Chapter 14
His eyes closed, but only for a second, and a slow, sweet smile spread
across his face. His eyes grew soft and very warm. “You found me.”
Julia chewed at the inside of her cheek, willing herself not to burst into tears at the sound of his voice. This was the voice she remembered. And she’d waited to hear it for so long. She had waited for him to return to her for so, so long.
“Beatrice.” He clasped her wrist, pulling her toward him. He shifted slightly on the bed to accommodate her, enveloping her in his arms as she rested her head on his naked chest. “I thought you’d forgotten me.”
“Never,” she choked out as the tears began to flow uncontrollably. “I thought of you every day.”
“Don’t cry. You found me.”
Gabriel closed his eyes and turned his head, his breathing beginning to regulate again. Julia lay very still, not wanting her sobs to disturb him, trying desperately not to shake the bed as she let her grief and relief wash over her. Tears traveled in small rivers down her pale cheeks and onto the expanse of tanned and tattooed skin that lay beneath her head.
Her Gabriel had remembered her. Her Gabriel had finally returned.
“Beatrice,” his arm tightened around her waist as he moved to whisper against her hair, still damp from the shower. “Don’t cry.” With his brilliant blue eyes closed, Gabriel pressed his lips to her forehead, once, twice, thrice.
“I missed you. So much,” she whispered, her lips moving against his tattoo.
“You found me,” he murmured. “I should have waited. I love you.”
Now Julia wept harder, clinging to him as if she were drowning and he was her savior. She kissed the skin of his chest lightly and ran her fingers up and down his abdomen.
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In response, Gabriel’s fingertips traced the goose-pimpled flesh of her arms before slipping under the loose fabric of her t-shirt. He feathered his fingers across her skin until his hand finally stilled against her lower back. He sighed deeply and seemed to pass into his dreamland once again.
“I love you, Gabriel. So much it hurts,” she said, her hand coming to rest over his gently beating heart. She whispered Dante’s own words back to him, somewhat changed:
Love hath so long possess’d me for his own
And made his lordship so familiar
That he, who at first irk’d me, is now grown
Unto my heart as its best secrets are.
And thus, when he in such sore wise doth mar
My life that all its strength seems gone from it.
Mine inmost being then feels thoroughly quit
Of anguish, and all evil keeps afar.
Love also gathers to such power in me
That my sighs speak, each one a grievous thing.
Always soliciting
My Gabriel’s salutation piteously.
Whenever he beholds me, it is so,
Who is more sweet than any words can show.
When all her tears were dry, Julia placed a few tentative kisses against Gabriel’s stilled, soft lips and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep in the arms of her beloved.
P
When she awoke, it was shortly past seven in the morning. Gabriel was still sound asleep. In fact, he was snoring, and from the looks of it neither of them had moved all night. It was probably the most peaceful sleep she’d ever had, but one.
She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to be separated from him, not by one inch. She wanted to lie in his arms forever and pretend as if they had never been apart.
He recognized me. He loves me. Finally.
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She had never felt loved before. Not really. Oh he had mumbled it, and her mother had shouted it but only when drunk, so the words never entered Julia’s consciousness. Or heart. She never believed them because their actions had showed their words to be false. But she believed Gabriel.
So on this morning, the first morning ever, Julia felt loved. She smiled so widely she thought her face would break. She pressed her lips to Gabriel’s neck and nuzzled against his stubbled skin. He moaned softly and his arm tightened against her, but his regular and deep breathing told her that he was still very much asleep.
Julia had enough experience with alcoholics to know that Gabriel would be hungover and probably cranky when he woke up. So she wasn’t in a hurry to wake him. She was silently grateful that last night, at least, Gabriel had been a harmless, flirtatious drunk. That kind of drunk she could handle. It was the other kind that frightened her.
She spent about an hour drinking in his scent and his warmth, reveling in their closeness, skimming her hands tentatively over his upper body. Apart from the evening she spent with him in the woods, these moments were the happiest of her life. But eventually, she had to get up.
