Gabriel's Redemption

Chapter Ten

Professor Emerson seethed with anger as he watched his wife walk away. He wanted to drag Christa Peterson outside by her hair and teach her a lesson. Unfortunately, based on her seductive behavior when she was his student, she’d probably enjoy it.

(And take photographs for her scrapbook.)

It was not like him to want to strike a woman.

Or perhaps it was. Perhaps it was precisely like him to want to strike a woman. Anger and violence were written in the bone, the product of DNA. Perhaps Gabriel was just like his father.

He closed his eyes. As quickly as the thought emerged, he tamped it down. Now was not the time to think of what he did and did not know about his biological parents.

Gabriel knew he had a temper. He tried to control it but frequently failed. On one such occasion, to his shame, he’d struck a woman.

He was teaching in Toronto. The women were beautiful and sexy; the city was ripe with diversions of music and art. Yet he’d been depressed. Paulina had been to see him and they’d resumed their sexual relationship—again. After every encounter, he’d swear it would be the last time. But every time she put her hands on him, he gave in.

He knew it was wrong. His continued involvement with her was damaging to both of them. But his spirit, although willing, was tied to flesh that was very, very weak.

After she went back to Boston, he began drinking heavily. He became a VIP at Lobby and fucked a different woman every night. Sometimes fucking more than one in a single Scotch-soaked evening. Sometimes fucking more than one at the same time.

Nothing helped. Haunted by his past, made all the more recent by his few days with Paulina, he felt as if he were one careless moment away from resuming his cocaine habit.

Then he met Ann. They shared an enthusiasm for fencing and fenced a few times at their club, only to retire to a darkened room on the last occasion for a brief but explosive sexual encounter.

Ann Singer promised new, tantalizing diversions. She whispered words of raw, intense pleasure the likes of which he’d never experienced.

He was intrigued. She had the power to drag his mind into his body and keep it there, unable to think or worry. And that was how he found himself in the basement of her town house in Toronto, naked, restrained, and on his knees.

She confused his senses by both pleasing and punishing him. With every strike, all his emotional pain seemed to bleed away. His single errant thought was why had he waited so long to use physical pain to alleviate his mental suffering. But even that thought was soon forgotten.

Then came the humiliation. Ann’s dominance was over the mind, as well as the body. As she bruised his flesh, she sought to break his will.

Gabriel realized what she was doing, and his psyche bristled. He desired physical pain and accepted it, but not psychological manipulation. His mind was fucked up enough thanks to his past.

He began to resist.

She accused him of attempting to top from the bottom and redoubled her efforts. She retold his life story, spinning a speculative myth based solely on her own armchair analysis. Some of it came perilously close to the truth. And the rest of it . . .

Without warning, something inside him snapped.

Standing in St. Anne’s College, Gabriel couldn’t recall exactly what Professor Singer said that set him off. He couldn’t remember how long the encounter lasted. He only remembered white-hot, blinding fury.

In one swift motion, he broke the restraint on his right wrist (a considerable feat) and backhanded her across the face. Her diminutive form crumpled to the tiled floor.

He stumbled to his feet and stood over her, breathing heavily. She didn’t move.

A door flew open and Gabriel found himself boxing one-handed with her bodyguard, who’d rushed to her defense. Bruised and bloodied, Gabriel was flung outside into the snow, his clothes scattered behind him.

That was his last sexual encounter with Ann and his final experience with BDSM. He was revolted by the fact that he’d lost control and hit her, and he was determined never to strike a woman again. Even now, the shame washed over him.

Gabriel closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. He’d never explained the entirety of what happened with Professor Singer to Julianne. He wasn’t about to do so now. Some things were better left unsaid.

He mentally catalogued the eminent Dante specialists who’d overheard Christa’s remarks about his past. It was embarrassing, to be sure. But he was tenured and full professor. They could go to hell.

(And study Dante’s Inferno in person.)

But he needed to neutralize Christa before she damaged Julianne’s reputation any further. She’d all but called Julia a whore, suggesting her academic success was won on her knees.

With that thought twisting in his mind, he straightened his bow tie, smoothed his suit jacket, and entered the lecture theater.

