Gabriel's Rapture (Gabriel's Inferno #2)(93)

“Who are they?” She pointed to a photograph of four people, two men and two women, that Paul had partially hidden behind a penguin on top of his television.

“The girl on the far left is Heather, my little sister, and her husband, Chris. That’s me on the right.”

“And the other girl?” Julia gazed at the face of the pretty young woman who was clutching Paul’s waist and laughing.

“Uh, that’s Allison.”

Julia waited politely for Paul to elaborate.

“My ex-girlfriend.”

“Oh,” said Julia.

“We’re still friends. But she’s working in Vermont and couldn’t handle the long-distance thing. We broke up a while ago,” Paul explained quickly.

“You’re a good person.” Julia shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

Paul pulled her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles chastely. “I think you should say whatever is on your mind. For the record, I’ve always thought you were a good person too.”

She smiled but withdrew her hand delicately, so as not to give offense.

Shortly before midnight, she was asleep on his shoulder, their bodies close together on the futon. Paul’s mind was drifting, imagining the feel of her lips against his, her skin beneath his hands. He turned his face into her hair, tightening his arms around her. She stirred, mumbling Emerson’s name before burrowing her head in his chest.

He realized that he had a decision to make. If he was going to be Julia’s friend, then he would have to suppress his romantic feelings for her. He couldn’t kiss her or try to move things forward. It was far too soon. And it was quite possible she’d never want him, even when her broken heart was mended. But Julia needed a friend; she needed him. He wasn’t going to abandon her in her time of need, even if it was going to be painful to set aside his true feelings.

So instead of falling asleep with her in his arms, he carried her to his room and placed her on the bed. He covered her with the sheet and blankets, making sure that she was comfortable, then he picked up an extra pillow and a quilt and retreated to the living room.

He spent much of the evening frustrated and staring at the ceiling, while Julia slept soundly in his bed.

* * *

While Julia was spending the night at Paul’s apartment, Gabriel sat in his hotel room, glaring at his laptop. He’d received another terse email from his Chair, Jeremy Martin, reminding him of how much personal and political capital Jeremy had expended to “save his ass.” As if Gabriel needed a reminder.

His gaze drifted to the ring on his finger, resisting the urge to reexamine the words he’d had engraved on the inside. He spun the platinum band around and around as he cursed his most recent failure.

Harvard had kindly informed him that his candidacy was unsuccessful and that they’d hired Professor Marinelli, instead. Gabriel’s lack of success was one more way in which he’d failed Julianne. But it mattered little, now. What use would it be to be at Harvard, if she wouldn’t forgive him?

He cursed bitterly. What use was it to be anywhere, if she wouldn’t forgive him? Even in the hotel, she was with him. On his computer, on his cell phone, in his iPod, in his head.

Oh, yes, in his head. He was correct when he said that he would never forget what it felt like to gaze upon her naked body for the first time, the way her eyes were fixed on the floor shyly, the way her face flushed under his heated touch.

He remembered looking down into her deep, dark eyes as she trembled beneath him, ruby lips parted, breathing heavily, and the way her eyes widened as he entered her.

She’d flinched. Somehow he could remember every time he’d made her flinch. And there had been many—when he shamed her for being poor, when he first carried her to bed, when he wove his fingers through her hair and she begged him not to hold her head down, when he admitted that he’d agreed to separate himself from her…

How many times could he hurt her in one short life?

He’d tortured himself by listening to the voicemail messages she’d left for him—messages he hadn’t returned. They’d grown progressively more despondent until they’d ceased altogether. He couldn’t blame her. It was clear that his messages had not gotten through, with the exception of a single email. He opened it again, imagining her reaction.

Stop contacting me.

It’s over.

Regards,

Prof. Gabriel O. Emerson,

Associate Professor

Department of Italian Studies/

Centre for Medieval Studies

University of Toronto

A bitter laugh that he recognized as coming from his own throat echoed in the room. Of course, that would be the message she believed—not the others. He’d lost her now. What hope was there without her?

Gabriel thought back to a conversation he’d had with her about Grace’s favorite book, A Severe Mercy. It was clear in the story that the main characters thought that they’d made an idol of their love—worshipping it and each other to their own detriment. He’d done the same with Julianne, he knew. He’d worshipped her very being, convinced that she was the light that would shine in his darkness.

He’d loved her enough to leave her in order to protect her future. And having left her, he was in peril of never possessing her love again. It was the bitterest twist of fate, that his love for his Beatrice would be precisely what separated him from her.