She stealthily crawled out from under his arm and padded to the master bathroom, closing the door behind her. She noticed a bottle of Aramis cologne sitting on his vanity. She picked it up, opened it, and sniffed. It wasn’t the scent that she remembered from the orchard. His scent then had been more natural, wilder even.
This is the new scent of Gabriel. And just like him — it’s breathtaking. And now he’s mine…
She brushed her teeth, twisted her now curly hair up into a messy knot, and walked into the kitchen to find a rubber band or a pencil with which to hold it. Her hair thus affixed, she floated into the laundry room and transferred the clean but damp clothes to the dryer. She couldn’t go home until her clothes were dry. But she had no intention of leaving now that he remembered her.
What about Paulina? Or m.a.i.a.? Julia pushed those questions aside, simply because they were irrelevant. Gabriel loved her. Of course, he would let Paulina go.
What about the fact that he’s my Professor? And what if he’s an alcoholic?
She had promised herself long ago that she would never get involved with an alcoholic. But rather than face that possibility head on, she actively suppressed all the little, niggling doubts that were bubbling to the surface, for truly, she wanted to believe that their love would conquer all.
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“Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments,” she thought, citing Shakespeare as a talisman against her fears. She believed Gabriel’s vices were borne out of loneliness and despair. But now that they had found each other once again, their love would be enough to rescue both of them from their respective darknesses. Together they would be far stronger and far healthier than they had been separately.
As Julia pondered these things in her heart, she went through the cupboards of Gabriel’s excellently stocked kitchen. She wasn’t sure if he would want breakfast, given his hangover. Sharon had always eschewed food in favor of a breakfast libation such as a Seabreeze, which Julia had (sadly) learned to make with aplomb at age eight. Nevertheless, after she finished her own breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee, she prepared the same for Gabriel.
Not knowing if he would need the hair of the dog that bit him, but wanting to give him that option, she made him a Walters cocktail. She found the recipe in his bartender’s guide, having chosen (she hoped correctly) the decanter on top of the sideboard that held his least favorite Scotch, not wanting to sully his finest single malt with juice.
In sum, Julia was ecstatic at having the opportunity to spoil Gabriel a little, and so she took extra care as she prepared his breakfast tray. She clipped a few small sprigs of parsley from his countertop herb garden for a garnish, which she placed alongside the orange sections that she’d cut up and fanned next to the bacon. She even wrapped his silverware in a linen napkin, which she folded somewhat clumsily into the shape of a pocket. She wished she was clever enough to make something more substantial than a pocket, a peacock perhaps, or a fan, and she decided to investigate those options the next time she was on her computer. Martha Stewart would know. Martha Stewart always knew.
Then Julia bravely walked into Gabriel’s study and found a pad of paper and a fountain pen on top of his large, wooden desk. She wrote a note:
October 2009
Dear Gabriel,
I’d given up hope,
until you looked into my eyes last night and finally saw me.
Apparuit iam beatitudo vestra.
Now your blessedness appears.
Your Beatrice
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Julia propped the note up against the wine glass she used for his orange juice. Not willing to wake him just yet, she placed the entire tray, cocktail and all, in his large and half-empty refrigerator. Then she leaned up against its door and sighed with satisfaction.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Julia’s domestic goddess routine was suddenly interrupted by someone banging on the front door.
Holy shit, she thought. Could that be — ?
At first she didn’t know what to do. Should she wait and see if Paulina let herself in with a key? Or should she run back to Gabriel’s arms and hide? After waiting a minute or so her curiosity got the best of her, and she found herself tiptoeing quietly to the front door.
O gods of all just-been-reunited-with-my-soul-mate-after-a-really-painful-six-friggin’-years-graduate-students, please don’t let my soul mate’s (soon to be) ex-mistress mess things up. Please.
Julia took a deep breath and gazed through the peephole. The hallway was empty. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something on the ground. Hesitantly, she opened the door just a crack and darted a nervous hand out toward the something, exhaling deeply in relief when her hand closed on the Saturday morning Globe and Mail.