Julia watched as her husband approached, his eyes averted, his visage grim.

He glowered at Christa, who sat with Professor Pacciani, before taking the seat between Julia and Professor Picton. Gabriel didn’t speak as he pulled his Meisterstück 149 fountain pen and a notepad out of his leather briefcase. His body language was decidedly cross.

Julia tried to concentrate on the lecture, which was on the use of the number three in Dante’s Divine Comedy. The subject matter and delivery of the presentation could only be described as contravening the Geneva Conventions on cruel and unusual punishment. Worse still was being next to Gabriel and feeling his anger radiating through his handsome three-piece suit.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he was taking copious notes, his elegant script uncharacteristically forceful and angular. There was tension around his mouth and a familiar crease between his dark brows, behind his glasses.

Julia was disappointed in him, but she wasn’t angry. She knew it was consonant with his character to be the avenging angel. There had been times when she welcomed that aspect of his personality, such as when he’d beaten Simon senseless after he’d attacked her.

But she didn’t like fighting with him, especially in public. She certainly didn’t enjoy the sight of him losing his temper and causing a scene in front of so many important people, even if Katherine defended him.

She sighed quietly. His love for her and his desire that she succeed likely fueled his anger.

You’re his first serious and committed relationship. You should cut the guy some slack.

She wanted to touch him but was wary of how she might be received. Certainly, she didn’t wish to interrupt him. She imagined him peering at her over the rims of his glasses, his expression censorious. Such a reaction would cut her deeply.

It had been a long time since she’d seen him truly angry. Julia thought back to their explosive interactions in his Dante seminar, when she’d challenged him about Paulina. He’d been furious until his anger shifted to passion.

She uncrossed and crossed her legs. Now was not the time to think about passion. She’d wait until they were back in their room at Magdalen before she reached out to him. Otherwise, he might decide to make up with her and drag her into a corner for conference sex.

(Conference sex was a peculiar compunction of certain academics. It should be avoided at all costs.)

The next lecture was as torturous as the first. Julia feigned interest while her thoughts fixated on one point. If Gabriel had listened to her, Christa would have been forced to spin her web of slander without a large, focused audience. Now Julia would have to mingle with the other attendees knowing they’d witnessed the embarrassing display. She was shy to begin with. Christa had magnified her unease a hundredfold.

Despite their falling out, Julia would have preferred to spend the day at his side, especially during lunch and the frequent tea and coffee breaks. But they’d agreed the night before to circulate among the conferencegoers, giving Julia the opportunity to network.

She forced herself to make small talk, allowing Professors Marinelli and Picton to introduce her to their old friends, while Gabriel mingled on the other side of the room. He was obviously on a charm offensive—trying to speak to as many conferencegoers as possible. From the glances Julia received, it was clear he was speaking about her.

Women flocked to him. No matter where he was, there were always one or two women standing near him. To his credit, he suffered their attentions patiently without encouraging them.

Julia focused on her own interactions, but she couldn’t help but keep apprised of where he was situated and with whom. She also marked Christa’s position, but she was never far from Professor Pacciani.

Julia found the fact curious.

Pacciani’s eyes seemed to follow her and on one occasion, she was certain he winked. But he made no attempt to approach or speak with her. He seemed content to remain at Christa’s side, despite her occasionally flirtatious behavior with other men.

Julia sipped her tea as she listened to professor after professor regale her with tales of their latest research projects, longing for the end of the day.

During the final lecture, Gabriel noticed Julia squirming in her seat. She’d been doing so for an hour, as if she were in desperate need of the ladies’ room.

Gabriel had been nursing his irritation with Christa for hours, fanning the embers with myriad justifications for his words and actions. He was in the middle of composing a self-righteous speech that he intended to deliver to Julia when they were back at Magdalen, when she stunned him by passing a note.

I don’t want to fight.

I’m sorry.

Thank you for defending me.

I’m sorry she mentioned Professor Pain.

Gabriel reread the note twice.

The sight of Julia’s contrition in black and white made his heart constrict. She’d said that she was sorry, even though she’d done almost nothing.

