Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy

by Sylvain Reynard

  As Gabriel rolled to his side, his hand fastened on a small, smooth piece of paper that was wedged underneath the pillow. He retrieved it and held it up against the sliver of moonlight that was streaming in from behind the curtain. What he saw more than surprised him for in his hand was an old photograph of him from his Princeton days. He recognized the varsity rowing jersey he was wearing.

  How did she get this? How long has she had it? He slid the photo back under the pillow, the ends of his mouth turning up in wonder. Something akin to hope began to warm his insides.

  He’d never been a fan of spooning; it was an act far too intimate for him. But tonight it was what he wanted. He curved his body around hers and stretched his left arm over her waist, placing a light hand on her stomach. They fit together perfectly. Gabriel sighed with contentment at the soft warmth of the young woman he treasured in his arms, his nose buried in long, soft, vanilla-scented hair.

  ***

  Sometime around three o’clock in the morning, Julia opened her eyes. A strong arm tightened its hold on her, and the scent that was Gabriel’s filled her head. She was wrapped in his arms, his chest against her back. Although he’d moved seemingly in reaction to her anxiety, the sound of his breathing indicated that he was still asleep.

  Julia looked at him in the darkness. How many years had she waited just to be sleeping at his side once again? She shifted slowly, so that she was lying on her back. With his eyes closed and a look of peace on his face, he looked much younger. Almost like a boy—a gentle boy with brown hair and pink lips who smiled sweetly in his sleep. Julia sighed her aesthetic appreciation.

  His eyes flickered open. It took a moment for him to be able to focus on her in the dark, but when he did, he leaned over to press his lips against hers.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered against her mouth.

  “You’re still here.”

  “I won’t leave you again without saying good-bye. Can’t you sleep?”

  “I thought this was a dream.”

  Gabriel smiled at her in the darkness. “Only for me.”

  “You’re gorgeous, Gabriel. You always were, you know.”

  “Nature’s cruelty—the fallen angel retains his beauty. But I’m ugly on the inside.”

  She kissed him back firmly, trying to convey the truth of the words she was about to speak before they were audible. “Someone who is ugly on the inside wouldn’t have bought me a messenger bag and kept his generosity a secret.”

  Gabriel stared at her. “How long have you known?”

  “Rachel told me.”

  “And did it make you more likely to accept it, or less likely?”

  “At the time, only half and half.”

  “I noticed you don’t use it anymore,” he whispered, reaching up to push the hair back from her face.

  “I’ll use it again.”

  “So you like it?”

  “Very much. Thank you.”

  He nuzzled his nose lightly against hers and smiled. “You were merely beautiful at seventeen, Julianne. You’re stunning now.”

  “Everyone is pretty enough in the dark,” she whispered.

  “No, they are not.” He kissed her before pulling back abruptly, willing himself to stop.

  She rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart and trying not to drink too deeply of the energy that charged between them.

  “It just occurred to me, Julia, that I only seem to get honest answers out of you whenever we share a bed.”

  She blushed, and even though it was dark, Gabriel knew it. He chuckled softly. “Why do you think that is?”

  “When we’re in bed, you’re gentle with me. I feel…safe.”

  “I don’t know how safe it is to be with me, Julianne, but I promise that I will try to be gentle with you always. Especially in bed.”

  She hugged him tightly and nodded against his chest, as if she understood the full implication of what he was saying. But she didn’t. How could she?

  “Are you going home for Thanksgiving?”

  “Yes. I need to call my father to give him the good news.”

  “I promised Richard I’d come home. Would you…consider flying out with me?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Good.” He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “It isn’t going to be a pleasant holiday.”

  “I don’t like Thanksgiving. But Grace always made it nice.”

  “Wasn’t it nice with your family?”

  Julia squirmed. “We didn’t really celebrate it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I did all the cooking unless my mother was in recovery. And whenever I tried to do something special…” She shook her head.

  Gabriel tightened his arms around her. “Tell me,” he whispered.

  “You don’t want to hear this.”

  She tried to turn away from him, but he held her fast. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just trying to know you.”

  The tone of Gabriel’s voice was such that it tugged at her, more powerfully than his words or his arms. She drew a deep breath.

  “During my last Thanksgiving in St. Louis, Sharon was on a bender with one of the boyfriends. But stupid me, I decided to cook a Martha Stewart recipe for stuffed roast chicken, twice-baked potatoes, and vegetables.” She stopped.

  “I’m sure it was delicious,” he prompted.

  “I never found out.”

  “Why?”

  “I kind of had an accident.”

