Gabriel's Redemption

Chapter Eight

Some time later, Gabriel was entwined with his wife in one of the narrow beds. She breathed his name against his chest.

“You haven’t lost your skill. I found your most recent innovation extremely—satisfying.”

“Thank you.” His chest swelled. “It’s late now. Time for sleep.”

“I can’t.”

Gabriel coaxed her chin upward. “Are you worried about your paper?”

“I want to make you proud.”

“I will always be proud of you. I am proud of you.” His blue eyes lasered into hers.

“What about Professor Picton?”

“She wouldn’t invite you if she thought you weren’t ready.”

“What if someone asks me a question and I don’t know the answer?”

“You answer it as best you can. If they press you, you can always say they’ve asked a good question and you’ll give the matter some thought.”

Julia rested against his chest, her fingers scaling his abdominal muscles.

“Do you think if I asked C.S. Lewis to intercede on my behalf, he’d pray for me?”

Gabriel snorted.

“Lewis was a Protestant from Northern Ireland. He didn’t believe in petitioning the saints. Even if he heard you, he’d ignore you. On principle.

“Ask Tolkien. He was Catholic.”

“I could ask Dante to pray for me.”

“Dante is already praying for you.” He spoke against her hair.

Julia closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. She always found its rhythm comforting.

“What if people ask why you left Toronto?”

“We’ll say what we always say—I wanted to be in Boston because you were going to Harvard and we were getting married.”

“Christa Peterson has been telling a different story.”

The Professor’s eyes narrowed. “Forget about her. We don’t need to worry about her at this conference.”

“Promise me you won’t lose your temper if you hear something—unsavory.”

“Give me a little credit.” He sounded exasperated. “We’ve had to deal with gossip at BU and Harvard and I haven’t lost my temper.”

“Of course.” She kissed his chest. “But academics get bored and like to talk. Nothing is more exciting than a sex scandal.”

“I beg to differ, Mrs. Emerson.” Gabriel’s eyes twinkled.

“Oh, really?”

“Sex with you is more exciting than a scandal.”

He flipped her to her back and proceeded to kiss her neck.

Before the sun peeked over the horizon, Julia crept back into the room. A shaft of light from the window partially illuminated the naked man in her bed. He was lying on his stomach, his dark hair mussed. The sheet was slung dangerously low, exposing his lower back, his dimples, and the top of his backside.

Julia gazed at him appreciatively, her eyes resting a beat longer than necessary on his muscular back and gluteus maximus. He was beautiful, he was sexy, and he was hers.

She removed her yoga pants and T-shirt, placing her clothes and underthings on an obliging chair. Since they’d been married, she almost always slept naked. She preferred it that way—to sleep skin against skin with her beloved.

Gabriel stirred when he felt the mattress move. He accepted her into his arms immediately, but it took a few moments for him to awake.

“Where did you go?” He began to run his fingers up and down her arm.

“I went to see the stone figures in the quadrangle.”

Gabriel’s eyes opened. “Why?”

“I read the Narnia books. They were special to me.”

He cupped her face.

“So you wanted to stay here because of Lewis?”

“And because of you. I know that Paulina lived here when you did, and I . . .” She stopped, regretting the fact that she’d mentioned someone they were both trying to forget.

“That was before we were involved. I spent very little time with her here.” He wrapped Julia in his arms. “I wouldn’t have tried to take you to the Randolph tonight, if I’d known your reasons. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you’d think my attachment to the Narnia books was juvenile.”

“Anything important to you can’t be juvenile.”

He thought for a moment as he considered what she’d said.

“I read those books, too. There was a closet in my mother’s apartment back in New York that I was convinced would open into Narnia if I was a good boy. Clearly, I wasn’t.”

He expected her to laugh, but she didn’t.

“I know what it’s like to be willing to do anything to make the stories real,” she whispered.

Gabriel’s hold on her tightened. “If you want to see where Lewis lived, I’ll take you to The Kilns, his house. Then we’ll go to The Bird and Baby, where the Inklings met.”

“I’d like that.”

He brushed a kiss against her hair. “I said once that you were not my equal, but my better. I’m afraid you didn’t believe me.”

“It’s difficult to believe that you think that, sometimes.”

He winced.

“I need to do a better job of showing you,” he whispered. “But I’m not sure how.”