Assumpta stared critically at the reflection in the full-length mirror, agonising over her appearance.
Her hair was a lost cause – that much was certain. Still damp from the rain, small curls were beginning to form on her crown. Why did she ever let that hairdresser talk her into having layers cut in?
Scrunching it up into a messy bun, she sighed and devoted her attention to her attire.
Tonight was the night, she'd decided. Tonight she would let Peter know just what he'd missed out on during those many near-encounters. She would seduce him – just as he'd seduced her with every agonizing touch, every look he'd given her in the past few years.
Last night's couch escapades had been the final straw. As much as she hated it, she was completely at his mercy. Her skin physically ached for his hands to be on it. Her mouth seemed to salivate every time he even looked like he wanted to kiss her.
And that wasn't the only thing…
Pulling herself together, Assumpta dug through her luggage for the black lacy two-piece she'd packed for such an occasion. Fingering the sheer material, she smiled as she imagined the expression on Peter's face if she came down the stairs wearing this. Wearing only this.
He would jump a mile.
No. Black lace would probably terrify the poor man and embarrass her in the process. Neither of them had the nerve to carry that off. So what could she wear instead?
"What to do… what to do?" she sighed to herself in the mirror. Then she had a brainwave. Forging the clothes in her bag, Assumpta crept into Peter's room and looked through his closet until she'd found what she was looking for.
Running her hands along the thick chequered material, the woman grinned happily.
Perfect.
When Assumpta descended the stairwell, wearing nothing but the Priest's favourite blue and green lumberjack shirt, Peter almost choked on his wine.
"Looks good on you," he eventually managed. Was she trying to kill him?
"Thanks," Assumpta replied candidly, allowing her bare shoulder to escape from the unbuttoned neck. "Maybe I'll keep it."
Peter shook his head and returned his focus to the fire. "I'm going to definitely want that back after you're done with it."
His companion smiled and took a nervous gulp of the Barolo he had set out for her. "The fire certainly is burning."
"What?" A flash of suggestion swept his face. "Oh, yeah. I think I may have over done the wood."
"You're telling me." Assumpta sat on the floor next to the inferno. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you were using up all of the firewood on purpose."
Peter smiled at the flames. "I could think of far better moves, Assumpta."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
The publican's cheeks burned. "Like?"
"That red wine for a start."
"Oh, so plying your women with drink. Is that a classic Clifford trick then?"
"One of them." He raised his eyebrows assuredly but his shaky voice gave him away.
"Got any others?"
The question hung in the ether for a moment until Peter answered, regretfully. "Priest."
Assumpta stared down at her wine dumbly. "Peter, you are a Priest."
"Am I?"
"Last time I looked." Her voice was small but full to the brim with sadness. Unhappy with the new direction this evening was taking, Assumpta left Peter's side and took her wine through to the kitchen.
"None of this is easy, Assumpta." Peter followed in after her.
"I wasn't assuming that it was."
"I'm really trying here."
Weaving past him, the publican buried her head in the open fridge and pulled out a random selection of vegetables. "I'm not disputing that."
"Then why are you being so hostile?"
"Me?" Realising she was pointing her chopping knife at the curate, Assumpta slammed it down angrily. "Why'd you have to go bring up the elephant in the room?"
"I'm still an ordained Priest whether I mention it or not…"
"I just thought –" she began before shaking her head and thinking better of it.
"What?"
Assumpta chopped an onion roughly, taking her frustration out on its layers of uneven flesh. "I thought that this week, things between us were going well."
"They were – they are!" he clarified. "But Assumpta, I can't make my decision based on this week alone."
Whether it was owing to the fumes from the onion, or the sincerity in Peter's voice, the publican felt hot tears threaten to spill.
"This is my whole life, we're talking about here…"
Her voice was small. "Mine too, you know."
"I know," he agreed seriously. "I know – I'm just saying, that it's easy to let our wants – our feelings – get the better of us."
"And what is it that you want?"
Peter considered her question carefully, trying desperately not to utter the first word that entered his head. "To do the right thing," he offered eventually.
"By who?"
"By you," he answered quickly before adding in a quiet voice, "and by the Church."
Assumpta rolled her eyes impatiently and tipped the chopped vegetables into a heated frying pan. "Well, that's not easy."
