Eyes On The Pastor

Transcript

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CHAPTER eleven Eyes On the Pastor Elise couldn't sleep. The accolades from the night before still rang in her ears, but they felt distant. Like echoes in a cathedral she'd long since outgrown. She rolled over in the bed, Malik's deep, steady breathing just feet away in the guest suite next door. Her phone lit up. That moment is still on my mind. Amara She stared at it, her thumb hovering over the screen, but she didn't reply. Instead, she tucked the phone beneath the pillow and climbed out of bed, wrapping herself in the silk robe left by the hotel concierge. The marble floors were cool against her feet as she padded to the balcony. The stars above Portugal blinked like whispered secrets. Malik joined her not long after. He brought two glasses and a bottle of rare dessert wine, sweet and warm, like the way he touched her shoulder when he passed her one. I had this ship ahead, he said, smiling. Wanted to surprise you. She was genuinely touched. You remembered I liked this? I remember everything you say when you're not trying to impress someone. Elise raised her glass. That's dangerously romantic. They sipped quietly for a few minutes. Then he asked gently, what's still holding us back? Elise didn't flinch. I need someone who can protect me in life, she said, turning to him. But also someone who can hold space for the parts of me that don't fit in a pulpit. I like moments that don't feel like church, Malik. I need freedom. A little danger sometimes. Define danger, he teased, but there was a quiet edge to it. I'm still discovering it, she said. But if I let you in, can you handle it? He set his glass down. Elise, I'm not some boy hoping to earn points. I'm a grown man. If you want to show me your world, I'll walk it with you. She smiled. Okay, then. Let's see. They kissed, soft at first, then lingering. Then she pulled back, took her phone, and finally responded to Amara's message. You don't have to survive off that memory. You can see it live. Room eight, two four, door unlocked. Come alone. Just sit in the chair. Nothing else. Midnight. She didn't wait for a response. The lights were low, candles flickered. The city hummed below them, indifferent. Elise stood in the center of the suite, her silk robe now exchanged for black lingerie and a bold red lip. She didn't say a word as Malik entered. He was already breathless. He'd been hoping for this. She led him to the chair by the window. Sit, she said. He obeyed. From the balcony door behind them the handle turned quietly. Amara entered without a word. She was alone, dressed in all black, lips pressed together, eyes wide with restraint. She walked to the designated chair and sat down, just as instructed. Malik noticed her. His mouth opened, but Elise caught it, her finger to her lips. Don't ruin the moment, she whispered, and she climbed into Malik's lap. He was stunned, but consumed. Her hands gripped his shoulders as she straddled him, her feet still firmly planted on the floor. She rocked slowly, deliberately, building tension rather than chasing release. Malik's breath was labored, his hands instinctively moving to her hips, but she grabbed his wrists and held them to the chair. She was leading. Then with one fluid shift, she lifted herself, placing her feet on the edges of the chair beside him, balancing like a dancer, riding like a woman who knew the power of her own rhythm. Malik let out a sound that wasn't a moan or a gasp, but something raw, guttural, something from the part of him he'd never shown anyone. And Amara? She didn't blink. She didn't shift. She watched, every movement. Her breathing grew shallow, her thighs pressed together. She squirmed in her chair, but never broke her gaze. She wanted to join. It was obvious. But Elise never invited her. It was forbidden. This moment belonged to Elise, all of it, the pleasure, the authority, the audience, the man. Amara said nothing. She sat as still as the candle flames, but her eyes never left Elise. Elise knew. She felt it. Something primal awakened in her, the power, the awareness, the freedom. She wasn't acting anymore. She was revealing, and Amara watching. It made everything electric. When it was over, Elise didn't speak. She kissed Malik long and slow. He was dazed, undone. Amara stood quietly, gave a small nod, and let herself out. As the door clicked shut behind her, Malik looked up. What the hell just happened? he whispered. Elise curled into him. Something unorthodox, she breathed. But something I needed. And in true Elise fashion she never failed to captivate. The final church banquet was a dream on paper. Chandeliers shimmered over polished silverware. The string quartet played selections curated to impress. Elise stood beside Malik in a rich navy gown, their presence magnetic. They looked perfect, too perfect. She kept her posture straight, her smile polite, but there was a quiet tug at her thoughts, a weight behind her eyes she couldn't blink away. She was smiling through a fog, laughing on cue. Even Malik noticed. You okay? he whispered, brushing his knuckles gently down her spine. Elise turned slightly. Mm-hmm. Just a lot of faces. I'm fine. But she wasn't. Afterward, Malik was invited to a networking dinner with international delegates. Elise