In the penthouse of a boutique hotel in Florence, clothes had
been tossed haphazardly across a sitting room floor, trailing like breadcrumbs from the doorway toward a wall that was no longer blank. Groans and obvious rhythms floated in the air, wafting over a man’s fine handmade shoes, a black bra, a tailored suit tossed wantonly over a coffee table, a taffeta dress puddled into a Santorini-blue pool…
If one were a detective, one would notice that the lady’s panties and shoes were missing.
The air was thick with the smell of orange blossoms and Aramis, mingled with the musk of sweat and naked flesh. The room was dark. Not even the moonlight streaming in from the terrace reached the wall where two nude bodies clung to one another. The man stood upright, supporting the woman, who had her legs wrapped around his hips.
“Open your eyes.” Gabriel’s plea was punctuated by a cacophony of sound — skin sliding over skin, desperate cries muffled by lips and flesh, quick gulps of oxygen, and the slight thud of Julia’s back against the wall.
She could hear him as he groaned with every thrust, but her ability to speak had withdrawn as she focused on a single sensation — pleasure. Every movement of her lover pleased her, even the friction between their chests and the grip of his hands as he held her aloft. She danced on the very edge of satisfaction, breathless with anticipation that the next movement would push her over. Building, building, building, building…
“Are — you — okay?” He was breathing hard, his last word leaving his mouth as a cry as the slightest turn of her ankles pressed her sharp heels into his flesh.
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Julia threw her head back and let out a few incoherent sounds as she climaxed, intense waves radiating out from where they were joined and speeding along her nerves until her entire body vibrated. Gabriel felt it, of course, and followed soon after; two deep thrusts and he cried her name into the crook of her neck, his body shaking.
“You worried me,” he whispered afterward. He lay on his back in the center of the large, white bed while his sleepy beloved curled into his side, her head resting over the surface of his tattoo.
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t open your eyes. You wouldn’t speak. I was worried I was too rough.”
She moved her fingers along his abdomen to the few hairs that trailed down from his navel, tracing the texture lazily.
“You didn’t hurt me. It felt different this time — more intense. Every time you moved, the most incredible feeling passed through me. I couldn’t open my eyes.”
Gabriel smiled to himself in relief and pressed his lips to her forehead.
“That position is deeper. And don’t forget all our foreplay at the museum. I couldn’t keep my hands off you during dinner.”
“That’s because you knew I’d lost my panties.”
“That’s because I want you. Always.” He offered her a half-smile.
“Every time with you is better than the last,” she whispered.
His expression grew wistful. “But you never say my name.”
“I say your name all the time. It’s a wonder you haven’t come up with a pet name you’d rather I use, such as Gabe, or Dante, or The Professor.”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean you never say my name — when you come.”
She lifted her chin so she could see his face. His expression matched his tone, wistful and momentarily vulnerable. The confident mask had slipped.
“For me, your name is synonymous with orgasm. I’m going to start calling them Emgasms.”
He laughed loudly, a hearty, chest-bouncing chuckle that required Julia to sit up. She joined him in his laughter, grateful that his moment of melancholy had passed.
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“You have quite the sense of humor, Miss Mitchell.” He tilted her chin upwards so he could worship her lips once more before relaxing into the pillows and drifting off to sleep.
Julia stayed awake a little longer as she contemplated the anxious, insecure little boy who revealed himself at rare and unexpected moments.
The following morning Gabriel treated Julia to her preferred breakfast at Café Perseo, a fine gelateria in the Piazza Signoria. They sat inside because normal December temperatures had returned and it was rainy and cool.
One could sit by the square all day, every day, and watch the world walk by. There were old buildings on the perimeter — the Uffizi was around the corner. There was a tremendously impressive fountain and beautiful statues, including a copy of Michelangelo’s David and a statue of Perseus holding the dismembered head of Medusa in front of a lovely loggia.
Julia avoided looking at Perseus as she ate her gelato. Gabriel avoided looking at the legions of beautiful Florentine women in order to watch his beloved. Hungrily.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a taste? Raspberry and lemon are great together.” She held out a spoon where the two flavors commingled.