Smiling again, and relieved that her blissful reunion with Gabriel had not been ruined by his erstwhile mistress, Julia picked up the paper and hastily locked the door. Still smiling, she poured herself a glass of orange juice and curled up in the red velvet wing-backed chair that was angled next to the fireplace, with her bare feet resting on the matching ottoman. She sighed in contentment.
If you had asked her over two weeks ago when she was visiting Gabriel’s apartment with Rachel if she ever thought she’d be sitting in his precious chair on a Sunday morning, she would have said no. She hadn’t thought it possible, even with Grace’s saintly intercession. But now that she was here, she was very, very happy.
She settled in for a leisurely morning of orange juice and the Saturday paper and decided that her felicity deserved Cuban music, more specifically, a little bit of Buena Vista Social Club. As she listened to Pueblo Nuevo on her iPod, she perused the Arts section of Gabriel’s newspaper. An exhibition of Florentine art was coming to the Royal Ontario Museum on loan from the Uffizi Gallery. Maybe Gabriel wouldn’t mind taking her to see it. On a date.
Yes, they’d missed out on her high school prom and all the fancy parties at Saint Joseph’s University. But Julia was sure that all the wasted time
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and lost opportunity would now be returned to her tenfold to fill as she wished with Gabriel. Happily, she leaped to her feet as the trumpet player in her ears began playing a few bars of Stormy Weather as a counterpoint to the Cuban melody. Julia sang loudly, too loudly, dancing with her orange juice in Gabriel’s pretentious underwear, blissfully unaware of the half-naked man who was striding up behind her.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Aaaaggggghhhhhh!”
Julia yelped and jumped about a foot in reaction to the harsh, angry voice. She quickly took her ear buds out of her ears and turned around. And what she saw crushed her.
“I asked you a question!” Gabriel snapped, his eyes transformed to blackish-blue pools. “What the fuck are you doing in my underwear, jumping around my living room?”
Crack.
Was that the sound of Julia’s heart snapping in two? Or just the final nail in the coffin in which her dead love rested, but not in peace?
Perhaps it was his tone of voice, angry and commanding. Perhaps it was the fact that in that one question she realized that he no longer viewed her as Beatrice, and all her realized hopes and dreams just fucking died in their infancy. But whatever the true explanation, Julia’s iPod and orange juice slipped through her fingers. The glass promptly shattered, sending her old iPod skating through an ever expanding pool of liquid sunshine at her feet.
Julia stared at the disaster beneath her for a few seconds, trying to wrap her mind around it. It was as if she didn’t understand how glass could shatter and make such a mess, something in the shape of a glittering starburst. Eventually, she dropped to her knees to pick up the glass and began repeating two questions over and over in her head.
Why is he so angry with me? Why doesn’t he remember?
A tall and shirtless Gabriel looked down at her. He was clad only in his underwear, which made him look slightly sexy and slightly ridiculous. His fists were clenched, and Julia saw the tendons standing out in his magnificent arms.
“Don’t you remember what happened last night, Gabriel?”
“No, thankfully I don’t. And get up! You’re on your knees more than the average whore.” He spoke through clenched teeth, glaring at her servile form.
Julia’s head popped up. She searched his eyes, noting his complete and utter lack of memory and his irritation. He might as well have run her
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through with a sword. She felt the blade pierce and enter her heart, and she felt her heart begin to hemorrhage slowly.
Just like his tattoo, she thought. He’s the dragon; I’m the bleeding heart.
In that instant of silent realization, the most remarkable thing happened. Something inside of her, six years in the making, finally, finally snapped.
“I’ll have to take you at your word about the behavior of whores, Emerson. Only you would know,” she growled.
Then, when that snide remark didn’t quite heal the ache in the now expanding fissure in her heart, she boldly forgot about cleaning up her mess and leaped to her feet. And promptly lost her temper.
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that, you lousy drunk!” she snarled. “Who the fuck do you think you are? After everything I did for you last night? I should have let Gollum have you! I should have let you fuck her brains out in front of everyone on top of the bar at Lobby!”
