SAINTS DON'T MOAN

•Miguel •

    The lounge was wrapped in low lights, and smoked coiled lazy spirals above the tables from cigars.

    I leaned back into the velvet-lined booth, cradling a glass Lagavulin between my fingers, Damien was holding court to my left, a brunette tucked against his side, her fake laugh cutting through the lounge like a cheap perfume. The blonde on his other arm looked half asleep, eyes glazed.

    This used to be my scenery, my zone and where I thrived in. But damn it all to hell the moment I met My Shell, her grey eyes glazed with tears pleading that I saved her life.

    My Penelope. 

    Damien clinked his glass against mine with a smirk, his cufflinks catching the gold light as he stretched his arm along the back of the booth.

    "You gonna make me carry this whole damn table's energy tonight?" he asked, nodding toward the brunette who was practically purring against him. "Pick one. They're not shy."

    I took a slow sip of the whiskey, letting the smoke settle on my tongue before swallowing. 

    "Not my type."

    While Penelope was brunette, she wasn't this loosely approachable, not even while drunk.

    He laughed, full-throated and arrogant. "You haven't even looked at them."

    "Exactly."

    The blonde perked up for half a second, then sank back into silence when she realized I wasn't bluffing. Damien raised a brow, clearly amused. He leaned closer, his voice lowering in mock concern.

    "What is it this time? You get bored of actresses and heiresses? Don't tell me you've finally gone celibate."

    I stared straight ahead, swirling the liquid in my glass slowly. "I already have someone in mind."

    Damien scoffed. "You? Monogamous? That's a first. Who is she?  Daddy's girl? Another senator's wife?"

    He went still for a minute, then sat up straighter.

    "No fucking way," he muttered, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to read the punchline off my face. "You mean that girl from the club that night? The one you explicitly said "was a nun in training now?"

    I let the silence speak for itself.

    He exhaled through his nose, then gave a low, slow laugh that curled like smoke.

    "She's a goddamn nun."

    "She's not," I corrected, calmly. "Not yet."

    "You're fucking bonkers."

    "She is mine, and I know this." I set my glass down, never taking my eyes off him. "I also happen to know she hasn't taken any vows and if she has she'll have to break them."

    Damien looked at me like I'd just confessed being a fucking psycho and it didn't matter.

    I might have moved to Turkey for two years but that didn't mean I didn't keep tabs on her, I watched her during her physiotherapy stage, when she felt like giving up and I watched her bounce the fuck back. 

    I'm her fucking savior and she owes me, she already vowed herself to me.

    "You're serious."

    I didn't bother to respond. 

    He shook his head, incredulous, rubbing the back of his neck as if that would help him process the weight of what I wasn't saying.

    "This is a new low, even for you," he said finally, but there wasn't judgment in his voice, just morbid curiosity. "Jesus, Miguel. A nun?"

    I leaned forward slightly, forearms on the table, voice low enough that the women leaned in out of instinct before realizing I wasn't talking to them.

    "Stop calling her a nun, she's not. She's just trying to find a place where she can fit in. I know it, I've seen what's underneath that holier than thou attire and it is definitely not nun attributes."

    Damien blinked. "You fucked her?"

    "Not yet." The corner of my mouth twitched. 

    He gave a soft whistle and downed the rest of his drink. "You're going to hell, man."

    I picked up my whiskey again and stared into it for a long moment, watching the way the light bent inside the glass.

    "Yeah," I said quietly. "But I'll take her with me."

    Damien laughed again, louder this time. The brunette jumped slightly beside him, clearly not used to the sudden shift in volume.

    "Alright, devil. Let's say I'm not judging. Let's say, for a second, I'm as deranged as you are. How the hell are you going to get her? That girl looks like she panics when someone curses, and I'm not saying she's a saint but she sure as hell has her mind made up."

    I didn't answer right away. I took another slow sip, letting the taste linger before setting the glass down.

    "I have a plan."

    He tilted his head, waiting. "You always do. But this one? She's I don't know, different?"

    "Correct," I said. "Anyone who got into an accident as terrible as hers would be scared, and would seek comfort anywhere and for her it is the convent, and the only reason that happened was because of my absence. She believes good girls don't get hurt but she's wrong."

    Damien raised a brow. "Are you planning to hurt her in a bid to show she doesn't have to be a nun?"

    I gave him a slow smile, one that didn't reach my eyes.

    "No, I'm not that despicable. I'm only going to fuck with her mind long enough to make her want only me."

    He stared at me, eyes narrowing slightly.

    I leaned back, exhaling through my nose. "She's already confused, her body betrays her every time I'm near and I have the perfect plan to make sure she never stops seeing me."

    Damien let out a low whistle. "You're going to play the savior."

    "Play the savior?" I murmured. "C'mon Damien, I already am her savior."

    He sat back and shook his head, grinning like he'd just heard the filthiest confession of his life. "I swear, sometimes I forget how sick you are."

    "That's because you're too busy being loud about your vices," I replied smoothly, flicking my gaze to the woman now massaging his shoulder without permission. "Mine are quieter. But much harder to kill."

    Damien raised his glass. "To the unlucky girl who's your new game."

    I clinked my glass against his, eyes never leaving the swirl of whiskey.

    "To Penelope."

    |•|

    The children's laughter carried faintly from the back gardens, sharp and bright like bells. For a place drenched in prayer, this one had the subtle air of a battlefield.

    I straightened my collar and made my way to the chapel offices, a leather folder tucked beneath my arm.

    Father Marshall was waiting near the side altar, already mid-conversation with one of the sisters. His expression shifted when he saw me friendly, but guarded. 

    He hadn't forgotten the time I turned down a cathedral funding proposal because the budget was "too selfish and didn't in any way extend to the kids." Still, he respected power and the money I shower.

    "Miguel," he greeted with a warm nod. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon."

    "I won't stay long." I offered a firm handshake. "Just wanted to follow up on the rural aid project I mentioned last quarter. The clinic we set up in Oakridge? They're shorthanded. I'll be flying in next week, but I need a volunteer to assist. Someone the patients will feel safe around. Preferably someone with community ties."

    Father Marshall tilted his head. "It's short notice."

    "I understand but it's only a couple of  weeks. The town is quiet, and small which is why basic care, inventory, translation for the older locals is needed."

    He hesitated and I could see the logistics working through his mind, Father Marshall was as open as a book. I knew what he'd say next.

    "I'll need to check with Mother Superior."

    "Of course."

    First phase complete.

    We stepped into the main hallway just as she was descending the stairs. 

    Mother Superior was a lovely woman, one who didn't care for bribes or favoritism, that's why I adored her and she loved me.

    "Dr. Ramirez," she greeted, clasping her hands. "To what do we owe this honor?"

    I explained again briefly, and more politely. But this time using key words that'd soften her heart like God's work, outreach and the children. 

    She was aware of where my faith stood, I was no Christian but I cared for the community even if it meant working with the church.

    "Well," she said, folding her hands, "Penelope's schedule just cleared up this week. She's been diligent, attentive. I believe this would be good for her, remember I mentioned her love for traveling."

    I let the silence stretch just long enough to appear surprised then nodded.

    "If she's willing."

    "I'll speak to her today," she said. "I don't imagine she'll object."

    Of course she wouldn't. Not when the suggestion came from a woman she was trying so hard to impress. 

    I offered a gracious smile and stepped back toward the door.

    "I'll return tomorrow to finalize the remaining documentation."

    They both nodded, none the wiser.

    As I stepped out into the morning light, I didn't bother hiding the grin that curled beneath the surface.

    She'd be mine for the next three weeks and I will do everything possible to make sure she never forgets it.