“Not for a while. We agreed to wait until I graduate.”
“That’s a long time.” Rachel’s voice grew quiet.
“It would be too difficult to work on a PhD and have a baby.”
Rachel nodded. She fidgeted with the hem of her T-shirt.
“We’d like to have a baby.”
Julia moved so that she could see her friend better. “What, now?”
“Maybe.”
“How did you know you were ready?”
Rachel smiled. “I don’t, really. I’ve always wanted kids, and Aaron feels the same way. We’ve been talking about it since high school. I love Aaron. I would be happy to live with him, just the two of us. But when I envision the future, I see kids. I want us to have someone who will come home for Christmas. If I learned anything from losing my mother, it’s that life is uncertain. I don’t want to wait to start a family and then lose my chance.”
Julia felt tears threatening, but she blinked them back. “You have yearly mammograms, right?”
“Yes, and I’ve had genetic testing. I don’t have the breast cancer gene, but I don’t think Mom had it, either. Even if she did, by the time they would have realized it, it was too late.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Rachel sighed and looked out the window. “I don’t like talking about it, but it weighs on me. What happens if we have kids, and I get cancer? It’s always in the back of my mind.”
She turned to face her friend. “Having kids is one way to rid Gabriel of his condescending attitude.”
“Why’s that?”
“He won’t be condescending when the baby empties a dirty diaper on him. He’ll be shouting your name, begging for help.”
Julia laughed. But all too soon, she grew sober.
“I just want him to think that my ideas are important. They’re just as important as his.”
“Of course they are. Tell him that.”
“I will. But right now, I’m not speaking to him.”
Rachel ran her hand over the armrest, back and forth.
“He’s come a long way. To see him married and talking about starting a family—it’s remarkable. Mom told me that when they first brought Gabriel home, he used to hide food in his room. No matter what they said or did, he pocketed something at every meal.”
“Was he hungry?”
“He was afraid of being hungry. He didn’t trust that Mom and Dad would feed him. So he was building up a reserve for when they stopped. He didn’t unpack his bags, either. Not until after they adopted him. He kept expecting them to send him away.”
“I didn’t know that.” Julia’s heart felt heavy.
Rachel offered her a sympathetic look. “He’s my brother and I love him. But he speaks without thinking. His issue with your paper is probably that you didn’t write it the way he would have.”
“I’m not going to write things his way. I have my own ideas.”
“My advice is to talk to him. Of course, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to let him sweat a little. Make him sleep on the couch.”
“Unfortunately, I’ll probably be the one on the couch.” Julia pointed to the sofa that stood against the opposite wall.
To say that dinner was awkward would be an understatement.
Julia and Gabriel sat side by side. They even held hands during grace. But there was only painful, detached politeness—no warm glances, no whispered words of affection, no fleeting touches under the table.
Gabriel’s spine was ramrod straight, his demeanor cool. Julia was quiet and remote.
Richard, Aaron, and Rachel kept the conversation fluid while the Emersons barely spoke. After dinner, Julia declined dessert and excused herself to work on her lecture.
Gabriel’s eyes followed her as she left the table, a muscle jumping in his jaw. But he didn’t stop her. He simply watched her walk away.
When Rachel went to the kitchen to make coffee, Aaron decided that he’d had enough. He leaned across the table.
“Man, suck it up and tell her you’re sorry.”
Gabriel lifted his eyebrows.
“Why are you assuming that I’m at fault?”
“Because you’re the one with a dic—” Aaron caught his father-in-law’s eye and began coughing. “Um, statistically speaking, eighty percent of fights are the guy’s fault. Just apologize and get it over with. I don’t want to have to sit through another meal like that. It’s so cold in here, I’m going to have to go outside to warm up.”
“I think I have to side with Aaron. Not that you’re asking.” Richard chuckled to himself.
Gabriel looked between the two men with something akin to disgust.
“I tried talking to her. That’s how our argument started. She locked herself in the bathroom and told me to get lost.”
Richard and Aaron exchanged a knowing look.
“You’re in trouble.” Aaron whistled. “You’d better talk to her before bed or you’re looking at couch time.”
He shook his head before moving to the kitchen to join his wife.
Richard tapped the stem of his wine glass thoughtfully.
“Et tu, Brute?” Gabriel scowled.
“I didn’t say anything.” Richard looked at his son kindly. “I’ve been trying to stay out of it.”
“Thank you.”
“But there’s a reason why old married couples tell the young ones not to let the sun go down on their anger. Dealing with problems when they’re small will make both of your lives easier.”
“I can’t exactly have a conversation through a locked door.”
“Of course you can. You wooed her once; woo her again.”
Gabriel wore an incredulous expression. “You’re telling me to woo my wife?”
“I’m telling you to let go of your ego, apologize, and then listen to her. I wasn’t always the man you see before you. You can learn from my mistakes.”
“You and Mom had the perfect marriage.”