“What are you talking about?”
She leaned toward him, eyes flashing, cheeks flushed, and lips trembling. She shook with anger as the adrenaline coursed through her veins. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to wipe that expression off his face with her fists. She wanted to pull his hair out in handfuls and leave him bald. Forever.
Gabriel inhaled her scent, erotic and inviting, and licked his lips involuntarily. But that was the wrong thing to do in front of a woman as angry as Miss Mitchell.
She tossed her head in fury and stomped down the hall, muttering various and sundry exotic expletives in both English and Italian. And when she came to the end of them, she switched to German, a sure sign that she was in a towering rage.
“Hau ab! Verpiss dich!” she spat from the laundry room.
Gabriel slowly began rubbing his eyes, for in addition to suffering from one of the worst hangover headaches of his life, he was slightly enjoying the sight of Miss Mitchell in his t-shirt and boxer shorts, passionately angry and shouting at him in a multiplicity of Western European languages. It was the second most erotic thing he had ever witnessed. And it was entirely beside the point.
“How did you learn to swear in German?” He followed the sound of her cursing auf Deutsch to the laundry room where she was removing her now semi-dry clothes from the dryer.
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“Bite me, Gabriel!”
He was distracted at that moment by a black lace bra that was reclining provocatively but somewhat casually on top of the dryer. He gazed at it and realized that the number and cup size that popped into his head the night he’d taken her to Harbour Sixty for dinner were absolutely correct. Gabriel silently congratulated himself.
He dragged his eyes up to meet hers. There were sparks in them, luminescent butterscotch in dark chocolate, like a glittering sundae.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting the hell out of here before I take one of your stupid bow ties and strangle you with it!”
Gabriel frowned, for he had always thought that those ties were smart. “Who is Gollum?”
“Christa-fucking-Peterson.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up. Christa? I guess she is Gollum-like. If you squint.
“Forget about Christa. I don’t care about her. Did you have sex with me?” He crossed his arms and his voice grew serious.
“In your dreams, Gabriel!”
“That is not a denial, Miss Mitchell.” He put his hand on her arm and forced her to stop what she was doing. “And don’t tell me it wouldn’t have formed part of your dreams too.”
“Get your hands off me, you arrogant bastard!” Julia pulled away so forcefully she almost fell backward. “Of course, you would have to be drunk to want to fuck me.”
Gabriel reddened. “Stop it. Who said anything about fucking?”
“What else would you do? I’m the crazy little whore who’s down on my knees every five seconds. Whatever happened, consider yourself lucky you don’t remember it! I’m sure it was more than forgettable.”
Gabriel’s hand grabbed her chin and held it firmly, lifting it so her face was inches from his. “I said stop it.” His eyes flashed back at hers, and in them Julia read a serious warning. “You are not a whore. And don’t ever speak about yourself like that again.” His tone slid across her skin like an ice cube.
He let her go and took a very large step back, his chest heaving and his eyes burning. He closed his eyes hard and began to breathe deeply, very deeply. Even in his shadowy, soused thinking he knew that things had
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escalated far beyond what was warranted. He needed to calm the fuck down fast, and then he needed to calm her down before she did something rash.
The look in her eyes said it all; he’d cornered her like an animal. She was angry and hurt and frightened and sad — a furious, wounded kitten with claws drawn and tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. He had done this. He had done this to her, a brown-eyed angel, when he compared her to a whore and failed to remember whatever happened between them last night.
You must have seduced her if she’s acting like this…Emerson, you are a grade A asshole. And you just kissed your career good-bye.
While Gabriel was thinking, and thinking slowly, Julia saw an opportunity and took it. Cursing him loudly, she grabbed her clothes from the dryer and ran into the guest room, slamming and locking the door behind her.
She pulled off his boxer shorts, dropping them disdainfully on the floor, and quickly pulled on her damp socks and jeans. When she realized that she’d left her bra on top of the dryer she decided she’d just leave without it. He can add that to his collection. Bastard. She decided not to change out of his t-shirt since it was less revealing than her own. And if he demanded his t-shirt back, she’d scratch his eyes out.