He would have appreciated more support from her. He coveted her compassion—compassion for a plight brought about because of his strong desire to protect her. But he hadn’t expected an apology.

Their eyes met and she gave him a tentative smile. The smile, perhaps even more than the note, undid him.

His irritation cooled, under the frigid waters of remorse.

Without delay, he turned her note over and wrote,

Emerson was an ass.

But he hopes you’ll forgive him.

It took an instant for her to read it. And when she did, she restrained a laugh, resulting in a strangled snort.

The sound echoed around the room and the lecturer looked up from his notes, wondering how a wild pig had managed to wander into St. Anne’s College in order to attend his paper.

Blushing furiously, Julia feigned a coughing fit, while Gabriel patted her back. When the lecture eventually continued, he added to his missive,

I’m sorry I embarrassed you.

I promise I’ll do better.

You are not a speed bump.

You’re my Beatrice.

Julia’s delicate features lightened, and he watched as her shoulders relaxed.

Hesitantly, she reached out her baby finger and linked it with his own. This was her way of holding his hand without others seeing.

He curved his pinky around hers, looking at her from out of the corner of his eye.

Yes, Professor Emerson could be an ass, on occasion. But at least he was sorry.

After the conference ended for the day, Katherine spirited Julia away to The Eagle and Child pub for a drink. The pub was referred to locally as “The Bird and Baby,” or “The Fowl and Foetus.” It was, perhaps, the most famous pub in Oxford. Julia was eager to see it because it had been one of the meeting places of the Inklings, the literary group that included C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Charles Williams.

Inside, Katherine purchased two pints of Caledonian ale and piloted her former student to a back corner. Once they were comfortable, she clinked their glasses together and took a long pull from her pint.

“It’s good to see you, Julianne. You’re looking well.” Katherine took in her former student’s appearance with a single glance. “Your wedding was a triumph. I haven’t had that much fun in years.”

“I’m so glad you could join us.” Julia gripped her glass a little too tightly, the whiteness of her knuckles telegraphing her nervousness.

“Are you anxious about your lecture?”

“Somewhat.” Julia sipped her ale, wondering why Katherine had insisted on speaking to her alone.

“It’s understandable to be apprehensive, but you’ll do fine. No doubt you’re still a bit shaken after encountering that dreadful woman.”

Julia’s stomach flipped, and she nodded.

Katherine noted that the other patrons were engaged in their own conversations before continuing.

“Did Gabriel ever explain how I came to be in his debt?”

“He mentioned something about doing you a favor, but he wasn’t specific.”

Katherine tapped her pint thoughtfully with a single unpainted fingernail.

“I would have thought he’d have told you. But it’s like him to keep another person’s confidence.”

She removed her glasses, placing them on the table.

“Six years ago, I was in phased retirement in Toronto. Jeremy Martin hired Gabriel to replace me, but I was still supervising graduate students and teaching a seminar.

“At the beginning of the fall semester, I received an email from an old friend here in Oxford. He told me that our former professor, John Hutton, was in hospice dying of cancer.”

“I know Professor Hutton’s work. He was one of the sources for my paper.”

“Old Hut probably forgot more information about Dante than I ever knew.” Katherine’s expression grew almost wistful. “When I received news that he was dying, I’d already begun teaching my seminar. And I’d agreed to deliver a series of lectures on Dante and the seven deadly sins for the CBC. I approached Jeremy and asked if it would be possible to take a week off so I could come here.”

Katherine’s sharp gaze missed very little, and she certainly didn’t miss seeing Julia start at the mention of Professor Martin’s name.

“Jeremy was an ally to both of you last year. He tried very hard to help Gabriel, but in the end, there was only so much he could do.”

Julia shifted in her seat. “I always wondered why he helped Christa transfer to his alma mater. There were rumors they were involved.”

“Rumors hurt people. Sometimes, they hurt innocent people. I expect better from you, Mrs. Emerson, than to be listening to gossip about Professor Martin.”

Julia grew flustered.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.”

“I’ve known Jeremy and his wife for years. Believe me, Christa Peterson couldn’t catch his eye if she were naked, holding the original manuscript of The Decameron and a case of beer.”

