Gabriel's Redemption

Chapter Thirty-five

Florence, Italy

Gabriel smoked a lonely cigarette out on the terrace, staring at the shards of a broken water glass. He’d upset Julianne.

She’d seen him throw things before. He’d murdered her old cell phone when that motherfucker Simon called her.

Gabriel inhaled, drawing the air deep into his lungs before exhaling through his nostrils.

He did not think of their relationship as tempestuous. Although they’d had more conflict recently. They’d fought back in Selinsgrove over her paper. They’d fought in Umbria when he’d asked about her mother and she’d told him he was mindfucking her.

Tonight they’d descended to a new low when she accused him of thinking she was a bitch. Nothing was further from the truth. He couldn’t even place the word and her name in the same sentence.

But he’d lost his temper before he had the chance to say that.

His secrets were hurting her. He knew that. But he couldn’t unburden himself until he’d found a solution. He didn’t want to appear weak and undecided, or worse, to watch her compassion change into pity. He’d rather alienate her temporarily than lose her respect.

And he hadn’t found a way forward. Not yet. He was caught between two extremes, both of which were unacceptable. At the moment he lacked the courage or the wisdom to find a middle path.

He finished his cigarette and lit another one. Perhaps he lacked both courage and wisdom.

Julianne was correct. If they adopted a child, he’d have to quit. He’d quit cigarettes before, after his stint in rehab. He could quit again.

He thought about Tom and Diane. They’d gone from the elation of discovering they were expecting to the devastation of learning that their child had a life-threatening birth defect. He couldn’t imagine how powerless they felt. He’d had a glimpse of such impotence when Paulina—

Gabriel forced himself to focus on the cigarette he held between his fingers. He couldn’t allow his mind to wander down that road. Not tonight.

He gazed at the skyline of Florence, at the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio, waiting until he was sure Julia was asleep.

He visited the bathroom, brushing his teeth and dropping his clothes to the floor. He showered quickly, knowing that she’d smell the smoke on his skin.

Naked and with damp hair, he slid between the sheets. He didn’t touch her. A quick glimpse of the bed in the lamplight revealed that she was wearing a nightgown and curled on her side, facing away from him.

Message received, sweetheart.

As he settled into bed he thought, perhaps, that he heard a murmur of distress emanating from her direction.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

When she didn’t respond, he switched off the light and turned his back to her.

It only took a moment for Julia to shift so she was spooning him from behind.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“We promised we wouldn’t go to bed angry anymore.”

“I’m not angry, Gabriel, I’m hurt.”

He reached back to grasp her wrist and pulled her arm so that it draped over his waist. “You’re right about Maria. I just wanted to do something.

“I don’t think you’re a bitch. I’d never think of you that way. You’re my beloved.”

“Then I need you to be kind to me. I have to tell you, Gabriel, this past little while has been really difficult. I don’t want our marriage to be like this.”

His body tightened.

“I’ll find a way to make it up to you. I promise.”

“I don’t want you to make it up to me. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Tell me now.” Her tone was harsh.

“Please, Julianne,” he whispered. “I’m asking you, please, to give me a little more time.”

“So you can come to some momentous decision without me?”

“I wouldn’t do anything without talking to you first. But haven’t you ever been worried about something and tried to figure out how to deal with it? You can’t exactly make those decisions for me.” He shook his head. “I’m asking you, Julianne, to have a little compassion.”

She searched his eyes and found nothing insincere in them.

“I can give you a little more time. But I want you to call Dr. Townsend.”

Gabriel opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted.

“I won’t accept your refusal. Either tell me what’s troubling you, or tell him. But for both our sakes, Gabriel, tell someone.”

With a deep exhalation, he nodded.

Gabriel was awake before sunrise and quit the suite before Julianne awoke. Though it pained him to leave the warmth of her embrace, he was on a mission. The sooner he gathered the information he needed, the closer he would be to a solution.

(Or so he hoped.)

That afternoon, he had an important meeting scheduled with his old friend, Dottore Vitali, the director of the Uffizi Gallery. Now Gabriel was more determined than ever to show his wife how much he loved her. And to do so publicly.

As he exited the hotel, he reflected on the fact that he preferred Florence in the morning—the quiet of the streets before the city shook off its slumber.

He stopped at the café at the Gucci Museum in Piazza della Signoria and bought an espresso and a sweet roll. He enjoyed his breakfast outside, along with his newspaper, La Nazione, biding his time until he could call for Elena at the orphanage.

At ten o’clock, he rang the doorbell. Elena was surprised to see him and even more surprised when he revealed the reason for his visit.