Julia stood with her ear against the door, listening for any sound of movement in the hallway. Her lack of clarity on this point gave her a few precious moments to think.
She’d lost her temper and been stupid. She knew what Gabriel could be like; she’d seen the shattered coffee table and the blood spattered on Grace’s carpet. Although she was positive that her Gabriel would never, ever strike her, she had no idea what Professor Emerson would do when provoked.
But he’d made her so angry. And she’d never had the chance to rage against him before. It was as if all of her pent up anger was screaming to get out. She had to push back; she had to get him out of her system once and for all. She’d wasted her life pining for someone who wasn’t real, some temporary alcoholic apparition, and today it was finally going to stop.
You’ve yelled and cursed at him. Just get the hell out before he decides to get physical.
While Julia was getting dressed, Gabriel was stumbling to the kitchen in order to find something to remove the Scotch-woven cobwebs from his mind. He opened the door to the refrigerator and leaned against it, bathed in its brilliant fluorescence.
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His blue eyes glanced over the fridge’s contents until they found a large white tray. A very pretty, large white tray. A very pretty, very feminine, large white tray with food, orange juice, and what appeared to be a cocktail on it.
And was that…? She even garnished the plate, for God’s sake.
Gabriel stared. Miss Mitchell seemed to be a kindly person, but what were the chances that she made him breakfast for any reason other than the fact that he’d taken her to bed? The tray, in all of its garnished glory, seemed to be evidence of his seduction, and for that reason it sickened him.
Nevertheless, he was grateful that she’d prepared him a cocktail, as he gulped it greedily. It was precisely the antidote his pounding head needed, and in a few moments he felt some measure of relief.
Lazily, his eyes alighted on the note that was propped up against the orange juice. He scanned the writing slowly, not quite understanding why Miss Mitchell would choose to address him in such a manner. He read the note again and again, his focus finally coming to rest on these words:
Apparuit iam beatitudo vestra.
Now your blessedness appears.
Your Beatrice
He thrust the note aside in irritation. If it didn’t confirm their tryst, it was evidence of a crush. No wonder it had been so easy to charm her out of her virginity. Students were intrigued by figures of authority and developed inappropriate attachments to them. In Julianne’s case, she viewed him through the characters of her research, i.e., she was Beatrice to his Dante. A simple but forbidden crush. A crush he’d indulged in a selfish, drunken haze. Now he’d lost his appetite. What will Rachel say when she finds out?
Cursing his own lack of self-control, he walked past the closed guestroom door on the way to his bedroom. Flashes of the previous evening danced before his eyes. He remembered kissing Julianne in his hallway and the feel of her skin beneath his hands. He remembered earnestly desiring her, the sweetness of her lips, her warm breath in his face, the way she trembled under his touch. Even though he couldn’t remember the act itself, or the pleasure of her nakedness, he remembered looking up into her face while he was lying in bed. He felt her hand against his cheek as she pleaded with him to walk toward the light. She had the face of an angel. A beautiful, brown-eyed angel.
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She came to my rescue, and see how I treated her. I took her virginity, and I don’t even remember it. She deserved better. Much, much better.
He emitted the groan of a tortured soul as he pulled on a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt and hunted around for his glasses. Just as he was about to exit the bedroom, he stopped, his gaze inexplicably drawn to the oil painting on the front wall.
Beatrice.
He moved so that he was but inches from her lovely face, her white figure familiar and comforting. His brown-eyed angel. A glimpse of the impossible drifted before his eyes, but like a wisp of smoke it vanished. He was hungover and not thinking clearly.
Julia quietly unlocked the door and peered into the hall. It was empty. She tiptoed toward the kitchen, shoved her feet into her sneakers, grabbed her things, and ran to the front door. Gabriel was waiting for her.
Scheisse.
“You can’t leave until I get some answers.”
Julia swallowed thickly. “Let me go. Or I’ll call the cops.”
