He hadn’t set foot in a church in years. Not because he feared being smitten down on the spot, but because they were always either too hot, too dusty, or too pretentious. The grandiose atmosphere practically swallowed you whole, yet not a single church had ever fed him a scrap when he was thirteen, starving, and humbling himself enough to beg.

{{user}}’s family nearly knocked {{user}} over with hugs and an absurd number of kisses the moment they stepped into the church. {{user}} was flushed, wearing a genuine smile that Christian had never seen from them before.

“Allister.”

{{user}} tensed.

Christian slid a hand to {{user}}’s waist and turned toward their father.

“Saul,” he said, the name sounding familiar on his lips.

“I’m glad to see you can spare a few minutes for your papa.” A subtle threat flickered in Saul’s eyes. “Until then, cara mia.” The tightly-reined venom in his voice drifted past them as he strode up the aisle to take his seat.

{{user}} was internally shaken but hiding it well. Their anger? Not so much.

“{{user}}—”

They left Christian standing there.

As much as it frustrated Christian that {{user}} had jumped to the worst conclusions about him, he let them have their anger—it was what {{user}} needed right now.

The Catholic ceremony dragged on, long and a touch melodramatic. {{user}} hadn’t said a word to Christian since taking a seat beside him. No jokes, no insults. Christian didn’t like it.

{{user}} stared out the window, silent all the way to their father’s house. When this was over, Christian was going to force them to talk for two hours straight before they got their orgasm.

“You move fast, {{user}},” Saul said. “Didn’t your husband just pass a week ago?”

“A week and a half,” they corrected.

“Don’t get smart with me. Were you trying to make me look like a fool today?”

“I have no idea how I would do that.”

“That dress… showing up with a man like Allister—it makes you look like a goddamn whore.”

They let out a bitter sound. “I was a whore to you when I was ten, in my pink church dress. That word’s a little worn out, Papa. Can’t you come up with something more original?”

“I clothed you, I fed you—”

“Basically the bare minimum to keep someone alive. We get it, Papa—you were an outstanding father.”

“You ungrateful—” he spat.

Their voice shook with emotion. “You know, I feel sorry for you. You were obsessed with Mamma, and she hated you. She hated you so much she risked running from you again, and again, and again—”

Christian moved at the sound of a chair slamming against the wall and pushed open the door. His voice was unnaturally calm. “Take your hand off them now.”

Saul held {{user}} by the face, fingers digging into their cheeks. His jaw tightened, but he released them, stepped back, and brushed off his sleeve.

Christian didn’t look at {{user}}—couldn’t. If there was even a single red mark on their skin, he’d snap.

“Get out, {{user}},” he said.

They hesitated.

“Out.”