Julia stifled a laugh at Professor Picton’s imaginative description, such as it was.

“Two days after I explained my situation, Jeremy approached Gabriel. In short order, he volunteered to take over my seminar and any other responsibilities while I was away.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Katherine tipped her head to one side. “But it shouldn’t surprise you. Gabriel likes to do his good deeds in secret, I think, but that he does them is unremarkable. When he volunteered to help he was a first-year assistant professor, just out of graduate school. It was an extraordinary kindness on his part for someone he knew only in passing. As it happened, I was away until after Christmas, burdening him with everything for four long months. And then afterward, when I came home, he was a very good friend to me. So as you can appreciate, I owe him a debt.”

“I’m sure he was happy to help, Professor. After everything you’ve done for us, the debt is more than forgotten.”

Katherine paused, peering at their surroundings thoughtfully. “Gabriel tells me you’re an admirer of the Inklings.”

“I am. Did you know them?”

“I met Tolkien once, when I was a little girl. My father was a Beowulf specialist at Leeds and he and Tolkien used to correspond with one another. I came down on the train with my father to visit him.”

“What was he like?”

Katherine sat back in her chair and regarded the ceiling.

“I liked him. At the time, I simply thought of him as old, like my father. But I can recall that he coaxed me into telling him a story I’d made up about a family of badgers that lived behind our house. He seemed quite taken by it.” She gestured to the corner in which they sat. “This was the exact spot where the Inklings used to meet.”

Julia slowly examined the space. As a child, hiding in her room with a stack of Narnia books, she would never have imagined that one day she would be sitting where Lewis sat. It was nothing short of a miracle.

“Thank you for bringing me here.” Her voice almost caught in her throat.

“My pleasure.”

Katherine’s expression shifted.

“It took me almost an entire semester to see Old Hut. When I arrived in Oxford, his wife banned me from the hospice. I showed up every day for weeks, hoping to change her mind, hoping that he wouldn’t pass away before I could see him.”

“Who would be so cruel?”

“You ask this question after the Shoah? After countless instances of genocide? Human beings can be incredibly cruel.

“In the case of Old Hut, I was the cruel one and I paid for it. But that semester, it was Mrs. Hutton’s opportunity to exact her revenge, with interest.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Professor Picton waved her hand. “Gabriel gave me the chance to make my peace. I will always be in his debt, which means I feel a special responsibility for you.”

“Were you able to see your friend?”

“Mrs. Hutton’s aunt fell ill. While she was visiting her, I managed to see the professor. By then, he was near death, but we were able to talk.

“I came back to Toronto and worked through my depression. But I never told Gabriel the entire story, or why it was so important for me to see John before he died.” Katherine pursed her lips, looking as if she were divided about something. Then she shrugged.

“All the important players are dead, with the exception of me. There’s no point in keeping it a secret.” She looked at Julia over her glass. “I don’t expect you to keep things from your husband, but I ask that you be discreet.”

“Of course, Professor.”

Katherine wrapped her aged fingers around her pint.

“Old Hut and I were involved while I was his student, and afterward, when I taught at Cambridge. He was married. Lucky for me, no one found out about us while I was living here in Oxford. But eventually, there were rumors, and the rumors followed me for ten years.”

Julia’s mouth dropped open.

Katherine glanced at her, her blue eyes sparkling in what could have been amusement.

“I see you’re surprised. But I wasn’t always this old. In my day, I was considered attractive. And is it really so surprising? People work closely together on something they’re passionate about, and that passion has to go somewhere. Dante speaks of it when he describes Paolo and Francesca.”

Katherine replaced her glasses on her face.

“When I was trying to get an academic position, the gossip became particularly vicious. There were those among my student colleagues who were jealous of Old Hut’s attentions and the fact that he clearly preferred me. Even without evidence of our amour, they began circulating stories that he authored my research. In fact, someone wrote to the University of Cambridge after I’d applied for a job there, claiming that Old Hut wrote a letter of recommendation for me simply because I was sleeping with him.”

Julia laughed.

Then she clapped a hand to her mouth.