She thanked him for his concern for Maria and suggested that if he wanted to help, he could assist in covering the costs for the therapist she was seeing in an effort to help her recover her speech.

When Gabriel raised the subject of adoption, Elena quickly explained that adopting a child in Italy could be difficult. Only married couples were permitted to adopt, and they must have been married for at least three years. Even if he and Julianne had decided to adopt Maria, the Italian government wouldn’t let them.

Gabriel left the orphanage duly chastened, but not without making a substantial donation to cover Maria’s expenses. He made it clear that Elena was to contact him if any needs arose.

Lost in thought, he wandered to a café at Santa Croce. Instead of watching the beautiful women walk by, he made a few phone calls, prevailing upon Florence’s finer families to consider supporting the orphanage through foster care or adoption.

Reactions were mixed. Everyone was willing to part with their money for charity, but not a single couple would agree to become foster parents. Adoption was absolutely out of the question.

Once again, Gabriel was confronted with the lavishness of grace as he contemplated all the reasons why Richard and Grace could have said no to adopting him, but didn’t.

Julianne awoke to an empty bed and a quiet hotel room. But Gabriel had left a glass of water on the nightstand, along with a note,

Darling,

I’ve gone to run errands.

I’ll be back in time to get ready for the exhibition opening tonight.

I love you,

And I like my body when it is with your body,

G.

On the back of the note, Gabriel had transcribed a poem by e. e. cummings: “i like my body when it is with your.”

Julia read and reread the poem, wondering what Gabriel’s errands were.

In truth, she felt guilty. Gabriel was correct—Maria needed a family to love and care for her. Julia could see why Gabriel was drawn to her.

As all the anxiety about graduate school and her career washed over her, she couldn’t shake the suspicion that she was being selfish by valuing her education over the welfare of a child.

Still, it didn’t seem right to take Maria from the only country she’d ever known and place her in a house with strangers. Especially since Julia didn’t know what Gabriel was troubled about.

Maybe he wants children right away and he’s gearing himself up to tell me so.

Julia entertained the thought but put it aside. Gabriel recognized her anxiety about grad school. He wasn’t going to add to it.

She’d worked so hard to get herself to this point. His remarks the evening before about “the Julianne he knew” had cut her deeply. She’d tried to be compassionate her whole life. Surely being a good person didn’t entail the abandonment of one’s dreams.

Much as she wanted to help Maria, she simply couldn’t agree to adopt her. Not now. Perhaps in two years when they were better acquainted with her, and Julia was in her fourth year of graduate school. The fourth year was devoted to preparing her dissertation prospectus and then writing her dissertation. Julia could simply work on her research and be a mother, at the same time.

(Or so she thought.)

Still, she worried about her husband—about what secret demons tormented him and why he was so determined to be secretive.

She lifted her iPhone from the nightstand and quickly sent him a text.

G,

I missed waking up with you this morning.

Thank you for your note and the poem.

Looking forward to the opening tonight.

I love you too,

J.

xo

Then, in an effort to exercise her compassion, she dressed and spent the day on her own quest—trying to find the homeless man she’d given money to during her first visit to Florence with Gabriel.

She searched the city center, but no one seemed to know the man she was referring to, and certainly none of the people she asked had seen a man answering his description.

While Julianne was burying her sorrows in a lemon gelato at Bar Perseo, Gabriel was finishing his meeting with Dottore Massimo Vitali at the Uffizi. He returned to the hotel to find an empty suite, but the scent of orange blossoms filled the air, remnants of her perfume.

He had happy memories of their first visit to Florence. There was a wall in the suite that he would have liked to enshrine. He thought back to the early days of their relationship and how he’d worked so hard to earn Julianne’s trust. He was seized of a sudden by a glimpse of what his life would be like without her—empty, naked, cold.

He had to deal with his problems head on, or the gap between them would grow ever wider until eventually, he lost her.

He picked up his phone and dialed the number for his therapist’s office. Then he left a long message.

After he’d hung up the phone, he opened his laptop and pulled up the Google search engine. He typed the following search phrase: “Owen Davies.”

A few hours later, Julia was standing in the bathroom, applying makeup, while Gabriel stood at the sink next to her, shaving. As her fingers stroked over part of her throat, she found herself wincing. She could no longer see where Simon had bitten her. But every time she touched the spot, she felt his teeth.

A gentle hand caressed the back of her neck. “He won’t hurt you again.”

She met Gabriel’s eyes in the mirror. “I wish I could believe that. Somehow I suspect he and Natalie aren’t finished with me.”

“They wouldn’t dare.” He kissed her forehead.

“How can you be so sure?”

Something flickered across his features, but it was eclipsed by his smile.

