Gabriel's Inferno (Gabriel's Inferno #1)(126)

“I could say the same to you.”

His shoulders slumped forward, and he groaned a little.

“I will give you until after dinner only if you promise not to let her touch you.”

“Gladly.”

Julia exhaled deeply. “Thank you.”

“So you’ll stay?”

She shook her head. “I can’t sit across the table from her and eat paella.

She makes me sick.”

“I’ll take you home.”

“You’re the guest of honor. You can’t leave.”

Gabriel ran his fingers through his hair as he thought for a moment.

“At least let me call a taxi for you. I’ll try to extricate myself as soon as possible. My concierge will let you in.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a money clip.

She waved his hand aside. “I have my own money.”

“Let me give you my credit card so you can order dinner and have it delivered.”

“I can’t eat.”

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

She turned to leave, but Gabriel reached out and grasped her elbow.

“Wait.” He stared down at her, his voice pleading. “When I saw you walk into the lecture hall, my heart leaped. My heart leaped, Julianne. You’ve never looked more beautiful. You looked…happy.” He swallowed noisily.

“I’m sorry I killed that look. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. Do you think…you might be able to forgive me?”

“You didn’t sin against me, Gabriel.” Her eyes slowly began to fill with tears. “I’m trying to figure out how deeply rooted your taste for pain is and what that means for us. I feel like I have no idea who you really are, and that hurts.”

With that, she exited the closet.

The Fates favored Julia on her return to the dinner party. While she fetched her things and made her excuses, Ann was still ensconced in the ladies’ room. A second female professor was missing from the table.

One look at Julia’s pale face and teary eyes convinced Paul not to try to persuade her to stay. And when she offered an obviously fictitious explanation about having a migraine, he didn’t question her until they were standing outside the restaurant.

“Singer followed you to the bathroom, didn’t she?”

Julia chewed on her lip and nodded.

He shook his head. “She’s a predator. A dangerous predator. I should have warned you. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But I have to go home. I’m sorry about the paella.”

“Fuck the paella. All I care about is you.” He winced slightly. “If you want to file a complaint against her, I’ll take you to the judicial committee’s office on Monday.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the office that handles allegations of misconduct against faculty and staff. If you want to tell the judicial committee what happened with Singer, I’ll help you.”

Julia shook her head. “There weren’t any witnesses. It would be my word against hers. I’m going to try to forget what happened, unless she approaches me again.”

“It’s your decision, but you should know that I filed a complaint against her last year. Even though it was her word against mine, my harassment complaint is still in her file. She stays away from me now. It was the best decision I ever made.”

Her smiled faded. “I don’t think I want to do that, but I’ll consider it. And I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Don’t worry about me. Have a nice weekend and try to forget about this. If you need to talk, you’ve got my number. I’ll see you next week.” Paul offered an encouraging look and waved as the taxi pulled away.

While Virgil’s words rang in Julia’s ears, she checked her cell phone.

She found a text message that had been sent shortly before the professors arrived at Segovia:

Stay away from Prof. Singer.

Stay close to Paul — she despises him.

Be careful. — G

Too little, too late, Julia thought ruefully.

When she entered Gabriel’s apartment she quickly turned on the fireplace, hoping to dispel the darkness that she felt creeping around her heart. But it didn’t seem to help. Truly, all she wanted to do was go home and pull the bed covers over her head. But she knew better than to hide from reality now.

She didn’t want to snoop, but she found herself in Gabriel’s bedroom, kneeling on the floor of his closet. She was searching for his black-and-white photographs, wondering if Professor Singer was in one of them. She certainly had the correct hair color. But the pictures were gone. She examined every inch of his closet and looked around his bedroom and even under his bed.

The photos had been removed.

Hanging on the wall in their stead were six pieces of art, some abstract, some renaissance, one by Tom Thomson, but all beautiful and strangely…

peaceful. Gabriel had redecorated.

She stood in front of his dresser admiring the reproduction of Botticelli’s Primavera that was displayed over it when her gaze alighted on an eight by ten picture in a dark frame. It was of a man and a woman dancing.

The man was tall, attractive, elegant, and commanding, and he was looking down at the woman with an intense, almost heated gaze.

The woman was petite, blushing and staring at the buttons of his shirt.