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Chapter 728:
June looked down at him. At this man on his knees, his face wet with tears or dew or both, his hand on her leg, his heart in his words, absolutely, terrifyingly exposed.
“You’re a monster,” she whispered.
“Yes.” He didn’t flinch. “But I’m your monster. And I always will be p>
The walk to the refectory took ten minutes. Crawford carried her the entire way, ignoring her protests, her attempts to hop, her absolute refusal to acknowledge the intimacy of their position.
He had wiped his face before they left the well. Composed himself. Slipped back into the role of concerned philanthropist, generous donor, perfectly normal man doing perfectly normal things for perfectly normal reasons.
June hated him for it. Hated herself more for the part of her that understood—that recognized the performance because she performed it too, every day, in every interaction that required her to be less than she was.
The refectory was a long, open room—stone walls and oak beams, tables set with simple pottery and the particular humility of a place that had never needed to impress. The novice—Brother Michael, he had introduced himself—led them to a table near the center, in full view of the room, in full view of the entrance.
𝗧𝗵о𝘶𝗌𝖺𝗻d𝘴 𝗈𝗳 𝗿𝗲𝖺𝖽𝗲𝗿𝗌 о𝘯
“Brother Thomas will join you shortly,” he said. “He’s just finishing morning prayers p>
“Thank you.” Crawford settled June onto the bench with a care that was itself a performance, arranging her injured leg on the seat beside her, his jacket folded beneath it as a cushion. “And please—” he reached for his wallet, withdrew a check, “—accept this contribution to the restoration fund. The stonework on the chapel is extraordinary. It deserves to be preserved p>
Brother Michael’s eyes widened at the amount. Fifty thousand dollars, June saw—casually offered, casually received, the transaction of a man who had never needed to count.
“God bless you,” the novice breathed, and retreated with the check clutched in his hand like a holy relic.
“Buying your way into heaven?” June asked.
“Buying privacy.” Crawford settled onto the bench beside her, close enough that his thigh pressed against her hip, that she could feel the heat of him through her jeans. “Brother Thomas will ensure we’re not disturbed. It’s the least he can do for a donor of—” he checked his watch, “—fifty thousand dollars and seventeen minutes of my time p>
“Your time isn’t worth that much p>
“On the contrary.” He reached for the water pitcher, filled her glass, then his own. “My time is worth exactly what I’m willing to charge for it. And right now—” he raised his glass and touched it to hers, “—right now, I’m willing to spend every minute I have, at any price, in your company p>
June didn’t drink. She looked at the water, clear and still, and thought of the well, of her name locked to his, of the permanence of a gesture she hadn’t authorized and couldn’t erase.