“Trust me.”

“I heard from my dad today.” She traced the marble topped vanity with her finger.

“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.

“Good evening.” The stranger addressed them with a British accent, bowing formally.

To Gabriel’s trained ear, the accent sounded Oxonian.

“Evening,” Gabriel clipped, his palm sliding down Julia’s wrist in order to grasp her hand.

The guest’s eyes followed the path of Gabriel’s hand, and he smiled to himself.

“A remarkable evening,” he commented, gesturing at the room.

“Quite,” said Gabriel, gripping Julia’s hand a little too tightly.

She squeezed back, indicating that he should release the pressure a little.

“It’s generous of you to share your illustrations.” The guest’s tone was ironic. “How fortunate for you that you acquired them in secret and not on the open market.”

The stranger’s eyes traveled from Gabriel’s to Julia’s, pausing briefly. His nostrils flared and then his eyes appeared to soften before he turned to the drawing nearby.

“Yes, I count myself lucky. Enjoy your evening.” With a stiff nod, Gabriel moved away, still gripping Julia’s hand.

She was puzzled by Gabriel’s behavior but elected not to ask him about it until they reached the opposite end of the gallery.

“Who was that?”

“I have no idea, but stay away from him.” Gabriel was visibly agitated, and he passed a hand over his mouth.

“Why? What’s going on?” Julia stopped, facing him.

“I don’t know.” Gabriel’s eyes were sincere. “But there’s something about him. Promise me you’ll stay away.”

Julia laughed, the sound echoing across the gallery. “He’s a bit odd, but he seemed nice.”

“Pit bulls are nice until you put your hand in their cage. If he moves in your direction, turn around and walk away. Promise me.” Gabriel dropped his voice to a whisper.

“Of course. But what’s the matter? Have you met him before?”

“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. I didn’t like how he was looking at you. His eyes could have burned holes in your dress.”

“It’s a good thing I have Superman to protect me.” Julia kissed her husband firmly. “I promise to avoid him and all the other handsome men here.”

“You think he’s handsome?” Gabriel glared at her.

“Handsome the way a work of art is handsome, not the way you are. And if you kiss me now, I’ll forget him entirely.”

Gabriel leaned forward and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers before pressing their lips together.

“Thank you.” She chewed at the inside of her mouth. “I’m afraid you embarrassed me in your introduction. I don’t like the attention.”

“You’re the true benefactor. I’m merely your escort.”

Julia laughed again, but this time the sound barely echoed. The room had filled with other guests, who were waiting a respectful distance away.

“You make a charming escort, Professor.”

“Thank you.” He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you with my introduction. I was hoping to motivate some of our guests to consider donating to the orphanage.”

“Then embarrass me all you like. If one person decides to support the orphanage, this entire exhibit will have been a success. Even if they hate the illustrations.”

“How could anyone hate something so exquisite?” Gabriel gestured at the room.

Julia couldn’t argue. Several different artists had illustrated Dante’s work over the centuries, but Botticelli had always been her favorite.

They continued through the room, pausing in front of each picture. Gabriel noted with satisfaction that the stranger seemed to have disappeared.

When they’d reached the one hundredth and final illustration, Julia turned to her husband.

“An incredible exhibit. They did a fantastic job.”

“It isn’t finished.” Gabriel tried to smother a smile, his sapphire eyes sparkling.

“Really?” She looked around, confused.

He took her hand in his and led her to the second floor and into the Botticelli room.

She stopped short, as she always did, when she passed through the doors. Seeing The Birth of Venus and Primavera in the same room always left her breathless.

It was the location of Gabriel’s lecture during their first visit to Florence. He’d spoken of marriage and family then, things that at the time seemed as ethereal as a dream.

As she stood in front of Primavera, she felt happy. Something about the painting comforted her. And it was never as magnificent to view a copy as it was to see the original.

If she closed her eyes, she could feel the silence of the museum, hear the echoes from the distant corridor. If she concentrated, she could conjure Gabriel’s voice, lecturing on the four loves of eros, phileo, storge, and agape.

All of a sudden, she opened her eyes, her gaze drawn to the image of Mercury on the far left. She’d seen the painting a thousand times. But at this moment, his figure disquieted her. There was something about his appearance, something about his face that seemed strangely familiar . . .

“They’ve made an addition to this room since your last visit.” Gabriel’s voice interrupted her musings.

“Where?”

He grasped her elbow, moving her to the right so she could see a large framed black-and-white photograph that hung on the wall opposite The Birth of Venus.

She covered her mouth with her hand.

“What’s that doing here?”

