip a beat and wraps an arm around me. “Not anymore.”

I sink into her hold as she takes me on a quick tour before the service begins. “Over here is the grotto.” She leads me into a small, serene space off the main chapel, enclosed by intricate wrought-iron screens. The soft glow of flickering candles illuminates the dim area, casting warm shadows on the stone walls. There are over a hundred votive candle holders, some gently flickering with light, while others remain untouched, waiting for someone to offer a prayer. A few stained glass windows high above filter the sunlight, bathing the grotto in a mix of blues, reds, and golds. I notice the sign that reads, "Donation: $1 a candle," in elegant calligraphy.

I admire the concrete statues of saints, their expressions solemn and wise, scattered around the grotto. The air smells faintly of incense, lingering from a previous service. Sandy leads me through an arched doorway and down a cobblestone walkway lined with ivy-covered walls. We pass through a small courtyard, the centerpiece of which is a grand statue of a man wearing a robe, a little bird perched delicately on his shoulder. His eyes are cast downward as though in thought, radiating a sense of calm. The garden surrounding us is filled with vibrant flowers—roses, lilies, and marigolds—blooming in a riot of color.

Two wooden benches sit beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. The soft rustle of leaves adds to the tranquility of the space.

“Lots of people sit out here to think,” Sandy says quietly.

I nod, taking it all in. “It’s peaceful.”

She smiles warmly. “Father Carmichael lives here.” She gestures toward a modest brick home nestled behind a line of tall, neatly pruned hedges, about a hundred yards from the garden. The house is simple, with ivy creeping up one side, a small chimney, and a porch with hanging baskets of flowers. It looks almost out of place on the church property, like a quiet refuge tucked away from the world.

“He lives on church property?” I ask, glancing back at the chapel, its tall steeple casting a shadow over the courtyard.

“Well, of course. He’s devoted his life to the Lord’s work.” Her tone is casual, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh.” I chew at my bottom lip, thinking about the man I met earlier. Father Carmichael—kind eyes, a gentle demeanor, and to my surprise, rather handsome. He didn’t fit the image of the older, stern-faced priest I’d imagined.

“See that building over there?” Sandy points to a large structure set at an angle from the chapel. Its beige stucco exterior contrasts with the red bricks of the church, and it has its own parking lot with a few scattered cars. A tall sign in front reads “Family Center,” with smaller lettering beneath that says “Outreach Program, Gift Shop, Offices.”

“That’s the Family Center. The Outreach Program is located there, along with the gift shop and offices.” Her voice is bright as she talks about it, clearly proud of the church’s efforts.

“Oh, okay.” I try to imagine what the Outreach Program entails, my mind drifting to thoughts of people seeking help, looking for solace. Could I benefit from something like that? The thought tugs at me, though I’m not sure if I’m ready to admit it.

“The outreach?” I ask her, trying to keep my voice casual, though a part of me hopes she won’t pry. The last thing I want is for her to ask about my finances or why I’m interested.

Pride. It’s a horrible thing, but it clings to me like a heavy coat I can’t shrug off.

“For the needy. We give out free food. It’s a great resource for those who need it.”

I smile. “That’s nice.” I don’t want to tell Sandy that I’m in dire need of groceries. That most nights I eat at the diner I work at, trying to save money where I can. Most days I only eat one meal, and it’s usually a cheap sandwich.

She glances at her phone, most likely checking the time. “We should head back.”

When I walk into the chapel, my eyes instantly connect with the man standing on the dais. The handsome priest.

I should turn away, but I can’t.

Religion is a funny concept when you break it all down. At its core, it's a gathering of like-minded individuals, all coming together under the banner of shared beliefs, seeking purpose or guidance from something greater than themselves. Whether it’s in a grand cathedral with soaring stained glass windows or a simple room with nothing but folding chairs and a pulpit, the heart of religion lies in the community it creates.

I think what it really entails is a sense of hope. Hope that there is something beyond this world, something that transcends the mundane, something that gives our lives meaning even when we can’t always see it.

Father Carmichael commands the congregation with his words. He has a knack for this, almost like he’s a performer. The annunciation and infliction given to each word makes my heart sing with fascination. I probably shouldn’t be this into listening to him, but I can’t help it.

Every now and then, while he speaks, our eyes meet and I quickly look away. I picture what it would be like to have his full attention on me. The way he demands attention from the congregation. Would he be so demanding in the bedroom?

