Georg drove home, the city's chaos fading into the background as his mind remained fixed on one thing—Maria.
He still felt the heat of her against him, the softness of her lips, the way her hands had grasped at him. A thrill ran through him at the memory, and for the first time in what felt like years, he felt... happy.
As he approached the club, the warm glow of its lights spilling onto the street, two of the girls stepped out, laughing amongst themselves. Upon spotting him, one of them perked up.
"Georg! You're just in time—do you want to come watch Daniela practice for tonight's performance?"
He chuckled, shaking his head. "No thanks," he said, still smiling as he walked past them and up the stairs.
Once in his room, he closed the door behind him and exhaled. The day had started with turmoil, but now, something felt... different. Lighter.
His gaze lifted to the small cross above his door.
Thank you, he thought. Thank you for bringing Maria to me.
A quiet smile tugged at his lips.
Stepping out onto his balcony, he let the cool air wash over him, breathing in deeply. Vienna was still restless, but up here, he could find a moment of peace.
For the first time in a long time, it felt like the pieces of his life were falling back into place. And as he stood there, lost in thought, he smiled—because for once, the future didn't seem so bleak.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Meanwhile, at the convent, Maria paced around her small room, her heart still hammering in her chest.
She kissed Georg.
Even worse—she liked the way it felt.
She stopped mid-step, pressing a trembling hand against her lips as if to wipe away the lingering sensation. But it wouldn't leave. It was imprinted in her now, as vivid as the way his hands had held her, as deep as the warmth of his breath against her skin.
She turned sharply to the cross above her bed. "It all happened so suddenly," she whispered, her voice breaking.
She leaned against the small window, staring out into the darkened sky.
One moment, she had been searching for Max. The next—she had been in Georg's arms. In that moment, the world had felt like it was collapsing. Like the end of days had arrived, and there was nothing left but them.
Her fingers curled against the windowsill. What if the world really had been ending?
What if that was why she kissed him?
Slowly, she turned back to the cross, pressing her hands together. "I thought I was scared," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought... I thought that if everything was ending, I wouldn't have another chance."
A shuddering breath left her.
Her hands fell from each other, arms wrapping around herself instead.
Then, quieter, as if confessing to the walls themselves—"I've never felt my body before."
And yet, when she had been in Georg's arms—when his hands had pressed her so close—she had felt everything. Maria felt it not just in her heart but in her whole body.
She had kissed him before—chastely, once when they were younger—but the feelings she had now were nothing like before. They were too strong, too overwhelming. It was such a new sensation that she didn't know what to do with herself.
Her hands went to her postulant's veil, fingers trembling as she removed it. She felt strange, as if she had changed shape, as if something inside her had shifted.
The memory of Georg's tongue swiping against hers burned in her mind. As if trying to shake the feeling off, she reached for the ties of her habit, loosening them. Maybe if she removed it, she would feel lighter, but she didn't. If anything, she felt heavier. Her near nakedness caused something deep in her belly to stir—something she didn't recognize, something dangerous.
Maria turned toward the small mirror above her desk, searching her own reflection for answers. But the face staring back at her was unfamiliar—flushed cheeks, wide, frightened eyes.
Then, suddenly, her expression darkened.
What she had felt with Georg—it was too good. Too powerful. It couldn't not be a sin.
She shook her head, stepping back from the mirror, tears pricking at her eyes.
She didn't want to feel this anymore.
Spinning toward the cross on the wall, she fell to her knees beneath it. Hands clasped tightly together, she shut her eyes and whispered,
"Please, forgive me."
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Walking alongside a nun—Sister Margaretta, she calls herself—Max asked if Maria really hadn't come out of her room. He had come to the convent to see her, to apologize for not being able to meet her yesterday, and to ask what it was she'd wanted to speak to him about. Sister Margaretta sighed, shaking her head.
"She didn't even attend Mass today," the nun said. "She's been in seclusion since yesterday. Maria hasn't said a word, except in prayer."
Max frowned. "That doesn't sound like her."
"It isn't. It worries us all, knowing how jolly and carefree she usually is." The nun gave him a hopeful look. "Perhaps with you here, we can finally understand what's troubling her."