declined. You go ahead, she told him, pecking his cheek. I think I need stillness tonight. Stillness led her through the cobblestone alleys of the old town, unhurried, no real destination. That's when she saw the bookshop cafe with the flickering lanterns and deep green awning. She stepped inside instinctively. That's when she saw her. Amara sat alone in a dim corner booth with a cup of tea and a book splayed across one hand. Her cardigan was falling slightly off one shoulder, glasses slipping down her nose, and she looked miles away in thought. Elise paused, just long enough for her shadow to catch the woman's attention. Amara looked up, startled. Elise didn't mean to sneak up on you. Are you here alone? I needed air. Amara nodded, the tension folding softly around her mouth. Elise approached but didn't sit. I didn't know you'd be here. I didn't either, Amara said truthfully. I was just walking, found this place. You were alone this morning too. Amara lowered her cup. You noticed. I notice a lot. There was silence again. This one less tense, more like an inhale that neither woman could release. I owe you an apology, Amara said suddenly. For that text I sent the other day. It was impulsive. Elise crossed her arm still standing. Then why send it at all? Amara hesitated. Her eyes flickered down at the table, then back up, because it was honest. But honesty doesn't always belong in the conversation. That's your therapist's answer, Elise replied, voice low. What's your human one? Amara leaned back in her chair. The human answer is that I felt something, and I didn't know what to do with it. So I did too much, and not enough. Elise exhaled softly. Her posture loosened just slightly. Then she said, It was electric. Amara's brows lifted. Elise wasn't done. It was magnetic. Dangerous. A fuse lit in the dark. I felt like myself and more than myself all at once. It was never about just you or just him. It was about what the moment made us all feel. A silence cracked open. But that's it, Elise added, lowering her gaze. I don't have room for anything else. Across the table Amara blinked once, then again. Elise watched her closely, and saw something shift, subtle, but distinct, like a heart that had been fluttering, suddenly holding its breath. Well, Amara said swallowing, no need for me to continue to express anything then, huh? Elise's voice softened. You're free to say what's on your mind. Amara tilted her head, lips pressed together. I wanted more. The confession hung in the air like incense, fragrant and impossible to ignore. Elise didn't flinch. More like what? Amara's eyes flickered. Anything beyond watching. The breath caught in Elise's throat. Her fingers tensed around the velvet pouch she was still holding from the last session. Slowly she set it down. What makes you think I'm capable of giving that? I don't, Amara admitted, but I wanted to ask before I stopped wondering. Elise stared at her for a long time, not in judgment, but with something closer to sorrow or awe. She didn't have the language yet, but something about being wanted in a way she didn't expect made her feel both powerful and haunted. I can't offer more, Elise said finally. Not without wrecking, so let me say this. I don't like women. I like being watched. Amara gave the smallest of nods. Then she reached for her tea again, holding it like an anchor. There was no outburst, no demand, just the slow ache of something beautiful being left unnamed. Elise stepped back, her hand already on the strap of her bag. Enjoy your book. You too, Amara whispered. Elise turned, walked past the shelves, and stepped out into the Portuguese night, unaware that everything was already in motion. With another successful event behind him, Malik now sat alone on the villa balcony, drink in hand, watching the sun drag itself beneath the Atlantic when his phone buzzed. A facetime call from his mother. He hesitated, then answered. Hey, Ma, he said, forcing a smile. His mother's elegant face appeared on screen, framed by pearl earrings and perfectly laid edges. His father leaned in from the background, quiet, observant. Hey, son, she said, skipping the pleasantries. Is this a good time? Sure, he said, already knowing it wasn't small talk. She glanced at something off screen, likely the tablet opened to a news feed. So you're trending again. Malik exhaled through his nose. It's just noise. Noise turns into narrative if you don't steer it. His father cleared his throat. We've seen the footage from Portugal. You and this preacher girl. What's her name again? Elise. Right, Bishop Montgomery's daughter, his mother cut in. She's beautiful, powerful, complicated. Yeah, I know. She leaned forward. You sure you do? Her voice softened, but the weight of it landed. This woman will either crown you or crucify you. Are you sure? Malik looked away toward the ocean, then back at the screen. She's not what people think, though, he said guarded. But she's real, and I've never seen anyone carry this much and still walk like she does. His father gave a low hum of consideration. His mother's eyes didn't blink. She's not just walking, she said. She's ascending. And if you're beside her when she gets there, the whole world will see you. But if she slips she won't, Malik said, almost too quickly. There was a long pause. His mother nodded. Then I