“I’m so sorry. That isn’t funny.”

Katherine’s eyes twinkled.

“Of course it’s funny. You should have seen his recommendation letter. He wrote, Miss Picton is competent in the study of Dante. I was his lover, for God’s sake. Don’t you think he could have troubled himself to write more than one sentence?”

While Julia stared in horror, Professor Picton chuckled.

“I can make light of it now, but I was unhappy for many years. I fell in love with a married man and I mourned not having him all to myself. No marriage, no children. Once I began presenting my research, the rumors died. People heard my lectures, some of which disagreed with Old Hut’s positions, and they realized I knew what I was talking about. I worked very hard to make a name for myself and to come out from under his shadow. That’s why when he was dying, the only other person who knew what had transpired between me and Old Hut was his wife.”

Katherine stared at Julia intently.

“I tried my best to discredit Miss Peterson this morning and I will continue to do so. But even if I fail, eventually everyone will move on to the latest scandal. By the time you have your own faculty position, the rumors will be forgotten.”

“That’s six years away, Professor.”

Professor Picton smiled. “Given what I’ve shared with you this evening, I think you should call me Katherine.”

“Thank you, Katherine.” Julia returned her smile shyly.

“You can help people forget the gossip by being excellent. If you prove yourself, all the gossip in the world can’t diminish it. It’s possible you’ll have to work harder than others, but I don’t think you’re bothered by hard work. Are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Good.” Katherine sat back in her chair. “My next piece of advice will be a little bit more difficult to hear.”

Julia braced herself for the words to come.

“You need to be more assertive, academically. I understand that it’s your nature to be shy and that you’d prefer to avoid confrontation. But in the academic arena, you cannot do that. When you deliver a paper and someone challenges you, you have to challenge him right back. You can’t sustain misguided or malicious criticisms, especially in public. Do you understand?”

“I don’t seem to have trouble speaking up in my seminars. Professor Marinelli has been pleased.”

“Good. My advice is to be yourself tomorrow. Be bright. Be excellent. And don’t let yourself be ravaged by wolves like some diseased moose.”

Julia’s eyes widened at the strange reference, but she said nothing.

“You mustn’t let your husband defend you, either. That will make you look weak. You need to defend yourself and your ideas if you’re going to be successful. Gabriel isn’t going to like that. But you must make him see that when he comes to your aid, he makes you look helpless, and that does more harm than good. Chivalry in academia is dead.”

Julia nodded a bit uncertainly.

Katherine finished her pint.

“Now, let’s see if Gabriel has managed to charm the old bastards of the Oxford Dante Society into forgetting what they might have heard this morning.” She winked. “For some of them, what they heard would only make him more appealing. I’m afraid your husband is far more interesting than any of them could have imagined.”

Gabriel spent his time apart from Julianne wisely. He visited with old friends and new acquaintances at the King’s Arms pub, putting his silver tongue to good use. By the end of the hour, he’d succeeded in giving a half a dozen Dante specialists reason to think that Christa Peterson was a jealous ex-student and that he and Julia were the victims of slander.

So it was with a markedly improved mood that he joined Professor Picton and Julia for dinner. Katherine spoke fluidly as the wine flowed, while Gabriel kept up his end of the conversation.

Julia was quiet, even more so than usual, her large eyes tired. She merely picked at her dinner and couldn’t even be tempted by dessert. It was clear that the events of the day had caught up with her.

When she excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, Katherine gave Gabriel a concerned look.

“She needs rest. The poor girl is worn out.”

“Yes.” Gabriel’s expression was thoughtful, but he didn’t comment further.

Katherine nodded at his empty wine glass. “You’ve stopped drinking.”

“I have.” He offered her a patient smile.

“Not a bad idea. I go through periods of teetotaling myself.” She wiped her lips with her napkin. “Will you accept some maternal advice, from someone who is not your mother?”

Gabriel turned to her abruptly. “About what?”

“I worry sometimes about your ability to handle your detractors. Especially now that you’re married.”

He started to disagree but she interrupted.

“I’m old, I can behave how I wish. But you cannot be Julianne’s champion at academic conferences. If you rise to her defense, you’ll make her look weak.”

