Lessons in Sin

Which was why I came here nine years ago, seeking his counsel.

He didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear. He told me what I needed. Then he convinced me to stay. Not just to save Sion Academy, but to save myself.

“She’s a brat.” I removed my collar and loosened the top buttons on my shirt. “An uncooperative, disrespectful, sharp-tongued hellion.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“She’s pretty for an eighteen-year-old.”

With eyes that glowed like faerie fire when she was emotional. And her boldness? God help me, her feisty spirit made my blood run hot.

I was fascinated, and that fascination made me exceedingly uncomfortable.

“Crisanto…” I stared into my glass, swishing the amber contents around and around. “I had a relapse.”

“Okay.” He set his drink down and twisted on the couch to face me, instantly sliding into his priest role. “Is this a confession?”

“No. It was just a feeling. A thought.”

“The craving.”

That was what he called it. I called it a sickness. He was the only person alive who knew my struggle. He knew every ugly secret I carried.

“Yeah.”

“The mother triggered it?”

“Not this time.”

“The daughter, then.” He released a relieved breath.

“Your exhale is not reassuring. You put too much faith in me.”

“Attraction is human nature. We all experience it, and any priest who tells you otherwise is hiding something worse. We lead a lonely life. Going to bed every night alone. Growing old alone. It’s the sacrificial nature of our vocation. But I’ll be honest. I’ve been praying for the day that you sort out your preferences. Because let’s face it. You have terrible taste in women, my friend.” He shuddered dramatically.

“You’re an asshole.”

He laughed, loud and hearty, and grabbed his whiskey.

Only he would dare to find amusement in my flaws.

He’d been at my side since the beginning. While the other boys at our school were chasing after girls, he watched me chase after their mothers and teachers.

There were no traumatic events in my childhood. No inherited traits from my boring, law-abiding, white-collar parents. Nothing in my upbringing to pin this on.

My sexual predisposition was simply part of my nature.

“Listen.” Crisanto sobered. “You have more patience and determination than I ever will. You’ve been a godsend to this community. The money and time you’ve put into the school is admirable. Selfless. Second to none. You’re a good man, Magnus.”

I grunted. “You know that’s not true. I’ve never been a good man.”

“I’m not talking about then. Sure, you’re still as ruthless as ever. And downright scary when pushed. Maybe I don’t agree with all your teaching methods, but when it comes to motivating the unmotivated, fear and guilt are effective tools.”

“Spoken like a true Catholic.” I held up my whiskey.

He clinked his glass with mine and drank, regarding me over the rim. “What’s different about Miss Constantine?”

“She saved a bat.”

“Do what now?”

I told him the story, sending him into another fit of laughter. Then we talked about his challenging schedule at St. John’s, debated world events, and drank too much.

By the time he stumbled back to his rectory, I felt lighter. More levelheaded. Energized for the new school year.

I was ready to lay down the law for Tinsley Constantine.

CHAPTER 7

TINSLEY

I couldn’t sleep.

It’d been hours since the clamor of laughter and footsteps had flooded the hallway outside my door. All had quieted down by ten p.m., but when the girls first arrived, I heard my last name mentioned more than once.

Yet no one had stopped to see if I was in my room. Not a single knock on my door.

If I were here of my own free will, I would’ve gone out there and introduced myself. I would’ve tried to make new friends.

But I wasn’t, and I didn’t. Fuck this place.

I rolled over in the narrow bed and could actually feel my hair frizzing and my face collecting wrinkles. How was anyone expected to sleep on this atrocious material?

I missed my silk pillowcases. I’d tried to pack them, but Justin—my mother’s puppy dog and personal assistant—had tossed them back, claiming they weren’t on the approved list. I’d tried to pack a lot of things as he stood over me with his disapproving, puppy eyes.

Too short.

Too see-through.

No thongs.

Too much skin.

Not appropriate.

Sends the wrong message.

He removed every garment I put in the bag. When my temper finally blew, I threw a bra at his face and told him to pack the bags himself.

The dickhead packed one bag. One. And he filled it with clothes I didn’t even know I owned. Conservative, underwhelming garbage.

Didn’t matter. I wouldn’t be here for long. I’d spent the entire night planning my exit.

Getting caught with alcohol, drugs, or weapons in my possession would guarantee my expulsion. But I had no way to obtain those things.

Setting my room on fire was an option. But I didn’t want anyone harmed in the making of my destiny.