She led Max to the chapel, where Maria was kneeling quietly in the front pew, hands clasped around a rosary. At the sight, something in Max's chest tightened. He had known Maria to be many things—spirited, outspoken, ever restless—but never silent like this. The nun gave him a look before stepping away, leaving him by the doors. He lingered for a moment, then made his way toward her, careful not to startle her.
"Maria?"
She didn't move, nor did she acknowledge him. Max hesitated, then slowly lowered himself onto the pew beside her.
"I'm sorry I couldn't come yesterday," he said. "I had an urgent business in Ballhausplatz. But I'm here now. What's going on? You sounded so anxious on the phone."
Still, Maria said nothing. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached into her pocket, fingers fumbling for something. Max watched, concern deepening the lines on his forehead.
"Maria, what happened?"
She inhaled shakily. "I am doing penance."
At last, her hand emerged from her pocket, clutching an object. She turned to him and held it out. Max took it, frowning. It was another rosary.
He turned it over in his hands, confusion flickering in his eyes. Then realization dawned.
"You had it all along," he murmured. "Did you take this on the day of the exorcism?"
Maria bowed her head, tightening her grasp on her own rosary. "Please, Max. Will you return it to Georg for me?"
Max's frown deepened. "Why did you take it?"
She shook her head and rose abruptly from the pew, stepping away as if distance could sever the conversation. "I don't want to talk about it. Just give it back to him."
She turned to face the statue of Jesus near the altar, her back to Max. He hesitated, then slowly approached her.
"Maria," he said gently, "I'm your friend. You can talk to me."
She closed her eyes. "If you really are, then please... don't ask me anything. Not for my sake, but for the sake of our friendship."
Max stared at her for a long moment, then sighed in resignation. He turned and walked away, but not without a glance back. Pity settled in his chest. Maria was struggling with something, something she wasn't ready to face. It was obvious to him that she had difficulty understanding her feelings.
Max was about to leave when a thought struck him. He turned back. "Maria... Did you get involved with Georg?"
Maria's head snapped up, her expression suddenly fierce. "No!" she said, almost too quickly. "I can't be involved with anyone."
Max gave a small shrug. "Things we don't want to happen... happen anyway." He turned away, muttering mostly to himself, "So that was why."
Maria frowned. "Why what?"
Max sighed, slipping the rosary into his pocket. "Georg keeps asking about you."
Maria stiffened, fidgeting with her rosary. "I... I felt ashamed to return it," she admitted quietly. "After all the fuss he caused on the radio."
Her voice wavered, and suddenly, tears welled in her eyes. "Please, Max. Give it back to him. And never mention this to me again."
Max's heart ached at the sight of her distress. He reached out, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You can count on me," he said gently.
Maria turned back to the altar, her fingers tightening around her rosary. Max hesitated for a moment longer before finally stepping away, leaving her alone in the quiet sanctuary of the chapel.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
The Edelweiss was alive with music and laughter, a stark contrast to the quiet, heavy atmosphere Max had left behind at the convent. As he wove through the bustling club, he spotted Georg at the bar, a glass in hand, grinning at something one of the girls had said.
Max clapped a hand on Georg's back. "Enjoying yourself, I see."
Georg turned, his grin widening. "Max! Finally decided to join the fun?"
Max slid onto the stool beside him, studying his friend. There was a lightness in Georg's expression, something warm and settled. What a contrast, Max thought, remembering Maria's tear-streaked face just hours ago. He had left one friend broken and came to another who seemed whole. But how much of it was real?
Georg lifted his drink. "What brings you here?"
Max hesitated only a moment before reaching into his suit pocket. "I was asked to deliver something."
Georg raised a brow. "Oh? And what might that be?"
Max didn't answer, simply opened his palm. There, gleaming under the low lights of the club, was Georg's rosary.
Georg froze. His smile faded, his gaze locked onto the beads as if he were seeing a ghost. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against them before he took them from Max's hand, holding them with a reverence that surprised even Max.
Georg turned to him, voice quieter now. "Maria?"
Max didn't need to say anything. He just nodded.
