Gabriel's Redemption (Gabriel's Inferno #3)(86)

He watched the traffic pass and waited, waiting for her to say something. But she didn’t. At last, he met her gaze.

Her mouth was open, her eyes wide. Then she closed her mouth.

“We were involved for years, Gabriel, and you never once said you were sorry. Why now?”

He didn’t answer, just leveled his eyes, the muscle in his jaw the only movement in his face.

“It’s because of her, isn’t it?”

Gabriel said nothing. Facing Paulina was difficult enough. He couldn’t speak of what Julianne meant to him—of how much she’d changed him, and of how much he feared the possibility that she wouldn’t forgive him when he returned to her.

He accepted Paulina’s censure without argument. In his current state, he craved punishment and disapproval, for he was all too conscious of his own sin.

She watched his reaction, the emotions that moved across his face. He was in evident distress, something she’d not seen for some time.

“I moved home,” she volunteered, quietly. “I enrolled in a treatment program and I’m going to meetings. I’ve even been seeing a counselor.”

She looked at him carefully. “But you knew that, didn’t you? I’ve been sending reports to Carson’s secretary.”

“I knew, yes.”

“She changed you.”

“Sorry?”

“She’s changed you. She’s—tamed you.”

“This isn’t about her.”

“Oh, yes, it is. How long have we known each other? How long were we sleeping together? Never once did you ask me to forgive you for anything. Not even for—”

He interrupted her quickly. “I should have. I tried to make up for things with money. By taking care of you.”

Gabriel winced, even as he said the words. He was familiar, all too familiar, with the type of man who would act in such a way so as to cover up his sexual indiscretions.

Paulina picked up her coffee mug once again. “Yes, you should have. But I was a fool to settle for what we were. I couldn’t see my way out of it. But now I can. And I swear to God, Gabriel, I’m not going back.”

She pressed her lips together, as if she were trying not to say any more. Then, unexpectedly, she continued.

“All these years, I was worried that my parents would slam the door in my face. I made sure that the taxi waited in the driveway while I rang the doorbell.” She looked down at the table. “I didn’t make it that far. I was trying to navigate through the snow in my high heels when the front door opened and my mother came outside. She was still in her slippers.” Paulina’s voice caught and her eyes welled up with tears. “She ran to me, Gabriel. She ran to me and wrapped her arms around me. I realized before I even entered the house that I could have come home years ago and she would have greeted me exactly the same way.”

“The prodigal daughter,” Gabriel murmured.

“Yes.”

“Then you can understand my desire for forgiveness.”

She regarded him, his eyes, his expression. There was nothing about him that seemed insincere.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “I’m just wondering why you’re asking for this now.”

He retreated back into his chair, his hands clutching his mug.

“You were my friend,” he whispered. “And look at how I treated you.”

Paulina wiped at her eyes.

Gabriel leaned forward.

“And there’s Maia.”

An involuntary cry escaped Paulina’s lips.

She was like him, in this respect. The mention of their child’s name caused immediate anguish. When the name was used without warning, the pain was especially sharp.

“I can’t talk about her.” Paulina closed her eyes.

“She’s happy now.”

“You know I don’t believe that. When you’re dead, you’re dead. You go to sleep and never wake up.”

“I know that isn’t true.”

At Gabriel’s tone, Paulina’s eyes snapped open. There was something in his eyes. Something he was trying to hide, but that he clung to with more conviction than she’d ever seen him manifest before.

“I know I have no right to ask you. I know that I’m troubling you by being here.” He cleared his throat. “But I had to say these things in person. I wronged you. I was monstrous. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

Now she was crying, tears slipping from her eyes and down her perfect face.

“Stop.”

“Paulina. We did this one, beautiful thing together. Let’s not mourn her by living empty, wasted lives.”

“How dare you! You come to me to ease your conscience and say something like that!”

Gabriel ground his teeth together.

“I’m not here to ease my conscience. I’m here to make amends.”

“My baby is dead and I can’t have another. Make amends for that.”

He tensed. “I can’t.”

“You never loved me. I wasted my life on a man who merely tolerated me. And only because I was good in bed.”

A muscle jumped in Gabriel’s jaw.

“Paulina, you have many admirable qualities, not least of which are your intelligence, your generosity, and your sense of humor. Don’t sell yourself short.”