Gabriel's Inferno (Gabriel's Inferno #1)(179)
“As long as I’m with you, my love, I don’t care where we are.”
His lips tightened momentarily. “Bless you for that,” he murmured.
“Rachel is scheduling the wedding for late August, provided the venue they want is available. I wonder why she wants to wait so long.” Julia was fishing to see if Gabriel had any information.
He shrugged. “Knowing Rachel, she’ll need months to make sure the proper people are notified and the wedding is featured on cnn.”
They both chuckled.
“I think Rachel wants to start a family soon,” said Julia. “I wonder what Aaron thinks of that.”
“He loves her. He wants to marry her. He’s probably excited at the thought of the love of his life carrying his child.”
He paused for a moment, turning to face her. “Julianne, does it trouble you that I can’t…?”
“Not really, at least not right now. I want to finish my master’s, then work on my doctorate. I’d like to teach.” She shrugged. “Perhaps this is the benefit of dating a younger woman.”
Gabriel snorted. “You make me sound antique. You realize that when you’re thirty you will probably change your mind, if not sooner. And when that happens…”
She frowned and shook her head. “What do you expect me to say — that I don’t want you? I’m not going to say that. I love you, Gabriel, all of you. Please don’t push me away when we’ve finally gotten close.” She closed her eyes. “It hurts.”
“Forgive me,” he whispered, kissing the back of her hand.
She accepted his apology and tried to relax, weary from the day’s emotions.
Gabriel rubbed at his eyes so that he could think. But he soon realized that he needed space and time away from her in order to do that.
I won’t need to push you away when I tell you about Paulina…
The first week of December was the last week of classes. It was a quiet week, for the most part. Gabriel and Julia dutifully kept their distance from one another. Every evening he prepared his lecture for the Uffizi Gallery in his spacious condominium while she worked tirelessly on her essays and her thesis in her tiny hobbit hole.
They texted one another mercilessly:
Darling, I miss you. Come over? Love, G
Julia smiled at the screen of her iPhone in such a way that even the iPhone blushed. Then she typed her reply:
G, I miss you too. I’m finishing an essay for this crazy Dante seminar I’m taking. I’ll probably be up all night.
The professor is hot but demanding. I love you, Julia She turned her attention back to her laptop as she continued editing her essay for Katherine. Within a few minutes, her iPhone was chirping again: Darling, You’re in luck — I am a Dante specialist.
Why don’t you bring your essay over here
and I will help you with it…all night…Love, G
P.S. How hot?
Julia giggled at his message and hit reply: Dearest Dante Specialist, My professor is hot like fire, scotch bonnet peppers, and chicken vindaloo.
I know what your all-nighter would include —
and it wouldn’t be finishing my essay.
Rain check for Friday? Love, Your Julia. XO
Julia stared at her iPhone waiting for another text message. But it didn’t come until she was in the bathroom:
Darling Julia, That’s pretty hot. Your rejection of my invitation has reduced me to a sea of loneliness, which I will now chase away with a shot of Scotch and two chapters of Graham Greene.
Your X and O almost make up for it. I Love You, G.
P.S. You are hot like the sun but far more lovely.
Julia smiled to herself and sent back a brief message, telling him how much she loved him. Then she spent the rest of her evening working.
They finally met in person at his last seminar on Wednesday, which was made all the more interesting by Christa Peterson’s conspicuous behavior.
She was quiet. She was still dressed fashionably, in an aubergine-colored cashmere sweater-dress that clung tantalizingly to her chest and derrière.
Her makeup was flawless, her hair long and impeccably groomed. But her expression was sour, and she didn’t take notes. Her arms remained crossed defensively across her ample br**sts.
When Professor Emerson asked a question that she knew, she refused to raise her hand. When he looked over the rims of his glasses to see if he could coax her into participating, she scowled and looked away. Were it not for the fact that his mind was on Dante’s Paradiso, he might have grown uneasy. But he didn’t.
Christa was conspicuous not only in her silence but in her blatant hostility toward Julia, for whom she reserved the vilest of glares.
“What crawled up her butt?” Julia whispered to Paul as soon as the class was over.
He snickered. “Maybe she finally realized Emerson will never pass her dissertation proposal so she’s contemplating a career change. There’s a strip club on Yonge Street that’s looking to hire. She might have what it takes to work there. Or not.”
Now it was Julia’s turn to snicker.
“By the way, I like your scarf. Very French.” Paul grinned at her good-naturedly. “A gift from the boyfriend?”
“No. My best friend back home.”
“Well, it looks nice on you.”
Julia smiled at him, and they both packed up their books and walked home through the delicately cascading snow, telling (slightly edited) stories about their separate Thanksgivings.