Gabriel's Promise (Gabriel's Inferno #4)(20)

“Your advisor is the one who suggested the maternity leave.” Gabriel adjusted his glasses.

“I don’t think she envisioned me taking almost two years off.”

Gabriel studied his wife. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I can’t just say no. It would be like turning down the Nobel Prize.”

“I know the significance of the Sage Lectures.” Julia’s tone grew steely. “It’s an incredible honor. But I can’t just say no to Harvard again, not after how hard I’ve worked.”

He held up his hands. “I’m not going without you and Clare.”

“Then you’re declining the invitation?”

“Of course not.” He sounded impatient.

“Then what are you going to do?” Julia’s hands went to her hips.

“There has to be a way for me to accept the invitation and for you to come with me.” He passed a hand over his mouth. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“I am.” She heaved a great sigh and her hands fell away from her hips. “But I don’t want to be a single parent for that long, Gabriel. I can’t do this alone.”

Gabriel removed his glasses. He looked very, very determined.

But instead of arguing with her, he did something most unexpected. “The email I received instructed me to keep the invitation confidential. I’m not going to do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because we need some advice. Katherine was the Sage Lecturer once, twenty years ago. I’m going to call her.” Gabriel pulled his wife into his arms and hugged her. “We’ll find a way.”

Julia returned her husband’s embrace, wishing she shared her husband’s optimism. But she didn’t.





Chapter Fifteen


Later that morning

Assistant Professor Paul V. Norris sat in his office at Saint Michael’s College in Vermont, staring at his computer screen.

He was already a few weeks into his first academic job. And he was working hard—preparing lessons, attending new faculty orientation meetings, and trying to figure out where the land mines were located in the Department of English and how he could avoid them. But the email he had just received made everything else seem irrelevant.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” he quoted to himself.

There, in his Saint Michael’s inbox, was an email from Professor Wodehouse of Magdalen College. Among the short list of email recipients, he spied a certain Julia Emerson. But thankfully, no Gabriel Emerson.

Studentfucker.

Paul winced. He didn’t like thinking of Emerson and the beautiful former Miss Mitchell together in any capacity. And certainly not like that.

He knew they were married. He knew they’d just had a daughter. The night before, Julia had sent a mass email announcing the birth of Clare and sharing a photograph.

The photo was only of Clare. Even to Paul’s eyes the infant was beautiful. She had wisps of dark hair peeking out from underneath a purple knitted cap. But he’d wished Julia had sent a photo of herself.

He wondered if she’d attend the Dante workshop in April. He wondered if he should email her to find out before making his own decision.

“Hi, Paul.”

Paul heard a female voice over his shoulder. He turned in his chair and saw Elizabeth, one of the new faculty in Religious Studies, standing at the threshold to his office.

Elizabeth was gorgeous. She had bobbed, curly dark hair, dark eyes, and unblemished brown skin. She was Cuban American and hailed from Brooklyn.

Paul had already discovered that Elizabeth liked to play Cuban music in her office. Loudly.

She gave him a wide smile and adjusted her rectangular glasses. “I’m going for coffee. Do you want to come with?”

“Um . . .” Paul rubbed his chin. He cast a conflicted look at his computer screen.

“Are you okay?” Elizabeth hovered in the doorway. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Sort of.” He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. Of course he wanted to see Julia. That was the problem. He’d finally moved on from her and started dating Allison, his ex-girlfriend, once more. And now this . . .

“Maybe I should bring you a coffee.” Elizabeth interrupted his musings. “What do you take in it?”

“I take my coffee black—like death.” He stood, bringing his six-foot-three frame to its full height. He towered over Elizabeth’s waifish five-foot-three frame.

She stood in the doorway, watching him.

He closed his laptop and grabbed his keys. “Coffee is on me. I’ve just been invited to a workshop in Oxford.”

“That’s great.” Elizabeth clapped her hands in excitement.

It had been a long time since someone had applauded for Paul. He couldn’t help but notice.

He pulled self-consciously on the front of his shirt. “The workshop is in April, in the middle of our semester. The powers that be won’t let me go.”

Elizabeth gave him a puzzled look. “Of course they’ll let you go. It’s Oxford. It’s good press for the college.”

She gestured to the hall. “While you’re buying my coffee, we can put together a campaign strategy. I have some ideas.”

Paul surveyed her enthusiasm and found himself returning her smile. He followed her into the hall.