Gabriel tugged her until she was standing in front of a photograph of herself. She was in profile, her eyes closed and her long hair held up by a pair of man’s hands. She was smiling.

The picture was one that Gabriel had taken back in Toronto, when she’d first agreed to pose for him. She looked at the tag underneath the photograph and read the following,

«Deh, bella donna, che a’ raggi d’amore

ti scaldi, s’i’ vo’ credere a’ sembianti

che soglion esser testimon del core,

vegnati in voglia di trarreti avanti»,

diss’io a lei, «verso questa rivera,

tanto ch’io possa intender che tu canti.

Tu mi fai rimembrar dove e qual era

Proserpina nel tempo che perdette

la madre lei, ed ella primavera».

—DANTE, PURGATORIO 28.045-051.

“Ah, beauteous lady, who in rays of love

Dost warm thyself, if I may trust to looks,

Which the heart’s witnesses are wont to be,

May the desire come unto thee to draw

Near to this river’s bank,” I said to her,

“So much that I might hear what thou art singing.

Thou makest me remember where and what

Proserpina that moment was when lost

Her mother her, and she herself the Spring.”

“Those are the words Dante speaks when he sees Beatrice for the first time in Purgatory.” Gabriel touched her face, and his eyes met hers with searing intensity.

“It was the same for me. When I saw you in Cambridge after being separated from you, I remembered those words. Just seeing you, standing in the street, made me remember all I’d lost. I was hoping you’d see me and come to me.”

Gabriel pulled her against his chest as Julia’s eyes filled with tears. “Don’t cry, my sweet girl. You’re my Beatrice and my sticky little leaf and my beautiful wife. I’m sorry I’ve been such a bastard. I wanted to show you how important you are to me. You are my most precious masterpiece.”

Julia gazed up at him.

He swiped his thumbs under her eyes before pressing his lips to her forehead.

“You’re my Persephone; the maiden to my monster.”

“No more talk of monsters.” She brushed his tuxedo with her hand, worried that she’d transferred tears and makeup to the wool.

Then he was kissing her until she was breathless, arms wrapped tight around her back. When he released her, she giggled.

“I take it you’re impressed with the exhibition, Mrs. Emerson?”

“Yes.” Her face grew grave. “But I’d like you to take the photograph down. It’s a magnificent gesture, but I don’t want to be on display.”

“You aren’t.”

Julia looked from Gabriel to the photograph and back again.

“I’m hanging there for all to see.”

“Vitali wished to give us a gift to thank us, but I refused. When I asked if I could do something—ah—unusual for you, he agreed.” Gabriel gestured to the room. “Vitali is an old romantic and it pleased him to be able to do something special for us. He agreed to display the picture and give us an hour on this floor, all to ourselves.”

Julia’s eyes widened. “We have the Botticelli room all to ourselves?”

“Not just that.” His blue eyes danced with amusement as he brought his lips to her ear. “We also have the corridor.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. This floor is off limits until”—he glanced at his Rolex—“forty-five minutes from now, when we have to go downstairs for the reception and dinner.”

With one quick movement, she grasped his lapels with both hands and pulled him to her, pressing a long, hard kiss against his lips.

“I take it you’re pleased?” he said, when she finally released him.

“Let’s go.” She grabbed his hand and began tugging him toward the door.

“Where?”

“Makeup sex, museum sex, corridor sex. I don’t care what you call it, but now is our chance.”

Gabriel found himself chuckling and trotting after a very determined, very fast-moving Julianne, who was tottering on high heels.

“You surprise me, Mrs. Emerson.”

“How so?” She lifted her voice slightly so it could be heard above the tapping of her stilettos.

“You’re supposed to be shy. You’re supposed to be the seduced, not the seducer.”

She turned around, her eyes glittering.

“I want a heart-stopping, mind-blowing orgasm against a Florentine wall, Professor. You’ve just told me we have what I never thought we’d have—privacy in a public space. Screw shyness.”

Now Gabriel laughed, tipping his head back.

He marched her swiftly down the corridor and around the corner to the opposite side, where he positioned her in a dark corner between two high marble statues perched atop plinths.

“This time, I won’t stop,” he whispered, his large hand pulling up her dress in order to rest on her thigh.

“Good.”

“There’s no air conditioning in here, so things might get a little . . . hot.” He stroked the skin of her thigh with the back of his hand.

“I would expect nothing less, Professor.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close.

He lifted her and her legs surrounded his waist, pressing their lower bodies together. Her back came into contact with the glass of the museum windows and she shivered a little at the cool sensation.

“Now tell me who is handsome.” He spoke against her lips.

“You are.” Julia captured his mouth just as a groan escaped him.