“Oh I want a taste. But not of that.” His eyes glinted. “I prefer something a trifle more exotic.” He nudged his espresso aside so he could take her hand in his. “Thank you for last night and this morning.”
“I think I’m the one who should be thanking you, Professor.” She squeezed his hand and busied herself with her breakfast, such as it was.
“I’m surprised there isn’t an outline of my body vaporized onto the wall of our room.” She giggled, holding out a small spoonful of the frozen treat.
He allowed her to feed him, and when his tongue darted out to lick his lips, she found herself light-headed. A bevy of images from earlier that morning flashed through her mind. And one remained.
O gods of sex-god boyfriends who enjoy pleasuring their lovers, thank you for this morning.
She swallowed hard. “You know, that was my first time.”
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“It won’t be your last. I promise.” Gabriel licked his lips provocatively, eager to make her squirm.
She leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. But he was having none of that. He snaked a hand to the back of her neck and pulled her closer.
Her mouth was sweet with gelato and the unique taste that was Julia. He groaned when he released her, wishing he could take her back to the hotel for a repeat of last night’s performance, or perhaps to the museum…
“Can I ask you something?” She busied herself with her bowl so she didn’t have to meet his gaze.
“Of course.”
“Why did you say that I was your fiancée?”
“Fidanzata has multiple meanings.”
“The primary meaning is fiancée.”
“Ragazza doesn’t express the depth of my attachment.” Gabriel wiggled his toes in his new, tight shoes. His mouth twitched as he contemplated what to say next, if he should say anything at all. He elected to remain silent, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
Julia noticed what she perceived to be his physical discomfort. “I’m sorry about my heels.”
“What’s that?”
“I saw the marks on your backside when you were getting dressed this morning. I didn’t mean to injure you.”
He grinned wickedly. “Occupational hazard for those obsessed with high-heeled shoes. I wear my love scars with pride.”
“I’ll be more careful next time.”
“No, you damn well won’t.”
Julia’s eyes grew wide at the sudden flash of passion in his eyes.
He captured her lips with his before whispering in her ear, “I’m going to buy you a pair of boots with even higher heels, then I’m going to see what you can do with them.”
As they strolled across the Ponte Vecchio under a shared umbrella, Gabriel persisted in pulling her into shop after shop, trying to tempt her into accepting an extravagant gift of jewelry — Etruscan reproductions, Roman coins, gold necklaces, etc. But she would only smile
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and decline, pointing to Grace’s diamond earrings and saying that they were more than enough. Her lack of attachment to material things only made him want to heap them at her feet.
When they reached the center of the bridge, Julia tugged at his arm and led him to the edge so they could gaze out over the Arno.
“There is something you could buy for me, Gabriel.”
He peered over at her curiously, the crisp Florentine air flushing her cheeks. She was goodness, light and warmth and softness. But terribly, terribly stubborn.
“Name it.”
Julia paused to run her hand over the barrier that separated her from the edge of the bridge. “I want my scar removed.”
He was almost surprised. He knew that she was ashamed of Simon’s bite mark. He’d walked in on her applying concealer that morning, and she’d grown teary when he asked about it.
She avoided his eyes and continued. “I don’t like looking at it. I don’t like the fact that you have to look at it. I want it gone.”
“We could find a plastic surgeon in Philadelphia, while we’re home for Christmas.”
“Our time at home is so short. I couldn’t do that to my dad. Or to Rachel.”
Gabriel shifted the umbrella to his other hand and pulled her into a hug. He kissed her, trailing down to her neck until he made contact with the mark.
“I will gladly do this for you and more. You just have to ask. But I would like you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“I would like you to talk to someone. About what happened.”
Julia lowered her eyes. “I talk to you.”
“I meant someone who isn’t an ass. I can hire a doctor who will remove the scar from your skin, but no one can remove the scars on the inside. It’s important for you to realize that. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“I won’t be. And stop calling yourself names. It upsets me.”
He conceded her point with a nod of the head. “I think it would help if you had someone to talk to — about everything. Tom, your
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mother, him, and me.” He gave her a pained look. “I am a difficult man. I know that. I think if you had someone to talk to, it would help.”