"I'm not saying it is. I'm just saying that's what I want."
"But it's not possible, Peter. I mean, you can't love us both –"
In that moment, the publican wished the ground would swallow her whole. "I'm sorry – that was stupid."
"No, it's not. You're completely right –"
"Still, it doesn't need to be said."
"I think it does. I think…." He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. "I think that you deserve so much more than this."
"Yeah, well…"
"Assumpta, look at you!" he allowed his eyes to at last fall on the tails of his shirt, which barely skimmed the tops if her legs. "You could have any man you wanted…"
"Except for the one that I can't." Assumpta bowed her head regretfully, squeezing her eyes shut to keep from mixing tears into the stir-fry.
They shared an uneasy silence following her last pronouncement. Peter hovered uncertainly by the stove, speculating – fearing – that he'd totally messed this up. Occasionally she'd shuffle past him, reaching for various ingredients and throwing them hastily into the pan.
As she travelled by again, he unconsciously reached out for her elbow. "Assumpta…"
"Peter, you don't have to –"
"For what it's worth, I don't, you know..." Peter interrupted fearfully. Was he really about to do this?
"You what?"
"Love you and the Church."
A wave of dread coursed through the publican. Cursing her stupidity at putting words in his mouth that she'd never even heard spoken, Assumpta attempted a nonchalant, "Oh, no?"
"No." Peter answered, moving gradually towards her. "I never knew how that was possible – loving two things so passionately at the same time. Parishioners would often come to me, admitting to the sin of adultery. I love them both – they would argue, but I could never once identify…"
By now Peter was achingly close to her, his fingers edging towards her hands.
"Because…" he closed his eyes and took a breath. "When I fell in love with you, I fell out of love with being a Priest almost immediately."
An errant tear now rolled firmly down Assumpta's cheekbone. "You fell in love with me?"
"I've fallen in love with you, Assumpta," he clarified. "Hard."
Peter edged towards her, an anxious smile emerging on his face. Tentatively, he ran a gentle hand through her hair, holding it briefly against her cheek before eventually finding her mouth with his own.
As Assumpta at last felt his lips against hers, the Priest's admission raced through her mind. He loved her?
He loved her.
How could something so exhilarating sound so depressing at the same time?
Pulling away, she mumbled. "Now I can't feel my legs."
Running a slow hand along the length of her outer thigh, her companion answered. "They're still there."
The air between them was thick with suggestion. As Peter leant in to kiss her again, Assumpta realised that they were heading ever so gradually to the kitchen surface.
Feeling her feet leave the floor, all the publican was aware of was the sensation of Peter's mouth falling agonizingly slowly against her neck; the buttons of his shirt gradually unfurling at her navel.
One press of her torso and Peter quickly realised that she was totally naked underneath his shirt.
He flinched as if he'd touched hot lava. Seriously, what was she trying to do to him?
But Assumpta wasn't going to let him get away that easily. Searching the pained expression in his eyes, the publican guided his hand back beneath the gap in her shirt.
Wordlessly, he complied, his heart threatening to beat from his chest at any given moment.
As soon as his warm hand found her breast, Peter let out a hungry sigh and immediately found her mouth again. He'd never felt something so soft before. It's delicious curve filled his hand completely as her nipple hardened against his palm.
Their kiss intensified. Assumpta ran her fingers through his shorn hair, pulling herself up along his torso as her legs entreated him further. There was no time for objections. No time for second-guesses. All that existed was the heat between them and the heat of the kitchen. The heat emanating from the stove…
Oh no.
"Peter, the frying pan!"
The curate immediately grabbed the thankfully wooden handle of the hissing pan, moving it off the heat. Its contents were carbon. Assumpta tried to repress a smile. "Oh well, dinner's done."
"I'd say so…"
The pair caught each other's gaze and shared a slightly hysterical laugh. Climbing down from the worktop, Assumpta discreetly buttoned up her shirt trying not to notice the look of disappointment on her companion's face. The moment had definitely passed.
In a bid to cut the tension, Peter reached for a packet of marshmallows. Handing them to Assumpta, he murmured weakly. "At least we still have the fire."
The publican returned the smile accordingly and tried to banish the nagging feeling that this is the only thing that they'll ever truly have.