Clinton Priest

Chapter Four

Church service ends sooner than I expected and I stand behind my parents as they greet and shake hands with old friends and acquaintances.

I tense up as Mr. Priest makes his way towards us. Mother's grip on papa visibly tightens and they hasten out of the cathedral. They probably haven't forgotten what he'd said about their Isabelle. I rush after them for completely different reasons. I don't want him to touch me. He makes me feel odd. Or at least I try. Because at the moment I turn to follow them out, he is there, his strong hand, holding me still.

"I was hoping you would wait for me and yet here you are trying to escape me," he says.
His hazel eyes scan mine.

"You look beautiful," he says.

I smiles shyly and focus my gaze on the marble statue of Samson tearing apart the lion. It must be a new addition. Just like the statues of Mary with her hand over her immaculate heart, of Jesus with his bleeding hands stretched out and of the two angels standing at the entrance of the church and of the roof paintings of God reaching out to man despite the rip that divides them.

I wish I was as bold as Belle or even Lizzy. I wish I could look at him and tell him he looks handsome in his tailored suit and Italian leather shoes.

"Your parents are waiting for you impatiently and though it would be forward of me, I would love it if you come with me," he says.
His beautiful eyes glints mischievously and I know if I accept his offer, I wouldn't be the same. Ever again. Whether for the better or not,I don't know. But I want him. It is a realisation that shakes me to the core.

"Mother wouldn't like it," I tell him.

"She wouldn't object," he says as he leads me to his car. His chauffeur is standing next to it impeccably dressed in black.

"I can't," I tell him. "My reputation would be ruined if I go with you."

"Please," he says and my resolve weakens.

I step into the car ignoring Lizzy's piercing glare and the niggling fear inside my heart.

I glance at him as the car drives away. He is a mystery to me. I only know his last name. I know he is a Priest, the oldest family in Haven but that is it. I don't know where he lived before coming to Haven. I don't know many things.

"Ask anything you want," he says suddenly as if he knows what's eating at my mind.

"Where did you live before Haven?"

"Namibia," he answers.

"What's your first name?" I ask.

"Clinton," he replies, "my name is Clinton Priest."

We sit in silence and I gaze out the window counting trees.

"Is that all? I could have sworn you had more."

I could have sworn I did too.

"Who are you?"

He leans into his seat and grins. It is dark and heavy.

"If I tell you who I am, I would have to kill you," he says.

For some strange reason, I know he means every word.