She closed her eyes. “I will, but only if you agree to do the same thing.”
He stiffened.
She opened her eyes, speaking quickly. “I know that you don’t want to, and believe me, I understand. But if I’m going to do this, you need to do it too. You were really angry last night, and even though I know you weren’t angry with me, I had to bear the brunt of it.”
“I tried to make up for it afterward.” He gritted his teeth.
She reached up to stroke his agitated jaw. “Of course. But it bothered me that you were so upset over an unsolicited pass from a stranger. And that you thought that sex would relieve your anger and mark me as yours.”
Gabriel’s face registered shock, for he had never interpreted his actions in that way.
“I would never hurt you.” He squeezed her hand.
“I know.”
Gabriel looked upset, and the panic in his eyes didn’t abate when Julia reached up to pet his hair a little.
“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we? With our scars and histories and all our problems. A tragic romance, I suppose.” She smiled and tried to make light of their situation.
“The only tragedy would be losing you,” he said, kissing her lightly.
“You’ll only lose me if you stop loving me.”
“I’m a lucky man then. I’ll be able to keep you forever.”
He kissed her once more before wrapping his arms around her.
“Therapy was required when I went into rehab. I continued meeting with a therapist for a year or so afterward, in addition to going to weekly self-help meetings. It isn’t as if I haven’t gone down that road.”
Julia frowned. “You’re in recovery and you don’t go to meetings. I haven’t said much about it before, but that’s a serious problem. On top of that, you still drink.”
“I was a cocaine addict, not an alcoholic.”
She paused, searching his eyes. It was as if she’d uncovered an old medieval map that outlined the edge of the world with the words here there be dragons.
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“We both know that Narcotics Anonymous strongly suggests that addicts don’t drink.” She sighed. “As much as I will try to help, some things are beyond me. As much as sex with you pleases me, I don’t want to become your new drug of choice. I can’t fix things.”
“Is that what you think? That I use sex to fix things?” His question was in earnest, and so Julia resisted the urge to respond with sarcasm.
“I think that you used to use sex to fix things. You said as much to me once, remember? You used sex to combat your loneliness. Or to punish yourself.”
A dark shadow passed over Gabriel’s features. “It isn’t like that with you.”
“But when a person is upset, old patterns of behavior emerge. It’s true of me too, except my coping mechanisms are different.” She kissed him softly but long enough for his panic to recede and for him to kiss her back.
When they pulled apart they stood wrapped around one another until Julia decided to break the silence. “Your lecture last night reminded me of something.” She pulled her phone from her purse and quickly scrolled through some pictures. “Here.”
He took the phone from her hand and gazed at an exquisite painting. In it, St. Francesca Romana cradled an infant child with the assistance of the Virgin Mary, while an angel looked on.
“It’s beautiful.” He returned her phone.
“Gabriel,” she said softly. “Look at the painting.”
He did. And the strangest feeling passed over him.
She began to speak in a low voice. “I’ve always loved this painting. I thought it was because there are similarities between Gentileschi and Caravaggio. But it’s more than that. St. Frances lost some of her children to the plague. This painting is supposed to portray one of her visions of what happened to those children.”
She searched Gabriel’s eyes to see if he grasped her meaning. But he hadn’t.
“When I look at this painting, I think of your baby, Maia. Grace is holding her, surrounded by angels.” Julia pointed to the figures in the painting. “See? The baby is safe and loved. That’s what Paradise is like. You don’t have worry.”
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Julia looked up into his face. His pained, beautiful face. Gabriel had tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was trying to comfort you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, gripping him tightly.
Eventually, he wiped at his eyes. He hid his face in her hair, feeling grateful and relieved.
The following afternoon, the rain stopped. So the couple took a taxi up to the Piazzale Michelangelo, which provided a sweeping view of the city. They could have taken a city bus like regular people, but Gabriel was not like regular people.
(Few Dante specialists are.)
“What did Rachel say in her email?” he asked as they admired the tiled roof of the Duomo.
Julia fidgeted with her fingernails. “She and Aaron said hello. They wanted to know if we were happy.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “Is that all?”