“You call the cops, I’ll tell them you broke in here.”
“You tell them that, I’ll tell them that you kept me here against my will and that you hurt me.” She was speaking without thinking again, which wasn’t smart. And now she was threatening him with a falsehood. Anything they did together had been consensual and chaste and sweet — and absolutely, absolutely ruined. But Gabriel didn’t know that.
“Please, Julianne. Tell me I didn’t — ” His eyes grew large and round, and his face contorted in pain. “Please tell me I wasn’t…rough with you.” Gabriel turned almost green in his revulsion and raised a shaking hand to his glasses. “How badly did I hurt you?”
Julia debated how long she should leave him on the proverbial hook but decided hastily to un-bait him. She closed her eyes and groaned. “You didn’t hurt me. Not physically, at least. You just wanted someone to put you to bed and keep you company. You begged me to stay, actually, but just as a friend. You were more of a gentleman to me last night than you were this morning, which is saying something. I think I like you better when you’re drunk.”
“Never think that, Julianne.” He shook his head at her and sighed. “And I’m still drunk. I’m simply relieved that I wasn’t your first.”
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She inhaled sharply, and Gabriel watched as a pained expression marred her lovely features.
“But your clothes…” He stared down at her chest, at her nipples that were poking prettily from underneath his black t-shirt. He tried not to ogle her, but failed.
“Is this some kind of joke?” she snapped. “Do you honestly not remember?”
“I have gaps in my memory — when I drink sometimes I can’t tell…” He began mumbling incoherently.
Julia reached the end of her patience. “You threw up on me. That’s why I was in your clothes. And for no other reason, believe me.”
A look of relief and pained acknowledgement passed across his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “And I apologize for insulting you. I didn’t mean what I said earlier, truly I didn’t. I was shocked to find you here and the way you were dressed, I thought that we…” He made a vague hand gesture.
“Bullshit.”
Gabriel glared, forcing himself to keep his temper. “If anyone connected with the university found out that you stayed here, I could be in a lot of trouble. We both could.”
“I won’t tell anyone, Gabriel. I’m not stupid, despite what you think of me.”
He frowned. “I know you aren’t stupid. But if Paul or Christa found out, then I…”
“Is that all you care about? Covering your own ass? Well, don’t worry, I covered it for you. I pried Christa off your dick last night before you had a chance to consummate your professor-student relationship. You should be thanking me!”
Gabriel’s face hardened, and he pressed his lips together. “Thank you, Miss Mitchell. But if someone sees you leaving here…”
Julia threw her hands up in frustration. He really was incredibly dense.
“If anyone sees me, I’ll say I was on my knees for your next door neighbor, making money to buy couscous. I’m sure it’s believable.”
In a flash Gabriel’s hand was on her chin again, more forcefully this time. “Stop it. I warned you about saying things like that.”
Julia froze, but only for a second, before jerking out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed. She tried to move past him, praying he wasn’t going
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to retaliate by hitting her, but he put his hand on the doorknob and braced himself against the door.
“Damn it! Just stop.” He raised his hand, hoping to still her.
Instinctively, she ducked and reeled backward. Gabriel saw her movement for what it was and instantly felt ill.
“Julianne, please.” He lowered his voice to the softest whisper and pleaded with his eyes. “I’m not going to hit you. I just want to talk to you.”
He placed a hand to his head and grimaced. “I’ve done terrible things when I wasn’t in my right mind. I was afraid I’d treated you badly last night. I lashed out, but I’m only angry with myself.
“I think very highly of you. Very highly. How could I not? You are…beautiful and innocent and sweet. I don’t like seeing you crawling on floors as if you were an animal or a fucking slave. Leave the bloody glass where it is — I don’t care. Do you remember the self-deprecating words you said to me when I took you home after The Vestibule? Those words have haunted me. So have mercy on me and stop denigrating yourself. I can’t take it.”
He cleared his throat, twice. “I don’t remember everything that happened with Miss Peterson, but I apologize. I was a fool, and you came to my rescue. Thank you.”