She kissed him determinedly, her tongue tracing the seam of his lips. He opened to her, and her tongue eagerly entered his mouth.

They kissed as if they’d been separated for years, lips eager and wanting.

He slid his hand up and down her thigh before pulling the skirt of her dress higher. The taffeta sighed its approval.

As he pressed against her more tightly, his fingers moved to the flare of her hip, where he caressed back and forth and back and forth. When he came to rest on her hip bone, he pulled back.

“Where are your panties?”

“I like my body when it is with your body, remember? Panties just get in the way.”

Gabriel groaned, the sound traveling down the empty corridor. “You’ve been walking around like this all evening?”

She winked at him provocatively.

“No wonder that man was staring at you.”

“Stop talking about other men.” She tugged at his bow tie.

He leaned forward to taste her lips again, stroking her tongue with his own.

Julia shifted in his arms, the heels of her shoes catching on his tuxedo jacket. She undid his bow tie, tossing it to the floor, and hastily unbuttoned his shirt. She began kissing his neck and chest, her lips whispering across the surface of his skin, before sliding a hand down to his waistband.

But Gabriel would not be rushed. He moved her hand back to his shoulder, then reached between her legs, touching her gently. He was barely able to contain his joy at her reaction to him.

Julia moved and writhed, moaning in his ear.

“Don’t make me wait,” she begged, trying in vain to pull him closer.

Gabriel rummaged in his pockets.

“It’s a good thing I brought this.” He held up a square foil packet triumphantly.

She opened her eyes, fixing on the item. “Where did that come from?”

Gabriel chuckled.

“I thought you’d be uncomfortable all evening otherwise.”

She blinked. “Did you plan this?”

“Absolutely.” His left hand squeezed her backside for effect.

She moved to take it from him, but he shook his head.

“Allow me, Mrs. Emerson.” He held the packet in his teeth while he unzipped his trousers. Then he ripped the foil before swiftly rolling it over himself.

Gabriel teased her, sliding back and forth before easing inside. She exhaled in satisfaction, tightening around him.

There were no words. Indeed, they were beyond speech. Gabriel knew his wife’s body as she knew his, and the two of them moved and responded to one another with an increasing pace.

Muffled groans and grunts of satisfaction echoed down the corridor, so much so that a group of statues covered their ears. Julia’s back thumped against the window as they moved in concert.

“I’m close,” she managed, the last word cut off as her orgasm overtook her.

Gabriel quickened his thrusts, filling her deeply until he, too, was overcome.

Julia clung to him as if she were dying, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her face buried in his neck.

They were motionless for some time. Gabriel’s breath left his body in a long, relaxed exhalation.

“Okay?” he asked, kissing her cheek.

“Fantastic.”

They remained in one another’s arms, holding each other tightly as their hearts and breathing slowed. Gabriel gently placed Julia on her feet, and pulled her dress down to cover her. His hand found her waist and he squeezed.

“Can you walk?” He eyed her, and her expensive shoes, with concern.

“I think so. I might be a little wobbly.”

“Then allow me.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her to a nearby bathroom.

“Is it very different when you wear one of those?” Julia nodded at the condom that Gabriel threw into a trash can.

“I can’t feel as much, so it’s frustrating.” Gabriel proceeded to wash his hands. “For most of my life, it was all I knew. But knowing what it’s like to be inside you without it makes a condom a kind of torture.”

“I’m sorry.”

He dried his hands and leaned over to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t be. I’m not so selfish that I want you to be uncomfortable or messy simply so I can have better sex.”

She frowned.

He brought their foreheads together. “Sex with you is always magnificent. But that’s because it’s more than just sex. Now I think you’ll have to fix your hair and your face. Or everyone will know that you’ve just had museum sex.” He looked a good deal more than proud of himself.

She arched an eyebrow. “And you’re all set to return to the party?”

“Of course.” Gabriel buttoned his tuxedo jacket.

“You don’t need to make any—adjustments?”

“No.” He cocked his head to one side. “Of course, I don’t mind if people realize I just had museum sex with my wife.”

“Oh, they will.”

“How?”

“Because you’re forgetting something, Professor.”

“And what’s that?”

“Your tie.”

Gabriel reached up to his neck, a look of surprise flitting across his face. He began buttoning his shirt.

“Where is it?”

“On the floor where I left it.”

“Temptress,” he muttered, shaking his head.

She leaned over the vanity, attending to her hair and makeup. “So how good was the sex we just had? On a scale of one to transcendent?”

“Earth-shattering and tie forgetting.”

Smugly, she reapplied her lipstick. “Don’t you forget it.”