Gabriel folded his napkin and placed it on the table. “The incident this morning with Christa Peterson was anomalous. She tried to destroy our careers.”

“Just so. But even in that case, I’m afraid you did more harm than good.”

Gabriel frowned, and Katherine decided to change tactics.

“We’ve been good friends, you and I. I’d like to think that if I’d had a son, he would be your equal in intelligence and talent.”

His expression softened. “Thank you, Katherine. Your friendship is important to me.”

“I’ve given Julianne some advice. No doubt she’ll tell you all about our conversation. But before she returns, I’d ask that you consider what I’ve just said. She’s a nice young woman and very bright. Let her brightness shine.”

“That’s all I want.” He looked down at his hands. His eyes were drawn to the way the light caught on his wedding band, and he found himself staring at it.

“Good.” Katherine tapped her finger on the table, as if to signal that the matter had been decided. “Now, I hope I’ll be invited to dinner at your house when I give my lecture series at Harvard in January. Greg Matthews always takes me to these appalling molecular gastronomy restaurants that serve you deconstructed entrées cooked in liquid nitrogen. I can never decide whether I’m having dinner or sitting for an exam in organic chemistry.”

After dinner, Gabriel insisted that they escort Katherine to her residence at All Souls, where they bade one another good night and agreed to meet for breakfast the following morning.

“Eight thirty, sharp.” Katherine tapped her wristwatch. “Don’t be late.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it.” Gabriel bowed.

“See that you don’t.” With a wave, she disappeared behind the great wooden door of the college, which closed behind her.

Left standing together, Gabriel took Julia’s hand, noticing that her fingers had grown cold. He tried to warm them, touching her wedding band and engagement ring.

“I know that you’re tired,” he said. “But I want to show you something. It will just take a minute.”

He led her around the corner to Radcliffe Camera, a great, circular building that had become an icon of the university. The sky was dark, moonless, but a few lights illuminated the impressive structure.

He squeezed her hand as they approached. “I used to spend a lot of time walking around this building. I’ve always admired it.”

“It’s fantastic.”

Julia eagerly perused the architecture and its interplay of stone and dome and pillar. The sky was the color of ink, and the dome almost seemed to glow against its backdrop.

Gabriel brought his hands to cup her cheeks. “I want to speak to you about what happened this morning.”

He felt her tense beneath his touch. His eyes sought hers and he moved his thumbs gently across her cheekbones. “I’m sorry for embarrassing you.”

“I know it was difficult for you to walk away from her at first. But you did. And I’m grateful for that.” Her dark eyes glinted. “You still like to fight.”

Gabriel took her hands in his and pulled them into his chest.

“I like to fight with people other than you. Christa is a bully. The only way to deal with bullies is to confront them.”

Julia lifted her chin. “Sometimes, you should let the nastiness speak for itself. Or at least, let her target decide for herself what’s to be done.”

“I can do that. At least, I can try.”

“That’s all I ask.” Julia brushed her lips against his. “I’m sorry she brought up Professor Pain. I had no idea they knew each other.”

Gabriel closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were pained.

“I confessed my past. I left it behind. Must I be reminded of it forever?”

“I’m sorry.” She wrapped her arms around his back, bringing their chests together.

They were quiet for a moment and Gabriel pushed his face into her neck, clutching her tightly.

“Caravaggio,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“I remember what you said about his painting of St. Thomas and Jesus—how our scars might heal but they never disappear. You can’t eliminate your past but you don’t have to be controlled by it.”

“I know that. But I doubt anyone would want their sexual encounters broadcasted to their work colleagues.”

“Anyone who would judge you based on old gossip isn’t a friend of yours, anyway.” She pulled back so she could look into his eyes. “Those of us who know you will ignore the gossip.”

“Thank you.” He pressed his lips to her forehead before meeting her gaze. “People and circumstances will conspire to alienate us from one another, Julianne. We can’t let them do that.”

“We won’t.”

“I didn’t mean to ignore you. You mean more to me than anything,” he whispered.

“It’s the same for me.”