He slowly adjusted his glasses. “What happened last night cannot happen again. I apologize for kissing you. I’m sure that was a disgusting experience, some slobbering drunk putting his mouth all over you. Forgive me.”
The air left Julia’s body in a loud gasp. Gabriel’s apology hurt. For from the sound of it, he didn’t remember the kiss the way she did. And that upset her, greatly.
“Oh, that,” she said coolly. “I’d forgotten all about it. It was nothing.”
Gabriel raised his eyebrows. For some reason, his expression darkened and he frowned. “Nothing? It was a good deal more than nothing.” He stared for a moment or two, wondering if he should bring up the note she left on his tray.
“You’re upset. I’m still drunk. Let’s end this before it escalates any further.” His voice was clipped and suddenly cold. “Good-bye, Miss Mitchell.”
He unlocked the door and held it open.
“Gabriel?” She paused once she entered the hallway, turning to look up at him.
“Yes?”
“I need to tell you something.”
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“Proceed.” He sounded grim.
“Paulina called last night, while you were — unavailable. And I answered the phone.”
He removed his glasses and began rubbing his eyes. “Shit. What did she say?”
“She called me a slut and told me to roll you over and hand you the phone. I said you were indisposed.”
“Did she say why she was calling?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her who you are? Your name?”
Julia shook her head.
“Thank God,” he muttered.
She frowned. She’d expected him to apologize for Paulina. But he didn’t. In fact, he seemed entirely unfazed by her behavior, as if he were more concerned about Julia upsetting her than the other way round.
She must be his mistress.
Julia fixed him with a stony gaze, as her body began to vibrate with anger. “You begged me to come after you — to look for you in Hell. That’s exactly where I found you. And you can stay there forever, for all I care.”
He stepped back, replacing his glasses, his eyes narrowing into slits. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. I’m done, Professor Emerson.” She turned on her heel and walked to the elevator.
Confused, he watched her walk away, his thoughts hazy and unfocused. After a moment he jogged after her. “Why did you write that ridiculous note?”
She felt as if he’d stabbed a dagger into her heart. She straightened her shoulders and tried to steady her voice. “What note?”
“You know damned well what note! The note you left in my fridge.”
Julia shrugged dramatically.
He grabbed her elbow and spun her around. “Is this a game to you?”
“Of course not! Let me go.” She pulled her arm away from him and began punching the down button for the elevator, willing it to come to her rescue. She was humiliated and angry, feeling silly and oh so small. She couldn’t get away from him fast enough, even if she ran down the stairs.
He moved a step closer. “Why did you sign the note the way you did?”
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“Why do you care?”
He heard the elevator approaching and knew that he had mere seconds to get answers to his questions. He closed his eyes, her previous words thundering in his ears. She looked for him in Hell. He’d begged the brown-eyed angel to come looking for him. Of course, she hadn’t. Hallucinations don’t respond to begging.
What if Beatrice wasn’t a hallucination? What if…He felt something like fear begin to creep across his skin. Once again, the impossible floated before his eyes. If he concentrated, he could see her in his memory, but her face was blurry.
The ringing of a bell signaled the arrival of the elevator.
His eyes snapped open.
She stepped through the open door and shook her head at him, at his confusion, and at the intoxication that still swam in his eyes. Everything hinged on this. She could tell him or she could keep secret what happened between them just as she always had. Just as she had for six fucking years.
As the door slowly began to close, she saw a wave of realization wash over him.
“Beatrice?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she said, moving so she could maintain eye contact with him until the last possible second. “I’m Beatrice. You were my first kiss. I fell asleep in your arms in your precious orchard.”
Gabriel sprang forward to stop the elevator door from closing. “Beatrice! Wait!”
He was too late. The door closed at the sound of her name. He pressed the button furiously, hoping to reopen the doors.
“I’m not Beatrice anymore.” As the elevator began its slow but unstoppable descent, Julia burst into tears.
Gabriel pressed his forehead and palms against the cold steel of the elevator door.
What have I done?
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