Richard laughed.
“Our marriage was far from perfect. But we made a pact early on that we would keep the imperfection out of sight and hearing of you children. Children get anxious when their parents argue. In my experience, couples fight over money, sex, and a lack of respect or attention.”
Gabriel began to protest, but Richard lifted a hand. “I’m not asking what your disagreement was about. That’s between you and your wife. It’s obvious that Julia’s feelings have been hurt. She was very withdrawn over dinner, the way she used to be before she began seeing you.”
“I’m not the one who shut down rational communication.” Gabriel sounded imperious.
“Listen to yourself.” Richard’s tone turned scolding. “Julia isn’t irrational. She’s hurt. When someone hurts you, it’s rational to withdraw. Especially considering her history.”
Gabriel grimaced. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“I’m sure that’s true. But I’m also confident that you don’t fight fairly. Learning how to argue with a spouse is an art, not a science. It took your mother and me a long time to figure it out. But once we did, we rarely argued. And when we did, it wasn’t ugly or hurtful. If you can argue with Julia while still convincing her that you love her and that she’s important to you, your conflicts will be easier to manage.” Richard finished his wine and placed the glass on the table.
“Take it from someone who was married a while and who brought up a daughter. When a woman withdraws and is cold, it’s because she’s protecting herself. My advice is to be gentle with your wife and coax her out of that locked room. Or prepare to spend a lot of lonely nights on the couch.”
It was after midnight by the time Julia closed her laptop. She knew everyone had gone to bed. She’d heard their footsteps in the hall.
She crept to the door of the study and opened it. Light shone from underneath
the closed door to the master bedroom. No doubt Gabriel was awake, reading.
She contemplated going to him. But the distance to his bed seemed interminable.
She grabbed the bottle of bubble bath she’d spirited away from their bathroom after dinner. She’d take another hot bath in the guest bathroom and try to forget her troubles.
A half hour later, Julia reentered the study, shutting the door behind her. She felt refreshed but only marginally more relaxed. Since Gabriel seemed determined to keep his distance, she’d sleep on the couch.
As she lay under the old wool blanket they’d first shared so many years ago in the orchard, she thought of their home back in Cambridge. She thought of their first few months of marriage and how happy they’d been.
She wanted to be a Dante specialist. It was a long road that would require sacrifice, hard work, and humility. She didn’t want to be the kind of person who thought herself above criticism. She knew that her writing needed improvement.
But when Gabriel said she was going to make a fool out of herself, the pain was excruciating. She needed him to encourage her, to cheer her on. She didn’t need him belittling her. Her belief in herself was shaky enough.
Why can’t he see that I need his support?
As her sadness swelled, she wondered why he hadn’t come to her.
No doubt he’d spent the evening with his family, smoking a cigar on the porch and talking about old times. She wondered what kind of explanation he’d given to Rachel about their conflict. She wondered why she was lying alone in the dark, close to tears, and he seemed perfectly content to leave her to it.
Just then, she heard a door open down the hall. She heard Gabriel’s quick, determined steps. They stopped outside her door.
She sat up, holding her breath. A muted light shone from the hallway, entering the study through the crack beneath the door.
O gods of fighting newlyweds, please make him knock on my door.
She heard what sounded like a pained sigh and a thump that could have been a hand resting against the door. Then she saw a shadow pass across the light as the footsteps retreated.
Julia tightened into a ball but did not cry.
Chapter Four
Very early the next morning, Julia’s cell phone rang.
She jerked awake, the sound of the Police’s “Message in a Bottle” reverberating around the room. She stared as the phone vibrated against the desk. But she didn’t answer.
A few minutes later she heard a chime, indicating she’d received a text.
Curiously, she walked over to the desk and picked up her phone. The text was, remarkably, from Dante Alighieri.
I’m sorry.
While she was contemplating what to type in response, another text arrived.
Forgive me.
She began formulating a reply when she heard movement in the hallway. Someone rapped on her door.
Please let me in.
Julia read the newest text before walking to the door. She opened it a little more than a crack.
“Hi.” Gabriel greeted her with a hesitant smile.
She gazed at him, noting that his hair was wet from the shower but that he hadn’t shaved. An attractive dark stubble covered his face and he was dressed in a white T-shirt and old jeans, his feet bare. He was, perhaps, the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.
“Is there a reason you’re knocking on my door at six o’clock in the morning?” Her tone was colder than she’d intended.
“I’m sorry, Julianne.” His expression was suitably contrite.
(It certainly helped that his eyes were bloodshot and his clothes were rumpled, as if he’d simply lifted them out of a bag destined for the Salvation Army and put them on.)
“You hurt me,” she whispered.
“I know. I’m sorry.” He took a step forward. “I reread your paper.”
She put a hand on her hip. “You knocked on my door to tell me that?”
“I called, but you didn’t answer.” He grinned. “It reminded me of Toronto, when I had to climb through your window.”