My mind wanders into dangerous territory, imagining what it would be like to have his hands all over me.

What is wrong with me?

After church is over I rush out of the pew without so much as even a goodbye to anybody. I can’t believe the whole time I fantasized about the priest.

I head back to my apartment a few blocks away. My apartment is empty, and I miss the sound of Nate running around, getting into everything. I miss my baby boy.

My phone rings in my pocket and I pull it out. “Hey Greer,” I say.

“You’re still coming for brunch, right?”

I glance at the time on the clock hanging in my kitchen. “Yes, what time does it start?”

“Soon. Get your butt over here.” She laughs, and I smile.

“I’m on my way.” I would love to talk to Greer about my case. She was a top defense attorney, and I’m sure she could pull some strings for me with my family court case, but we only just met at the gym, and I don’t want to overstep.

I fluff my hair in the mirror, and grab my bag. Hopefully Greer can steer me onto the right path to get my son back.

Because right now that is my number one goal.

I arrive at Greer’s place and park my ratty Jetta along the street. My face sours at the sight of the expensive Lamborghini in the driveway, but I put on my best brave face and knock on the door.

“Eva, so glad you could make it,” Greer says, wrapping me in a friendly hug. She introduces me to her fiancé, Roman Thorne, and I smile as I shake his hand.

“So nice to meet you.”

“You as well. Come inside and meet everyone,” he says, as both of them lead me further into the house.

It’s a stunning home with a grand entrance featuring a sweeping staircase and a crystal chandelier that catches the light just right, making the whole foyer sparkle. The living room boasts high ceilings, large windows that let in plenty of natural light, and elegant furnishings. The kitchen is a chef’s dream, with marble countertops, top-of-the-line appliances, and an island perfect for entertaining. Outside, I catch a glimpse of a beautifully landscaped garden and a pristine pool that looks straight out of a luxury resort.

“This is my twin brother, Ledger,” Roman says, introducing me to a tall man who looks strikingly similar to him. Ledger, like Roman, is impossibly handsome. His dark hair is styled in a way that looks effortlessly tousled, and his sharp jawline is offset by a smattering of scruff that only adds to his rugged charm. Both of them are the kind of gorgeous that feels otherworldly, like they stepped straight out of a glossy magazine.

I offer a smile, trying not to be intimidated. “Hi,” I say, my voice a little too soft.

Next to Ledger stands Posey, a stunning woman with long chestnut-brown hair that cascades down her back in soft waves. Her piercing blue eyes are striking, almost luminescent against her fair skin, and when she smiles, it’s wide and genuine, instantly putting me at ease. There’s an effortless grace about her, like she knows exactly who she is and isn’t afraid to show it. She’s wearing a chic, fitted dress that hugs her slim frame, and even though she’s beautiful, there’s a warmth to her that makes her approachable.

“This is my fiancée, Posey,” Ledger says, pride in his voice.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” I reply, feeling a bit more comfortable now.

Posey beams at me, her friendly demeanor making it easier to relax. “It’s great to meet you, Eva,” she says with a voice as soft as her appearance.

After a few more pleasantries, Greer steps forward to introduce me to her brother, Devereaux Huxley. You’d have to live under a rock not to know who this man is. Devereaux is tall, with slicked-back dark-blonde hair that gives him an almost dangerous edge. His sharp brown eyes seem to take everything in, and there’s an undeniable aura of power around him. He’s been in the papers more times than I can count, known for his business ventures, particularly owning Club Greed, one of the most notorious nightclubs in town—specifically, a sex club. His reputation precedes him, but standing here, he’s got a calm, almost laid-back demeanor, dressed in a tailored suit that screams wealth and influence.

“Nice to meet you, Eva,” Devereaux says, extending a hand. His grip is firm but polite, and standing beside him is an absolutely gorgeous blonde woman.

“This is Chloe, my fiancée and the mother of my child,” Devereaux says, motioning to a baby car seat resting nearby. Chloe is breathtakingly beautiful, her blonde hair shining under the soft light, falling in perfect waves over her shoulders. Her green eyes are warm as she looks at me, and she carries an air of elegance that makes her presence impossible to ignore. She’s dressed impeccably, her slim figure accentuated by a flowing, white dress, and she has that radiant glow of a woman who’s both confident and content.

I glance over at the car seat, where a beautiful baby with soft, chubby cheeks and bright eyes sleeps peacefully, completely oblivious to the gathering around them.

