Gabriel's Redemption (Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy) (24 page)

“What did he say?”

“They want to get married Labor Day weekend. It will be a small wedding. Dad feels more comfortable with Diane at his place and Diane doesn’t want to move in with him without being married.”

“And the baby?”

“Nothing has changed. Diane seems to be doing well, and the baby is about as good as could be expected. They’re keeping an eye on both of them.” She shook her head. “Dad feels pretty helpless.”

“Of course he does. He wants to protect them and there’s nothing he can do.”

She nodded, looking down at the marble with a fascination unwarranted by its appearance. “I’m sorry about Maria.”

“So am I.” He leaned against the vanity, contemplating his bare feet. “But at least I tried to help her.”

“Maybe one of the families you contacted will change their mind. If they could just meet her, I’m sure they’d fall in love with her.”

He nodded, wriggling his toes.

“I won’t say that I understand, Gabriel, because I don’t. I wasn’t adopted and so I don’t share that special affinity you have with the children at the orphanage. But if you could just give me until my fourth year, I—”

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk about that. There’s no rush.” He smiled at her gently.

A feeling of relief mixed with dread washed over her.

Gabriel returned to his shaving, while she watched with rapt fascination.

“This reminds me of our first trip to Florence. We were getting ready together before going to the Uffizi.” She seemed wistful. “I was just your girlfriend, then.”

Gabriel stopped.

“You were never just my girlfriend, Julianne. You were my lover. And we’re still lovers.”

“How could I forget?” She gestured in the direction of the bedroom, pausing for a moment to remember their first time together. “I was so happy here.

“But tonight I’m going to accompany you to the Uffizi as your wife. We get to open the exhibition of your illustrations together.”

“They’re
our
illustrations. And I love you even more now than I did before. I didn’t think it was possible.”

“I love you more, too.” She peered down at her toes, admiring the way the red nail polish shimmered in the light. “I think your love has healed me, in many ways.”

Gabriel placed his razor on the counter.

“I don’t know why you persist in being sweet when I’m shaving.” He tried not to get shaving cream on her silk robe, but failed. “We’re going to have to have sex now.”

She laughed. “We can’t. We’re due at the Uffizi at seven. The guests of honor can’t be late.”

“It wouldn’t do for one of the guests of honor to be cross all evening because he’s hard and wanting. We had a fight. We made up. You owe me makeup sex.”

Julia reached out a hand to test his arousal.

“I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, Professor. But I really need to get ready. Look at my hair.”

He pulled back to see the dark strands, which were now streaked with shaving cream on one side.

“Fine,” he huffed. “But don’t be surprised if I spirit you off to a corridor and have my way with you.”

“I’m counting on it, Superman.” She nipped his ear with her teeth before escaping his arms. “And just for the record, I like my body when it’s with yours, as well.”

A short while later, Julia exited the washroom, walking over to where Gabriel was seated in the living area of their suite.

“What do you think?”

He stood up and removed his glasses, tossing aside the book he’d been reading.

He took her hand, spinning her in a circle. Her Valentino dress was very feminine, with a boat neckline, cap sleeves, a slim bodice, and a full skirt. The fabric was a rich red taffeta.

She pulled at the hemline, which sat above her knees. “I think I should have bought something black, instead.”

“No.” His eyes traveled from her exposed collarbones, across her breasts and down to her long and shapely legs. “Red is perfect.”

He peered down at her black Prada peep-toe stilettos.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Mrs. Emerson. I don’t recall seeing those before.”

She arched an eyebrow at him.

“You aren’t the only one with secrets, Professor.”

Gabriel’s smile slid off his face.

She looked down at her shoes.

“But I can arrange a private viewing.”

“In a dark corner at the Uffizi?”

Their eyes met and she nodded.

He kissed her cheek. “You look lovely. The guests won’t be looking at Botticelli. They’ll be looking at you.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Gabriel. I’m nervous enough.” She brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders and then straightened his black bow tie. “You’re handsome. I don’t have the pleasure of seeing you in a tuxedo very often.”

“I can arrange a private viewing.” He pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist, closing his eyes and inhaling her scent.

“Roses.” He opened his eyes. “You’ve changed your perfume.”

“The Noble Rose of Afghanistan. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? It’s fair trade and it encourages development in that country.”

“Only you would choose your perfume because of the company’s commitment to fair trade. What did I do to deserve you?” Gabriel whispered, his eyes dark and searching.

“You deserve happiness. Why can’t you let yourself believe that?”

He gave her a long look, then took her hand in his and led her to the door.

All the while, Julia’s heart nearly cracked under the weight of her realization that her love had not healed him.

“Professore. Signora.”
Lorenzo,
Dottore
Vitali’s assistant, greeted them at the entrance to the Uffizi.

“We shall gather with the media. You will be invited to open the exhibition. Then we will view the collection, enjoy a reception and later, dinner.”

Gabriel acquiesced in Italian, squeezing Julia’s hand.

Lorenzo led them to a hallway where a crowd of about a hundred people were gathered. Julia recognized many familiar faces from Gabriel’s lecture a year and a half ago. All the men were in tuxedos, save the members of the press; all the women were wearing gowns, many of which swept the floor.

