Gabriel's Rapture (Gabriel's Inferno #2)(16)

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.”

“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 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.”