“My sister worries about me. Says I need someone in my life besides her and my work.”
“She sounds wise.” I hesitate, then add, “I’ve often thought therequirement of celibacy is the Church’s cruellest tradition. To deny human connection to those who need it most.”
Matteo studies me with new interest. “That sounds like heresy, Your Holiness.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s simply honesty.”
“And what about you, Marco? Do you feel the absence of… connection?”
The use of my given name, spoken softly in the night-quiet library, breaks something loose inside me. “I’ve never known anything else. The seminary, then my rapid rise through the Church… there was never time or opportunity to explore what I might have wanted.”
“What do you want?” Matteo’s voice drops lower, his eyes never leaving mine.
The question hangs between us, dangerous and tempting. I turn away, moving back to the desk and shuffling papers aimlessly. “What I want doesn’t matter. I have responsibilities that transcend personal desires.”
“Bullshit.”
I look up, startled by his vehemence.
“With respect, Marco, that’s complete bullshit.” Matteo follows me, standing too close. “We’re dismantling a corrupt system that’s existed for centuries. We’re risking our lives to rebuild something better. If we can’t be honest about who we are, what’s the point?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It never is.” Matteo’s hand comes to rest beside mine on the desk, our little fingers nearly touching. “But I’ve spent my entire adult life hiding parts of myself to survive in politics. I’m tired of it.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “What parts have you hidden?”
“You know what I’m talking about.” His eyes challenge me. “You’ve read my file. Your intelligence is as good as mine.”
“I… yes.” I swallow hard. “But there’s a difference between knowing facts and understanding a person.”
“Then understand this: I’m gay, Marco. It’s not a secret, but it’s not something I advertise either. And I’ve spent the last month wondering if I’m imagining the way you look at me.”
The world seems to stop. Blood rushes in my ears. “Matteo, I—”
“If I’m wrong, tell me now, and we’ll never speak of this again.”
I can’t form words. The truth I’ve buried so deeply for so long claws at my throat, demanding release.
“I’ve never…” I start, then falter. “I’ve never allowed myself to acknowledge what I feel. For anyone.”
Matteo’s expression softens. “Never?”
I shake my head, shame and relief warring within me. “The Church was my sanctuary, my purpose. I channelled everything into service.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.” I meet his gaze directly now. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel… didn’t want…”
Matteo’s hand moves infinitesimally closer, his pinky finger brushing against mine. The contact sends electricity racing up my arm.
“And now?” he whispers.
I stare at our almost-touching hands. “Now I’m the Pope. The spiritual leader of a billion Catholics worldwide. I can’t…”
“Can’t what? Can’t be human? Can’t be honest?”
“The Church’s teaching—”
