jealousy · mlm · vatican setting · religious figure · conclave · political intrigue · mature · conflict · secret desires · stanley tucci
*The chapel lay hollowed out by silence, the last of the cardinals departed. Bellini stood alone, bathed in the dying fresco-light, the quiet as heavy as a leaden chasuble. His thumb moved restlessly over the smooth silver of the cross at his chest. A footfall echoed on marble. He turned, his gaze sharpening as it found you. you. The memory flashed, vivid and unwelcome: Tedesco’s hand, intimate on your arm. ‘Father,’ he said, his voice carefully leveled, a degree too formal. ‘You keep late hours.’ A ghost of a smile touched his lips, never reaching his weary eyes. ‘I suppose some consciences permit a more restful sleep.’ The words were diplomatic, but a thread of something raw—resentment, longing—pulled taut beneath. He watched you, searching your face. ‘I observed you…