A shadow passed over Georg's face. His fingers curled around the rosary, his grip tightening as if afraid it might vanish. His brows furrowed deeply, his mind racing.
"You knew, didn't you?" Georg's voice was low, edged with something unreadable.
Max shook his head. "I swear I didn't. When she gave it to me, I was just as surprised as you are now."
Georg exhaled sharply through his nose, his thumb running over the familiar beads.
Max studied him, curiosity burning at the edges of his thoughts. Just what had gone on between them? And why did he have the feeling that this—this tiny, fragile moment—was far more important than Georg was letting on?
Georg gestured for Max to follow him, leading the way out of the club's doors and into a quieter corridor. The heavy bass of the music faded behind them, replaced by the muffled commotion from outside. Max glanced toward the sound, sighing. Either Marie, Big Boy, or both were causing trouble again.
The two men walked in silence, their footsteps echoing against the marble floors. The air here was different—quieter, heavier. Less charged with the frantic energy of the club, more burdened with something unspoken.
"Maria never told me anything," Georg said at last as he led them up to his office. His voice was steady, but there was something in his tone.
Max studied him. "Seems like Maria's not the only one keeping quiet." He slipped his hands into his pockets, watching his friend closely. "Did the two of you talk?"
Georg didn't answer. Instead, he pushed open the door to his office, stepping inside without another word. Max followed, his curiosity sharpening.
Georg walked toward the large mahogany desk but didn't sit. He hovered for a moment, fingers grazing the edge of the desk as if steadying himself. Then, finally, he spoke.
"Did she say anything else?"
Max exhaled, tired of this game. "I already told you—no. She only asked me to bring the rosary back."
Georg gave a slow nod, though his expression remained guarded. He motioned for Max to sit before lowering himself into the chair behind the desk.
For a long moment, neither man spoke. Then Georg leaned forward, clasping his hands together, his voice quieter this time. "A fortune teller once told me I'd lose something precious to me... and that the woman destined to be my partner would find it and return it."
Max arched his brow. "You?" He let out a dry chuckle. "Didn't take you for a man who believed in fortune tellers."
Georg exhaled, rubbing his temple. "I didn't believe it at first," he admitted. "But too many coincidences keep happening for me to ignore it."
Max leaned back, skeptical but intrigued. Before he could press further, Georg suddenly stood.
"What time is it?"
Max glanced toward the window—outside, the sky was inky black. "Late."
Georg's jaw tightened. "Is the convent still open?"
Max frowned. "Not at this hour. Why?"
Georg let out a slow, frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. "I need to talk to Maria."
There was an urgency in his tone that made Max hesitate. His friend looked eager—too eager.
"Did something happen between you two?" Max asked, his voice careful.
Georg turned to face him fully, stepping closer. His expression was confident, assured. "I know Maria's in love with me."
Max blinked, taken aback. "And you know this... how?"
Georg lifted the rosary between his fingers. "This is the sign."
Max hesitated. He had seen Georg broken before—shattered beyond recognition. He didn't want to see him like that again.
Georg gripped Max's shoulder. "I kissed her yesterday." His voice was quiet, almost breathless. "I'm telling you this because I know Maria will tell you."
Max exhaled slowly, his mind whirring. Georg looked almost elated, as if the mere thought of Maria could lift him from the shadows of his past. But Max had seen Maria, too. He had seen the turmoil in her, the way she seemed to be battling something within herself.
Georg's voice cut through his thoughts, steady and unwavering. "I just know something good is going to happen in my life."
Max rubbed his eyes, already feeling the weight of what was to come. Then Georg said something that made him freeze.
"What do I need to do to make her leave the nunnery and marry me?"
Max turned sharply, staring at his friend as if he'd lost his mind. Georg had always been a man of strategy, of careful calculation. Yet here he was, speaking as though none of that mattered anymore.
"It wouldn't be difficult, right?" Georg continued, his tone almost casual. "Maria hasn't taken her vows yet."
"Marry?" Max repeated, as if he hadn't heard correctly.
Georg nodded, entirely certain.
Max averted his gaze away from his friend, exhaling sharply.
This was worse than he thought.