Julia looked down at her bare legs self-consciously.

Soon they were surrounded. Gabriel shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, introducing Julia as his beautiful wife. She watched as he greeted guests in Italian, French, and German, working the room fluidly and comfortably. But he never let her leave his side; his arm remained wrapped around her waist.

They were just about to follow
Dottore
Vitali to the doorway to the exhibition when Julia stopped short. Staring at her, not fifty feet away, was Professor Pacciani, with a tall, dark-haired woman on his arm.

Julia’s eyes widened.

For a moment, she thought the woman was Christa Peterson. But on sustained inspection, she realized that although there was a resemblance, Pacciani’s companion was older than Christa by about ten years.

Gabriel felt Julia stop, but he’d been speaking with Vitali, getting last-minute instructions on what was to take place. His eyes followed hers and something akin to a growl escaped his chest.

“Ah, you know Professor Pacciani, I assume.” Vitali spoke in Gabriel’s ear. “We invited the professors from the universities, on your instructions.”

“Right,” said Gabriel. He rued the fact that he hadn’t been more explicit about who should not receive an invitation.

“Shall we?”
Dottore
Vitali gestured, and the Emersons walked to the doorway.

They stood side by side, facing the crowd and blinking amid the cameras and commotion, while Vitali made his introductions. Julia tried not to fidget, but she felt very conspicuous.

The director spent a long time explaining the history of the sixteenth-century illustrations—how they were copies of Botticelli’s original images of Dante’s
Divine Comedy
, and how, although eight of the originals had been lost, the Emersons had possession of the full complement of one hundred.

As Julia scanned the crowd, one face stood out. A young-looking, fair-haired man with strange gray eyes stared unblinkingly in her direction, his expression one of intense curiosity. His reaction was so different from the other guests, Julia couldn’t help but return his stare, until Gabriel nudged her, drawing her attention back to their host.

Dottore
Vitali painstakingly traced the provenance of the illustrations from the Emersons back to the nineteenth century, where they seem to have appeared out of nowhere.

The Uffizi was proud to display images that had not been viewed in public since, perhaps, their creation.

The audience murmured appreciatively and broke out into enthusiastic applause as Vitali thanked the Emersons for their generosity.

Gabriel moved his arm in order to take Julia’s hand, squeezing it. They nodded and smiled their acknowledgments. Then he walked to the podium and offered a few words of thanks in Italian to Vitali and the Uffizi.

He turned his body sideways, his eyes fixed on Julia’s.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my wife, Julianne. The lovely lady you see before you is the reason why this evening came about. Without her, I would have kept the illustrations to myself. Through her words and her deeds, she has shown me what it is to be charitable and good.”

Julia blushed, but she could not look away. His magnetic gaze was focused entirely on her.

“This evening is only one small example of her philanthropic work. Yesterday, we spent the day at the Franciscan orphanage, spending time with the children. Earlier today, my wife was on a mission of mercy with the poor and homeless, in the city center. My challenge to you this evening is to enjoy the beauty of the illustrations of Dante’s
Divine Comedy
, and then to find it in your hearts to celebrate beauty, charity, and compassion in the city Dante loved, Firenze. Thank you.”

The crowd applauded, with one exception. No one seemed to notice the fair-haired man’s cynical reaction to Gabriel’s call to virtuous living, or the contempt he expressed when Dante was mentioned.

Gabriel returned to Julia and kissed her cheek chastely before facing the applauding crowd. They posed for photographs and cut the ribbon that was strung across the doors that led into the exhibition. The exhibit was declared open, to the sound of much applause.

“Please.” Vitali gestured to the room, indicating that the Emersons should be the first to view the collection.

Gabriel and Julianne entered the room and were immediately awestruck. The space had been renovated, its normally pale walls painted a bright blue to better display the pen-and-ink illustrations, only some of which were in color.

The illustrations were arranged in order, beginning with Botticelli’s famous Chart of Hell. In viewing the collection, one was able to witness the journey of a man’s soul from sin to redemption. And of course, there was the inevitable reunion of Dante with his beloved Beatrice.

“What do you think?” Gabriel held Julia’s hand as they stood in front of one of their favorite images, Dante and Beatrice in the sphere of Mercury. Beatrice was wearing flowing robes and pointing upward while Dante followed her gesture with his gaze.

“It’s beautiful.” She linked their pinky fingers together. “Do you remember the first time you showed it to me? When I came to dinner at your apartment?”

Gabriel lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “How could I forget? You know, I showed them to you on impulse. I hadn’t even told Rachel about them. Somehow, I knew I could trust you.”

“You
can
trust me.” Her dark eyes grew serious.

“I know.” He appeared conflicted and for a moment Julia thought he was going to confess his secrets, but they were interrupted.

The attractive, fair-haired man approached, angling to view the illustration.

As if in a dream, Julia watched the stranger move. His body almost appeared to float across the floor, his footsteps light and fluid. He appeared tall but was actually an inch or two shorter than Gabriel. Julia perceived that although the man was trim, his elegant black suit hid muscles that rippled beneath the fine material.

The Emersons politely retreated, but not before Gabriel locked eyes with the other guest. Wordlessly, Gabriel placed his body between the stranger and Julianne, blocking her from his view.