The dormitory was quiet, but sleep had abandoned me. My hands clutched the thin blanket at my chest as I stared at the ceiling, shadows stretching across the walls in uneven patterns. Every sound—footsteps in the corridor, the faint drip of water from the roof—made me flinch, as though the world outside my room had become sharper, alive with things I could not see.
I could not stop thinking about him. Leonardo Moretti. The way he had looked at me today, the way his voice had wrapped around me, teasing, probing, dangerous. I shivered, not from the cold, but from a heat that rose unbidden in my chest. My prayer book lay open, untouched, the words failing me.
I needed air. I needed space. Something to calm the trembling inside me.
Pulling on my robe over my nightdress, I stepped softly into the cloister. The moon shone faintly, silvered light glinting off the wet stones where rain from earlier had pooled. The scent of damp earth mixed with lingering incense from the chapel, heavy and sweet. I drew a slow breath, trying to ground myself.
The garden was empty, save for the shadows of statues and arches. A lone fountain whispered, the water catching the moonlight like liquid glass. I let myself walk among the paths, my bare hands brushing leaves still dripping with rain. I tried to focus on anything but him—the intensity in his gaze, the unspoken promise in the curl of his lips.
"Beautiful night," a voice said behind me, smooth and low, carrying an edge I could feel in my bones.
I froze, my pulse spiking. Even in the dark, I knew it was him. "F-Father Moretti?" I whispered, voice trembling.
He stepped closer from the shadows, the dim candlelight from the chapel windows catching the sharp line of his jaw, the blue of his eyes reflecting like ice. "You wander alone," he said softly, but there was a dangerous confidence beneath his tone. "At a time when others are sleeping, when the world is meant to be quiet… and yet here you are."
I swallowed, heart hammering. "I… I couldn't… I couldn't sleep," I stammered.
He moved slowly around me, watching with the same quiet precision that had made me feel both seen and vulnerable before. "You think you can hide your restlessness. But I see it. Everything you try to keep tucked inside, your thoughts… your fears… and that spark you cannot name yet."
I tried to look away, but my eyes kept finding his. "I… I am only worried about… the lessons," I murmured, weakly.
"Lessons?" he echoed, a faint, dangerous smile playing at the corner of his lips. He stepped closer, close enough that I felt the warmth radiating from him, and for a moment I thought the air itself had grown heavier, charged. "Or perhaps… something else."
I shivered. "I… don't understand."
"Of course you don't," he said, crouching slightly to meet my gaze. His voice dropped lower, intimate. "But that is why I watch you, Sister Donovan. That hesitation. That trembling. That tiny flutter of defiance inside you, even when you bow your head to duty and prayer… It is… delicious."
My chest tightened. Delicious. The word burned through me, mingling with fear, confusion, and… something else. Something I could not name.
He circled me slowly, fingers brushing mine as he gestured toward the fountain. "Walk with me," he said softly, his tone brooking no argument. My body obeyed before my mind could, stepping alongside him. Every step made me acutely aware of his presence. His arm brushed mine, deliberately, lightly, as though testing the boundaries I could not yet defend.
"You think I do not notice how fragile you are," he murmured, voice a whisper at my ear. The warmth of his breath made my skin prickle. "But it is your fragility that intrigues me. That calls to me. A creature like you, hiding behind faith and fear… you are so easily swayed. And yet… there is strength there too."
I wanted to speak, to demand that he stop, to tell him I was a nun, that this—this feeling, this attraction—was wrong. My voice caught in my throat. Instead, I only nodded, a small, trembling gesture, and felt my knees weaken beneath me.
He reached for my hands, guiding them to straighten a fallen rosary around my fingers. His touch lingered, deliberate, the heat of his palm warming the backs of my cold hands. "See?" he said softly, almost teasing. "Even in this small, careful action… there is a pull. A tension. You cannot deny it, no matter how much you wish to."
I looked down at our hands, so close, and felt the weight of desire, curiosity, and fear all at once. My lips parted, but no sound came.
"Do you feel it?" he asked, dark and low, his face inches from mine now. "The pull between what you know is right and what you cannot resist feeling?"
I swallowed hard, unable to answer. My thoughts were a tangle of prayer, guilt, and longing. My heart screamed one thing, my faith another, and I did not know which voice to obey.
He brushed a finger along my wrist, soft enough that it might have been accidental. My breath caught in my chest. "Do you tremble because you fear me… or because you want me to see you this way?"
I wanted to deny it, to step back, to hide myself. But my body betrayed me, leaning slightly toward him despite the fear that burned through me. I closed my eyes for a moment, seeking courage, seeking God… seeking anything that could steady me.
"Open your eyes," he whispered, voice a low caress. "Look at me, Aria. I am no angel. No priest. I am… dangerous. And yet… you are drawn to me. That is not a sin. That is… truth."
I dared to look, and our eyes met. Blue against brown, fire against earth, temptation against devotion. Every nerve in my body screamed, and yet a part of me felt… alive in a way it never had before.
He leaned even closer, so close that I could feel the heat of his breath against my temple, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the night air and incense. My hands twitched, gripping my robe tighter, but I could not pull away.
"Do you trust me?" he asked, the words a low, teasing murmur. "Even a little?"
I did not answer. I could not. And yet, I felt the answer in the tremor that ran through me, the shallow quickening of my breath.
He brushed a strand of damp hair from my face, his fingers lingering at the edge of my cheek. "Good," he said softly. "Because trust is the beginning… the beginning of understanding. Of learning who we are… when we are most honest with ourselves."
My mind spun. My body wanted to flee, but my heart… my heart beat with him. With the danger he carried, with the warmth, the confidence, the unspoken promise of temptation.
"I should… I should go back," I whispered, finally finding a voice. My legs felt like lead as I stepped back, pulling slightly away.
He let me go… only partially. His hand lingered near mine, almost touching, a silent claim. "Go," he said softly. "But remember this moment, Aria. Remember that what you feel is not weakness. It is… awakening."
I turned and fled down the garden path, my mind a storm of fear, longing, and guilt. Candlelight flickered through the chapel windows, shadows stretching across the wet stone. My breath came in uneven gasps, my hands trembling. I sank to the floor in the dormitory hallway, pressing my forehead to my knees, heart hammering.
I tried to pray, tried to tell myself that God would shield me from what I felt. But all I could hear was the echo of his voice, his words brushing against me, his eyes piercing into the core of me.
And deep inside, I knew… I had tasted temptation.
And I would never be the same.
---