Everyone here is so stunning, it’s almost surreal, and for a brief moment, I feel awkward and out of place. Surrounded by all these beautiful people, with their perfect lives and movie-star looks, I can’t help but feel like the odd one out. But then Posey catches my eye again and gives me another reassuring smile, and I start to feel like maybe I belong after all.

I step closer to the baby. “Aww, so cute.”

Chloe smiles wide, like a proud mama. “He’s nearly three months old. And getting so big.”

“I figured we could eat out on the patio,” Greer says, gaining everyone’s attention as she leads us all outside.

It’s a beautiful day, with the sun shining brightly and a gentle breeze keeping the temperature just perfect. The patio itself is stunning, with a large teak dining table set with elegant dinnerware and a floral centerpiece. Comfortable, cushioned chairs surround the table, and there’s a pergola overhead draped with climbing roses, providing a bit of shade.

As I take a seat, I’m thankful to be here. I won’t come right out and tell Greer about my problems. I don’t want to appear needy right off the bat, but I am grateful to be among these people.

I need my own friends, desperately. After Christopher and I got divorced, our circle of friends obviously took his side. Women I once thought were my friends turned out to be nothing more than gossipers.

Roman mans a built-in grill and is already preparing some delicious-smelling food, and there’s a small bar area stocked with an assortment of drinks. Fairy lights are strung around the perimeter, and I can imagine how magical it must look in the evening. A gentle hum of conversation fills the air as everyone takes their seats, and I feel a sense of belonging starting to bloom inside me.

Everyone appears so happy, and as I listen to them speak, I can’t help but smile. They make it all look so easy. Like having your shit together comes so easily for them. I wish I had the same bravado they do.

I straighten back my shoulders, and allow Greer to pour me a mimosa. “You have a beautiful home, Greer,” I tell her.

“Thank you. I’ll have to show you the garden before you leave. You have a son, right?”

My face falls flat, but I try not to let anyone notice my sudden mood shift. “Yes, I do. He’s currently living with his father right.”

Greer places her hand over mine. “That must be so hard for you.”

I will myself not to cry as the whole table gives me looks of pity. “It’s definitely been a tough road. But I’m not letting my ex-husband get me down.”

“Is he a real jerk?” Posey asks me.

I nod, not letting the tears well in my eyes. “It’s all about who has more money when it comes to custody.”

Greer nods, like she understands. “I know. But listen, we’re going to help get your son back.”

“I’d be happy with getting a job first. The diner is just not cutting it anymore.”

“I can help with that,” Devereaux says. “I can get you a job at Club Greed.”

My eyes widen at the mention of working at a sex club. “I don’t think I could do that,” I say with a blush.

He shakes his head. “We could keep your identity hidden. You could disguise yourself and use a stage name.”

“It’s what I did when I worked there on an undercover assignment,” Chloe adds.

“I don’t know if I could do it. What all does it entail?”

“You wouldn’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. You’d just be serving cocktails in the lounge area. Or you could even work as a hostess at the front desk, making reservations all night long.”

I think about both options. “I do have serving experience.”

Greer smiles a warm and friendly smile. “I think it would be good for you. And the money they make is insane.”

Chloe nods. “Trust me, they make great money. You’d be able to afford the best lawyer in town.”

“I think my ex already has the best on his payroll.”

“I don’t do family court, but I can help you out with your case. Who’s your lawyer right now?”

I give her the name, and she scrunches her nose up. “Oh, well, we’ll definitely do a better job than him. What are you doing to help your case?”

“I’m going to St. Paul’s. I figured if I go to church it might make me look better to the judge. He’s a churchgoer.”

“Smart,” Ledger says, wrapping an arm around Posey. “The father there is a friend of ours.”

My eyes widen at the mention of the priest. “Really? You know Father Carmichael?”

Ledger nods. “Sure do.”

“He’s such a nice man. He helped me decide which course of action to take with my life,” Greer says.

“He’s so good-looking too,” I say, and the table laughs.

The laughter lightens the mood as the conversation continues. Roman brings a platter of grilled meats to the table, and everyone starts to dig in.

As we enjoy our meal, I feel a sense of acceptance from these people. It's completely different to the isolation I've felt since my divorce. Here, with the beauty of Greer’s home and the kindness of her friends, I start to feel a glimmer of hope. But you know what they say about getting your hopes up…yeah, you’ll most likely be disappointed in the end.