Gabriel's Redemption (Gabriel's Inferno #3)(156)

His iPhone chirped with a couple of texts, and he quickly checked it. Richard and Rachel were making excellent time and would arrive soon. Tom and Diane sent their congratulations and their love.

And Katherine Picton restated her insistence that she be named godmother. She even promised a rare manuscript of Dante’s La Vita Nuova as an inducement.

Gabriel snapped a few photos of Spring Roll with his phone and quickly emailed them to everyone, including Kelly, pausing to tell Katherine that no inducement would be required.

“She has hair?” When Julia finally awoke, the first thing she noticed was the dark strands peeking out from under the baby’s purple knit cap.

“She does. Lots of hair. Darker than yours.” Gabriel grinned and placed the baby on Julia’s chest.

She unwrapped the baby and peeled back her gown, placing her daughter skin against skin. The infant immediately snuggled into her mother.

In Gabriel’s mind, it was the most incredible sight he’d ever seen.

“She’s beautiful,” Julia whispered.

“Pretty like her mama.”

She pressed gentle kisses to the baby’s head. “I don’t think so. She has your face.”

Gabriel laughed. “I don’t know about that. I’m not sure she looks like either one of us, except that she seems to have my eye color. She has the biggest eyes you’ve ever seen, but she doesn’t like to open them.”

Julia lifted her head to examine the baby’s face, cuddling her even closer.

Gabriel watched her with concern. “Are you in pain?”

She grimaced. “I feel as if I’ve been sawn in half.”

“I think you were.”

She peered up at him questioningly.

“No darling, I didn’t look.” He brushed a kiss against her hair. “We should probably talk about what we’re going to call her. Her grandfathers are not going to be impressed with the name Spring Roll. And I’ve already heard from Katherine, who thinks the baby should be named after her.”

“We talked about Clare.”

Gabriel considered that possibility for a moment.

“I like Clare, but since we prayed at St. Francis’s crypt, perhaps we should call her Frances.”

“St. Clare was Francis’s friend. We could call her Clare and make Grace her middle name.”

“Grace.” Gabriel caught Julia’s eye and felt himself choking up. “How about Clare Grace Hope? She represents the culmination of so much hope, so much grace . . .”

“Clare Grace Hope Emerson. It’s perfect.” Julia kissed Clare on her tiny cheek.

“She’s perfect.” Gabriel kissed Julianne and Clare and wrapped his arms around them both.

“My sweet, sweet girls.”

Chapter Eighty-eight

Julia slept soundly, her breathing deep and her form unmoving. When the nurse directed Gabriel to place Clare in the bassinet so that he could sleep, he refused. He held his daughter in his arms as if he were afraid she’d be taken away from him.

His eyes grew heavy and he reclined in the chair next to Julia’s bed, placing his daughter on his chest. With a yawn, she seemed content, her cheek resting against him, her tiny bottom in the air.

“Faith, hope, and charity,” he murmured to himself. “But the greatest of these is charity.”

“What’s that?” Julia shifted in bed, turning toward him.

He smiled. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Julia moved her legs tentatively, clutching the place where her incision was. “The pain is coming back. I’m probably due for a shot.”

She looked over at him, at the way he was holding Clare in his arms, her body resting in the center of his chest.

“You’re a natural, Daddy.”

“I hope so. But even if I’m not, I’ll work hard to become one.”

“I didn’t know,” Julia whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

“You didn’t know what?”

“I didn’t know it was possible to love someone other than you so much.”

Gabriel cupped Clare’s head with his hand.

“I didn’t know, either.” He kissed his daughter’s head. “In fact, I was just disagreeing with St. Paul.”

“Oh?” She wiped away a tear. “And what did he say in response?”

Gabriel caught her eye. She grinned.

“I told him that the greatest virtue isn’t charity; it’s hope. I discovered charity with Richard and Grace, but also with you. And it helped me through some very dark days. I also discovered faith, when I went to Assisi. But without hope, I wouldn’t be here. I would have taken my life. Without divine intervention in the form of a teenage girl in a Pennsylvania orchard, I’d be in Hell and not sitting at your side holding our daughter.”

“Gabriel,” she whispered, the tears flowing.

“Charity is a great virtue, and so is faith. But hope means the most to me. This is hope.” He gestured to the baby girl on his chest, swaddled in white and wearing a tiny knit cap.

Gabriel’s prayers of thanks were spontaneous and heartfelt. Here, in this room, he had an embarrassment of riches—a pretty, intelligent wife, who had a very large and giving heart, and a beautiful daughter.

“This is the culmination of all my hopes, Gabriel.” Julia reached out to him and he strained to catch her pinky finger with his own. “This is my happy ending.”