hope you're not just standing beside her. I hope you're ready to carry her if she falls. The call ended with the usual formalities, but Malik sat in the silence long after the screen went black. He tilted his head back, eyes closed, letting the ocean breeze push against the tightness in his chest. Then his phone buzzed again. An email. Subject line. You deserve to know the truth. No body text. Just an attachment. He hesitated, then tapped. The video opened. It was them, in Elise's home, her bedroom. The lighting was soft and intentional, like it had been planned. Malik recognized the moment instantly. Her silk robe, his hands on her hips, the breathless exchange that had started with the roses and wine. He had known she was recording. She told him what she hadn't told him was that someone else had been watching. There, right in the middle of their most intimate moment, he saw it. The green bubble in the corner, FaceTime. And Elise, looking directly into the camera, holding it, performing for it. His stomach dropped. She knew. He watched his own body move on the screen, uninhibited, completely present, never realizing someone else was virtually there, watching in real time. His pulse pounded in his ears as he scrubbed back through the video and looked again. The call hadn't been accidental, or if it had, she hadn't stopped it, hadn't even mentioned it. He stared at the screen, jaw tight, fury building behind his rib cage. Malik stared at it for a long moment, chest rising and falling like the tide in front of him. Then he stood, grabbed his room key, and headed down the hall toward Elise's suite, each step heavier than the last. Elise's suite was down the hall, and tonight she would answer for this. Elise opened the door to her suite and stopped short. Malik was already inside. He sat in the velvet armchair by the window, a half empty glass of wine in his hand, her iPad resting on the coffee table in front of him. He didn't look up right away, just stared out at the night through the parted curtains. The silence in the room pressed against her like heat. Where were you? He finally asked, eyes still fixed on the city beyond the glass. Just walking, needed air. Elise stood against the glass balcony door, arms crossed, waiting for the storm to land. Malik stood suddenly, his posture tense, the light from her dimmed chandelier casting fractured shadows across his face. His voice was steady, too steady. You want to tell me what I just watched? She didn't flinch. I won't lie, that was me. He ran his hand down his face, stopping at his mouth. You said it was just a recording for you and me. But that wasn't a recording, that was a damn broadcast. I didn't know it answered a FaceTime, she said calmly. The Bluetooth remote must have he cut her off. You're looking directly in the camera. So when you noticed why didn't you end the call? Elise hesitated, then softly. Because I liked it. He stared at her like he didn't recognize her anymore. This, she continued, is what I meant when I said I needed someone who could handle me. I didn't know I was into it until it happened. But once it did, I understood, and I wasn't ashamed. Malik paced once, twice, then turned back to her. You should have told me. I had just found out myself, she said. And you asked what was in our way? This is it. I need a husband who can stand beside me and not shrink. He nodded silent. There's more, he said. The video was sent from your iCloud. Someone emailed it. The church administrator was C C'd, and the message has already been opened by four people. The room filled with a heavy pause. She expected him to walk away, to pull out his phone and draft a press release, but instead he stepped into the hallway and she followed. Wait, she said in a tone that foreshadowed losing something. He turned to face her. I started this as a chess move, Elise. You know that. I was your mamma's pawn. I said yes because it was good business, for me, for my family. She nodded. She knew. But somewhere between the chess board and the chapel, I fell for you, Elise. The real you, not the curated woman the church loves, not the heir to the pulpit. You her eyes softened, surprised. So now that the board wants a scandal, he said, reaching into his coat pocket, let's give them a headline they can't control. He dropped to one knee. Elise's breath caught. He pulled out a sleek black box, not traditional, not flashy. Inside was a vintage emerald ring with gold trim, elegant and bold. Elise Montgomery, let's turn this fire into something sacred. Marry me. Tears welled in her eyes, not because she was overwhelmed, but because for once she didn't feel alone in the burning. She nodded. Yes. Malik stood and kissed her, deep and grateful, as if sealing a covenant. What they didn't know was that a photographer from the banquet, still loitering in the hallway, captured it all. The kneel, the ring, the kiss, a whispered yes between two public figures at the center of a holy scandal. By morning, the photo would be everywhere. The bishop's daughter says yes in Portugal. Charisma news featured story, and just like that a proposal became a shield, a scandal became a strategy, and a woman once split between duty and desire finally chose both. You've just listened to chapter 11 of the Bishop's Daughter by Lee Franklin. Thank you for listening.