HIS TO KEEP - A dark, psychological romance

CHAPTER TWO (Preview)

Standing bored next to Gran, we sing along with the choir and everyone else at church. It's Sunday morning, and the hot sun blazes mercilessly through the stained-glass windows, roasting all of us inside.

"Stop fidgeting, Ava," Gran scolds in a harsh whisper, and I bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself yelling at her. It's not my fault. The heat is too much to bear.

Knowing she's getting cross and on the verge of whacking me with a hymn book, my eyes wander, distracting me from purgatory.

Observing the rest of the congregation, the same faces here every Sunday are in attendance. As my eyes go further back, I spot new among the regulars. Adam, the new boy, is a few pews back with his parents. Smart in his white shirt and tie, he resembles every bit like his handsome father. Except he has his mother's brown curly hair and beautiful softness.

As if sensing someone watching him, he turns my way, and our eyes meet. My stomach flips, and I'm about to drop my gaze, when he does something, I don't expect. He smiles at me.

Gran's elbow digs into my ribs before I react, and as I turn to face her, pure frustration flares in her eyes. I face forward, but despite the looming threat of Gran's annoyance, butterflies erupt in my chest.

After hymns finish, the priest appears from behind a red velvet curtain and motions us to sit. Mass begins, and I slump against the bench, spending the rest of the service playing with a fray on the hem of my dress. It's not long when we have to stand again to receive communion, and as Gran and I join the queue to the altar, there's a tap on my shoulder from behind.

"Thanks for accepting my friend request," Adam whispers into my ear that I only hear. At least, that's what I hope. Swallowing hard, my eyes dart in Gran's direction. She's not looking, but panic lodges in my throat anyway. "Do you want to—"

"Come along, Ava," Gran snaps when she notices I'm not beside her. From the corner of my eye, Adam's eyebrow rises as I turn to catch up with her, sure he's taken aback by the bite of the sweet old lady's tongue. Kneeling beside her with my head bowed, humiliation stings my chest. He definitely thinks I'm weird now.

"The Body of Christ?" Father Aaron, our priest, stands before me, staring down at me in a way that makes me instantly uncomfortable.

It's his eyes—there's something about them I don't like. Always emotionless and withdrawn, they're the lightest blue I've ever seen, like ice on a winter's day.

Aaron isn't like our last priest, Father Richards, who died a year ago from a heart attack. Gran said he was old and frail, and his body gave up. He was friendly and kind, and his preachings were always positive. Aarons never are. Arriving a month later to take over the parish, I didn't think he was a priest at all when I first saw him. He's much younger in his mid-thirties, with only a few silver strands running through the sides of his black hair. Women consider him attractive, with his perfect bone structure, tallness, and ivory skin. But I don't see the allure or understand how everyone seems to like him.

"Amen." He moves the round wafer in a cross-motion before placing it into my waiting palm.

After completing a quick sign of the cross, I quickly return to my seat as it dissolves on my tongue. His eyes still follow, and a shiver rolls down my back, but that's nothing new. He always watches. Always stares.

After Aaron makes a few announcements about charities and fundraising events the church's organizing for summer, mass finally ends. Gran lingers behind to thank him, and as we wait, I sought Adam through the dispersing crowd, spotting him near the door about to leave with his new friends from school—