He bows his head piously at church.
She does too, though she doesn't know what to believe. She is learning to stop looking for answers.
She believes in him - not in his words, though he means his promises with the entirety of his heart. It's just that the moon can't be given, and nothing is certain. She believes in the warmth of his gloved hand in believes in the reverent way he holds her. She believes in his unwavering faith in her.
For now they are together, enjoying their tentative freedom, forever finding their footing, moving at dusk and dawn. Blending into the background in the light of day is an art.
She asks him what he was thinking at services. (She learned long ago that he doesn't pray.)
He smiles the devilish smile that is only for her.
"How I was planning on doing my own bit of worshipping later."