“Um, no.”
“So?”
She shrugged. “They said that Scott had a girlfriend. That was about it.”
“Good for Scott.” He chuckled. “Was there anything else?”
“Why do you ask?”
He cocked his head to one side. “Because I can tell when you’re hiding something.”
He began to run his fingers up and down the soft flesh at her waist, a particularly ticklish spot.
“You aren’t going to do that in public.”
“Oh, yes I am.” He grinned and began moving his fingers with purpose, trying to tickle her.
She started giggling and trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but he held her close.
“Come on, Julianne. Tell me what Rachel said.”
“Stop tickling,” she gasped, “and I’ll tell you.”
Gabriel stilled his hands.
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She took a deep breath. “She wanted to know if we’d, um, slept together.”
“Oh, really?” His lips turned up into a half-smile. “And what did you say?”
“I told the truth.”
He searched her eyes. “Anything else?”
“She said she hoped you were behaving yourself and that I was happy. And I said yes — on both counts.” She waited for a moment, thinking about whether or not she should mention the email from a certain Vermont farm boy.
“But there’s something else. Go ahead.” He was still smiling indulgently.
“Well, Paul emailed me.”
Gabriel scowled. “What? When?”
“The day of your lecture.”
“Why didn’t you mention this before?” he fumed.
“Because of this.” She gestured to the irritation visible on his face. “I knew it would upset you, and I didn’t want to do that when you had to speak in front of a room full of important people.”
“What did he say?”
“He said that you passed Christa’s dissertation proposal.”
“What else did he say?”
“He wished me a Merry Christmas and said that he was sending something to me in Selinsgrove.”
Gabriel’s nostrils flared. “Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s my friend. It’s probably maple syrup, which I will gladly give to my dad. Paul knows that I have a boyfriend and that I am very, very happy. I’ll forward the email to you, if you like.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Gabriel’s lips thinned visibly.
Julia crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You were eager to have me spend time with Paul when Professor Pain was around.”
“That was different. And I don’t particularly wish to discuss her ever again.”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t keep running into people I’ve slept with.”
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Gabriel glared.
Julia clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. That was a terrible thing to say.”
“As you may recall, I have run into at least one person with whom you’ve been sexually involved.”
He turned and walked away, approaching the edge of the lookout. She gave him a moment or two to himself, then she stood beside him and cautiously wrapped her little finger around his. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t respond.
“Thank you for rescuing me from Simon.”
Gabriel scowled. “You know that I have a past. Do you intend to keep bringing it up?”
She lowered her gaze to her shoes. “No.”
“That remark was beneath you.”
“I’m sorry.”
He kept his eyes trained on the city that was spread out before them. Red tiled roofs shone in the sun, while Brunelleschi’s dome dominated the view.
Julia decided to change the subject. “Christa was behaving strangely at your last seminar. She seemed resentful. Do you think she knows about us?”
“She’s sour because I haven’t welcomed her outrageous advances. But she met the deadline for her revised proposal and her work was acceptable.”
“So she wasn’t — blackmailing you?”
“Not every woman is your rival for me,” he snapped, pushing away her hand.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “That remark was beneath you.”
After a moment, the anger seemed to seep out of him. His shoulders slumped. “Forgive me.”
“Let’s not waste our time together arguing.”
“Agreed. But I don’t like the idea of Paul emailing you. Although I suppose you could be friends with worse persons.” Gabriel sounded unusually prim.
She smiled and pressed her lips to his cheek. “There’s the Professor Emerson I know and love.”
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He pulled out his phone so he could take her picture against the background of the beautiful view. Julia was laughing, and he was taking picture after picture when his phone began to ring. The not so dulcet tones of London’s Big Ben sounded between them.
Julia gave him a challenging look.
He grimaced and pulled her into an intense kiss. He cupped her face with his hand, determinedly parting her lips with his own and gently slipping his tongue inside.
She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his waist to pull him closer. And all the while, Big Ben chimed.
“You aren’t going to answer it?” she finally got a chance to ask.
“No. I told you earlier, I wasn’t going to speak to her.”
He pressed his lips to Julia’s once again, but only briefly.
