It was in her voice, he'd decided.

The soft syllables that she articulated as definitively as the harsh. Her accent… Peter blushed involuntarily. How many waking hours did he imagine that he heard Assumpta's Irish inflection willing him off to sleep?

His mind wandered to the other sounds he'd so recently heard her make…

"I want to feel you."

The sighs… the breaths, hot on his collar and intoxicating to his senses.

"I want you to touch me."

Peter felt his stomach muscles tighten.

He glanced down at the hand that not twelve hours earlier was caressing her breast. He balled it into a fist to keep the ache from emanating.

"We have to stop."

His eyes snapped open.

"We have to stop." Assumpta's words from the previous night seemed to echo around the room. But of course, they were.

"This isn't right, Randolph. I have a husband. A life…"

Peter watched from his Director's chair as his players paced the set. Liam still looked hopelessly lost in the main role of Randolph Doryan, but Assumpta… Assumpta. She seemed to come alive on the stage.

"I want to be good."

The conviction with which she delivered the speech jarred with Peter. It was convincing – beyond convincing. He wondered for a second if the line was delivered directly to him. Her eyes certainly lingered for far too long on the curate as she spoke them.

I want to be good.

His empathy was palpable.

But the way she spoke those words… the way she enunciate every syllable made his stomach tie into knots. It was coquettish, even – her yearning to be good when her actions were anything but.

It was in this moment that Peter decided that he was going to kiss her. As soon as rehearsal was over. As soon as he could. He leaned forward in his chair as if sheer proximity to the publican would hasten this outcome.

But then it occurred to him – he was the Director. He called the shots. Before the thought had even properly formed in his head, Peter heard himself call out "We have to stop…" to a room of confused parishioners.

Trying his best to ignore the Freudian-slip, he uttered again, "We have to stop," followed by a muted thanks to everyone for a great rehearsal.

Gradually – too gradually – the players began to pack up. Padraig made a beeline for the curate, deterred by the Church's revisions to the script but Peter managed to escape backstage, just one thought coursing through his mind –

He had to kiss her.

He had to kiss her.

But still, his progress was hampered by the sea of wandering parishioners, who seemed only to exist in order to impede his path.

Infuriatingly, he could only catch a glimpse of the publican through the chaos – a flash of her dress; the top of her head – until, like the Red Sea, the crowds parted and he saw her.

But she wasn't alone.

Enda was hovering next to Assumpta as she was deep in conversation with Niamh.

Peter searched his mind for reasons why he would be there. Enda was no longer part of the production… unless he'd moved backstage? He had no friends in the play, least of all the publican –

But then Peter saw it…

Enda's hand on the small of Assumpta's back.

Idly, his fingers traced circles through the material of her dress as it belonged there – as if Enda belonged.

A searing panic swept through Peter when he realised that Assumpta wasn't stopping him. If anything, she seemed to relish the intimacy – her head leaning imperceptibly on the former rock stars shoulder. Her eyes dancing as he spoke.

This fresh cruelty dealt another blow as the pair seemed to exit the hall together, their hands entwined as they stepped into the night.

From nowhere, a voice in Peter's ear told him "They make a strong pair, don't they?"

Too crestfallen to turn, or even question why his Parish Priest was there, the curate could only nod as Father Mac continued. "I don't suppose he's Catholic, though. Oh well, you can't have everything…"

As mysteriously as he'd arrived, Father MacAnally left, appearing it would seem, only to ensure that his younger curate had witnessed Assumpta's departure.

Peter was too distracted to take any notice, however. All he saw was the backstage door and all that lay behind it, and all he felt was his heart pounding excruciatingly against his chest.

Broken.