She breached the distance between their mouths in order to kiss him, her lips soft and ever moving.

Some distance away, Professor Giuseppe Pacciani groaned his release and collapsed on top of his lover’s body. Sex with her was always magnificent, and this coupling was no exception.

He mumbled a few phrases in Italian, as was his custom. But instead of welcoming his words, she pushed him aside and rolled away. Sadly, this was not unusual.

“Cara?”

Christa Peterson pulled the sheet over her naked body. “I need the room tomorrow night. You’ll have to stay somewhere else.”

With a curse, Giuseppe eased his bare feet to the floor. He walked to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. “This is my room.”

“No,” she called to him. “It’s my room. You always pay for my accommodations. And I’ll be entertaining tomorrow night.”

He returned to the bed and soon she was under him again, his forearms on either side of her shoulders.

“You’d take someone to your bed so soon? The sheets will still be warm.”

Her dark eyes flashed.

“Don’t judge me. You’re married. Who I fuck is none of your business.”

He bent down and kissed her, his lips insistent until she opened her mouth.

“Such a dirty mouth, Cristina.”

“You love it when I’m dirty.”

He sighed, and his expression morphed into a wry smile.

“Si.”

He moved to his back, taking her with him.

“I want to get up.” She pulled against his arms.

“No.”

She struggled but he would not let her go. Finally, she relented, resting her head against him.

He toyed with her hair. This was part of their arrangement. Afterward, she had to let him hold her.

Perhaps he did so simply to satisfy himself that there was something affectionate about their fucking. Perhaps he did so because he was not an entirely ruthless adulterer. But whatever the reason, she always resisted for a moment or two, even though she secretly liked being held.

“I was surprised to hear from you, Cristina. We were supposed to meet a year ago. You never answered.”

“I was busy.”

He lifted the ends of her raven hair to his nose, inhaling its fragrance.

“I wondered why you insisted I bring you. You’re here for revenge.”

“We’re both getting what we wanted.”

His fingers stilled.

“Be careful, Cristina. You don’t want Professor Picton as an enemy.”

“I don’t care.”

Pacciani cursed.

“Don’t you understand the patronage system? Departments around the world are filled with her admirers. Your chair at Columbia was her student.”

“I didn’t know that.” Christa shrugged. “It’s too late. I’ve already pissed her off.”

Pacciani grabbed Christa’s chin roughly, forcing her to look at him.

“I’m responsible for you now. So you will stop. I’m trying to get a position in America and I don’t need Professor Picton making trouble.”

Christa was quiet for a moment as she examined his menacing expression.

“Fine,” she pouted. “But I need the room tomorrow night.”

“Va bene.”

He released her chin and resumed stroking her long, dark hair. “What was his name?”

“Who?”

“The man who made you like this.”

Her muscles tensed under his fingers. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know, tesoro. Was it your papa? Did he—”

“No.” She trained her eyes on his furiously. “He’s a good man.”

“Certo, cara. Certo.

“All the time I’ve known you, you’ve had lovers but no suitors. You should be married. You should be having babies. Instead, you fuck old men for expensive gifts.”

“I don’t fuck you for your gifts. I fuck you because I like to fuck.”

He laughed.

“Grazie. But still, there must always be gifts.” He brought his lips to her forehead. “Why?”

“I like nice things. That isn’t a crime. And I’m worth it.”

“You know what I think, tesoro?”

“Stop calling me that.” She pulled away.

His hand wrapped around the back of her neck, holding her in place.

“You don’t think you’re worth it, which is why you demand gifts. Sad, no?”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“You have it, all the same.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

His grip on her tightened. “You fuck priests and old, married men because you’re afraid. You’re afraid of what might happen if you were to sleep with someone who was unattached.”

She struggled in his arms.

“Since when did you become a psychiatrist? Don’t project your bullshit on me. At least I’m not fucking around on my wife.”

“Attenzione, Cristina.” His tone was a warning. “So who is the man you fuck tomorrow night? A priest? A professor?”

She regarded him for a moment, then traced her finger across his lower lip. “Who said it was a man?”

Giuseppe gave her a ravenous look.

“Then I expect you to share.”