Julia’s cheeks flamed at the memory of Gabriel standing in her backyard in order to bring her dinner, as she greeted him in a towel, fresh from the shower.
“You forgot something. Something important.”
In his hand, he held the illustration of The Contention for Guido de Montefeltro. “I found it on the floor of the bedroom last night. I’m not sure which one of us was carrying it, but someone dropped it.”
Julia ignored the illustration that he’d left in her mailbox back in Toronto and searched his expression, instead. He appeared agitated, a sharp worry visible in his eyes. He ran his fingers through his wet hair.
“I know you needed to get away from me, but I think we’ve been separated long enough. Can I come in?”
Julia stepped back.
He entered and she closed the door behind him.
She crossed over to the couch and curled up on it, wrapping the old blanket around her shoulders.
He watched her movements, noticing that her body was now curved into a protective ball. He placed the illustration on top of her computer and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“I read your paper again. I also went back to the Inferno.” His eyes met hers. “I said some things yesterday I shouldn’t have.”
“Thank you.” Her posture relaxed somewhat.
“I have some suggestions to improve your paper.” He leaned back against the desk, resting his hips against the edge. “I know it’s important that you stand on your own two feet. But I’m happy to help, if you need me.”
“I’d welcome your advice, as long as you don’t tell me what to think.”
“I would never tell you what to think. How could I?” His face grew gentle. “Your ideas are one of the many things I love about you.”
His eyes fell to the illustration.
“I overreacted. I apologize. But the subject of your paper is somewhat personal, Julianne. The story of Francis risking Hell to save Guido’s soul represents what I was trying to do when I made my confession to the disciplinary committee back in Toronto.”
A lump appeared in Julia’s throat. She didn’t like thinking about what had happened the previous year. The disciplinary committee and their subsequent separation were far too painful to dwell on.
“I’ll admit I wasn’t merely reacting to your thesis. I was reacting to what I took to be your dismissal of the story. Our story.”
“I never meant to dismiss something so important. I know you risked everything to help me. I know you went through Hell.” Her features grew determined. “If the situation had been reversed, I would have descended to Hell to rescue you.”
A smile pulled at the edges of Gabriel’s lips. “Beatrice knew she couldn’t accompany Dante through Hell, so she sent Virgil, instead.”
“The only Virgil I know is Paul Norris. I doubt you would have welcomed his help.”
Gabriel snorted. “Paul is hardly a candidate for Virgil.”
“He was for me.”
Gabriel scowled, for the thought of Paul comforting Julia in his absence still rankled.
“I was a bastard. Then and now.” He pushed off the desk and stood in front of her, taking his hands out of his pockets.
He glanced at the space next to her. “May I?”
She nodded.
He sat beside her and held out his hand. She took it.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know. I’m sorry, too.”
He pulled her onto his lap and buried his nose in her hair.
“I don’t want you to have to lock yourself in the bathroom to get away from me.”
He cupped her face and pressed their lips together. After an instant, she responded.
Gabriel kissed her with restraint, his lips
warm and inviting. Back and forth and back and forth, he teased and nibbled at her mouth. Finally, she wrapped her hand around his neck, urging him closer.
He traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue. When she opened, he gently slipped inside, touching their tongues together. He’d never been able to lie with his kisses. They communicated far too much of his feelings. Julia felt his contrition and his sadness, but she also felt the undiminished flame of his desire.
His palms slid from her face to her hips, lifting her until she was straddling him. Their upper bodies pressed together as they continued to embrace, mouths eager and exploring.
“Come to bed.” Gabriel’s voice was a husky plea as he cupped her backside, pushing her over the evidence of his arousal.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He brought his lips to her ear. “We still have time to make up properly before our houseguests expect breakfast.”
Julia pulled away. “We can’t make up properly with guests in the house.”
“Oh, yes we can.” His blue eyes glinted dangerously. “I’ll show you.”
“Last night was terrible.” Gabriel lay on his back, one of his arms behind his head. He hadn’t bothered to cover himself. Their bedroom was warm and his beloved wife was lying next to him on her stomach, equally naked. In moments like this he wished they could spend their days in bed, unclothed.
“It was.” Julia lifted herself on her forearms so she could see his eyes. “Why didn’t you come and talk to me?”
“I wanted to read your paper again. And I thought you needed space.”
“I don’t like fighting with you.” Julia ducked her head, the strands of her hair skimming the tops of her breasts. “I hate it.”
“I don’t like it either, which is surprising, really. I used to love to fight.” His lips curled into a pout. “You’re turning me into a pacifist.”
“I’m not sure you’ll ever be a pacifist, Gabriel.” Julia’s voice wobbled. “Being a grad student is hard enough. I need your support.”
“You have it,” he whispered fiercely.
“I didn’t set out to disagree with you in my paper. It just sort of—happened.”
Gabriel's Redemption (Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy) Page 4