“I feel sorry for her,” Julia said.
“Why?”
“Because she created a child with you. Because she still wants you, but she’s lost you. If I were to lose you to someone else, I’d be devastated.”
Gabriel huffed impatiently. “You aren’t going to lose me. Stop that.”
Julia smiled weakly. “Um, I need to say something.”
He moved back.
“This is coming from my concern for you. I want you to know that.” She looked at him in earnest. “I feel sorry for Paulina, but it’s clear that she’s been holding what happened over your head in order to keep you in her life. I’m wondering if she gets into trouble just so you’ll rescue her. I think it’s time for her to develop an emotional attachment to someone else. Someone she can fall in love with.”
“I don’t disagree,” he said stiffly.
“What if she can’t be happy until she lets you go? You let her go and you found me. It would be a mercy on your part for you to let her go so she can find her own happiness.”
Gabriel nodded grimly and kissed her forehead but refused to say anything more on the subject.
The rest of their stay in Florence was a happy one, a counterfeit honeymoon of a sort. They frequented various churches and museums
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during the day, in between returns to their hotel, where they would make love sometimes slowly and sometimes madly. Every evening Gabriel would choose a different restaurant for dinner, and they would walk home afterward, pausing on one of the bridges to make out like teenagers in the cool evening air.
On their last evening in Florence, Gabriel took Julia to Caffé Concerto, one of his favorite restaurants, which was positioned on the banks of the Arno. They spent several hours over a multi-course dinner, leisurely talking about their holiday and their burgeoning sexual relationship. They both confessed that the past week had been an awakening of sorts — for Julia, an awakening to the mysteries of eros; for Gabriel, an awakening to the mysteries of the four loves intertwined.
In conversation, he finally revealed his surprise. He’d rented a villa in Umbria for their second week of holidays. He promised to take her to Venice and Rome on their next vacation, possibly in the summer after they visited Oxford.
After dinner, Gabriel led her one last time to the Duomo. “I need to kiss you,” he whispered, pulling her body close to his.
She was going to reply, she was going to tell him to take her to the hotel and mark her body in a deeper way, but she was interrupted.
“Beautiful lady! Some money for an old man…” A voice called to her in Italian from the front steps of the Duomo.
Unthinkingly, Julia leaned around Gabriel to discover who was speaking. The man continued, begging for money so he could buy something to eat.
Gabriel caught her arm before she could approach the steps. “Come away, love.”
“But he’s hungry. And it’s so cold.”
“The police will come around and carry him off. They don’t like panhandlers in the city center.”
“People are free to come and sit on the steps of a church. Sanctuary…” she mused.
“The medieval concept of sanctuary no longer exists. Western governments abolished it, starting with England in the seventeenth century.” Gabriel grumbled as she opened her purse and withdrew a twenty Euro note.
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“So much?” He frowned.
“It’s all I have. And look, Gabriel.” She gestured to the man’s crutches.
“A clever ruse,” he complained.
Julia fixed her lover with a very disappointed look. “I know what it’s like to be hungry.” She took a step in the beggar’s direction but Gabriel pulled her back.
“He’ll spend the money on wine or drugs. It isn’t going to help him.”
“Even a drug addict deserves a little kindness.”
Gabriel flinched.
She looked over at the beggar. “St. Francis of Assisi didn’t make his charity conditional. He gave to whoever asked.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. There was no way he was going to win an argument with Julianne when she invoked St. Francis. No one could win against that kind of argument.
“If I give him something, he will know that someone cared enough to help him. No matter what he does with the money that will be a good thing. Don’t deprive me of an opportunity to give.” She tried to step around Gabriel but he blocked her path. He took the bill from her hand and added something to it from his own pocket, then he handed the money to the beggar.
The two men had a quiet exchange in Italian, and the poor man blew kisses to Julia and tried in vain to shake Gabriel’s hand.
He retreated, taking her arm and leading her away.
“What did he say?”
“He asked me to thank the angel for her mercy.”
Julia stopped him so she could kiss at his frown until it morphed into a smile. “Thank you.”
“I’m not the angel he was referring to,” he growled, kissing her in return.
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