CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 56

EZRA

The air still smelled like rain and crushed grass when Dorian finally helped me stand.

Bad idea.

My knees gave out instantly.

“Whoa,” he caught me before I face-planted, one arm looping under my legs.

“I can walk,” I said weakly.

He raised an eyebrow. “You just tried. Results were… questionable.”

I groaned. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Maybe a little.”

He adjusted me easily—like I weighed nothing—and started back toward the mansion. My face was buried in his shoulder, trying not to think about how warm he was or how my legs felt like overcooked noodles.

“I told you not to run,” he murmured.

“I wasn’t running, I was—”

“Falling gracefully?”

I smacked his shoulder. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious.”

He was still laughing when we reached the edge of the property. My ankle throbbed harder with every step. I hissed in pain.

“Almost there,” he said, voice soft now. “You’re okay.”

Except we weren’t.

Because as soon as he stepped into the hallway, Genevieve appeared like some kind of Victorian ghost with perfect posture.

“Father Dorian?” Her accent could slice glass. “What is the meaning of this?”

I froze in his arms.

She looked between us—me, disheveled and red-faced; him, sweaty.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

“I—he—uh—”

Dorian didn’t even flinch. “I found Ezra outside, struggling to walk. Seems he twisted his ankle.”

Her sharp eyes narrowed. “Twisted his ankle?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said smoothly. “He fell. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

Her gaze dropped to my foot. The swelling was already visible.

“Oh, heavens.” Her expression softened, slightly. “It does look painful. I’ll fetch ointment and a bandage.”

“It’s late,” Dorian said quickly. “You should rest. I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you sure, Father?”

“Completely.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Very well. But do see that he elevates it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As soon as she walked away, we both exhaled at the same time.

“Oh my God,” I muttered.

“That was not funny. She almost caught us.”

He smirked. “Caught us doing what? You falling into bushes?”

I glared. “You know exactly what I mean.”

His eyes glinted with amusement. “Relax, choir boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” I hissed, hitting his chest.

He carried me down the hall, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You’re lucky she didn’t ask more questions.”

“She was seconds away from calling the police.”

“She’s British, not dramatic.”

“She’s both.”

That earned a real laugh from him, low and rumbling.

By the time we got to our room, I couldn’t hold it anymore—I started laughing too. It came out of nowhere, bubbling up until my sides hurt.

“Stop—my ankle—” I wheezed.

“You’re laughing now?”

“It’s the pain. It’s making me delirious.”

He set me gently on the bed and crouched down. “Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

He gave me the priest look—the one that meant don’t argue with me.

I sighed, propping my leg up. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

His fingers brushed my ankle lightly, checking for the swelling. The warmth of his touch shot straight through me. I pretended to look away, focusing on the nightstand instead of the veins on his forearm.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Maybe you should stop existing then.”

He glanced up, eyes amused. “You first.”

I threw a pillow at him. He caught it midair, smirking.

“Don’t make me laugh, Father.”

“Dorian.”

“Right. Dorian.” My voice came out softer than I meant it to.

He started wrapping my ankle gently, the room quiet except for our breathing. I watched him work—focused, careful, as if fixing a broken limb was part of his priestly duties.

When he finished, he looked up. “There. Try not to injure yourself in the next twenty-four hours.”

“No promises.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Silence stretched between us again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. Just… full. Warm.

Then I said, “You realize if Genevieve comes back, she’s going to interrogate both of us?”

He smiled faintly. “Then we’d better make sure our stories match.”

“Our story being that I ‘fell.’”

“Exactly.”

“And not that I—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he warned, though his lips curved.

We stared at each other for a long moment—me sitting there like a mess, him kneeling in front of me, both of us trying not to laugh again.

Finally, I said, “We’re terrible people.”

“Undeniably.”

I grinned. “At least we’re terrible together.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Go to sleep, Ezra.”

“Fine, Father.”

“Dorian.”

“Right. Dorian.”

He stood, flicked off the lamp, and the room sank into quiet darkness.

But even as I lay there pretending to sleep, I could still hear him moving around the room—and feel that stupid, giddy smile I couldn’t get rid of.