  “Julianne?” He tried to lift her chin so that he could look into her eyes, but she wouldn’t look at him. “What happened?”

  “We didn’t have a kitchen table. So I set up a card table in the living room and set it for three. It was stupid, really. I shouldn’t have bothered. I put all the food on a tray to carry it to the table, and the boyfriend stuck out his foot and tripped me.”

  “On purpose?”

  “He saw me coming.”

  Gabriel seethed with instantaneous anger, his hands curling into fists.

  “I went flying. The dishes shattered. Food was everywhere.”

  “How badly were you hurt?” he asked with clenched teeth.

  “I don’t remember.” Julia’s voice instantly cooled.

  “Did your mother help you?”

  She shook her head.

  Gabriel growled, low in his throat.

  “They laughed. I must have looked pathetic on my hands and knees, crying, covered in gravy. The chicken skidded across the tiles and under one of the chairs.” She paused thoughtfully. “I was on my knees for a while. You would have had a stroke if you’d seen me.”

  Gabriel stifled the urge to ram his fist through the wall behind his head. “I wouldn’t have had a stroke. I would have beaten him and been sorely pressed not to horsewhip her.”

  Julia traced his fist with one of her fingers. “They got bored and went into her bedroom to fuck. They didn’t even bother to close the door. That was my last Thanksgiving with Sharon.”

  “Your mother sounds like Anne Sexton.”

  “Sharon never wrote poetry.”

  “My God, Julia.” Gabriel unclenched his fists and hugged her close.

  “I cleaned up so that they wouldn’t get mad at me, and I hopped on a bus. I rode around aimlessly until I saw a Salvation Army mission. They were advertising a Thanksgiving meal for the homeless. I asked if I could volunteer in the kitchen, and they put me to work.”

  “That’s how you spent Thanksgiving?”

  She shrugged. “I couldn’t go home, and the people at the mission were friendly. After the guests were served, I had a turkey dinner with the volunteers. They even sent me home with leftovers. And pie.” Julia paused thoughtfully. “No one ever baked me a pie.”

  He cleared his throat. “Julianne, why didn’t your father take you away from her?”

  “It wasn’t always bad.” She began fidgeting with his T-shirt, gathering the soft cotton in between her fingers and tugging slig
htly.

  “Ouch. Careful.” Gabriel chuckled. “You’re pulling out what few chest hairs I have.”

  “Sorry.” Julia nervously smoothed the cotton with her fingers. “Um, my dad lived with us until I was four, when my mom kicked him out. He went back to live in Selinsgrove, where he grew up. He used to call me on Sundays. I was talking to him one day, and I let slip the fact that one of the boyfriends had wandered into my room the night before, naked, thinking my room was the bathroom.” She cleared her throat and began speaking quickly, so Gabriel wouldn’t have a chance to ask that question.

  “Dad freaked out, wanting to know if the boyfriend had touched me. He hadn’t. He wanted to speak to my mom, and when I explained that I wasn’t supposed to bother her when one of the boyfriends was over, he told me to go into my room and lock the door. Of course, I didn’t have a lock. First thing the next morning, Dad showed up to take me to Selinsgrove. I guess it was a good thing the boyfriend was gone by the time he arrived. I think my father would have killed him.”

  “So you left?”

  “Yes. Dad told Sharon that if she didn’t get rid of the boyfriends and get off the alcohol, he was going to take me away from her permanently. She agreed to go into rehab, and I went to live with him.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eight.”

  “Why didn’t you stay with him?”

  “He was never home. He had a day job that was very busy and sometimes he had to work weekends. Plus, he was a volunteer with the fire department. When school finished for the year, he sent me back to St. Louis. Sharon was out of rehab by then and working in a nail salon. He thought I’d be fine.”

  “But you came back?”

  She hesitated.

  “You can tell me, Julianne.” He squeezed her tightly and waited, softly stroking her hair. “It’s all right.”

  She swallowed. Hard. “The summer before I turned seventeen, Dad brought me back.”

  “Why?”

  “Um, Sharon hit me. I fell against the corner of the kitchen counter, hitting my head. I called my dad from the hospital and said that if he didn’t come and get me I was going to run away. And that was it. I never saw my mother again.”

  “Do you have a scar?”

  She took his hand and brought it up to the back of her head, pressing his fingers against a raised line of flesh where hair no longer grew.

  “I’m sorry for this.” He traced it a few times and pressed his lips against it. “I’m sorry that those things happened to you. If I could, I’d beat them all senseless…starting with the bastard who is your father.”

  “I was pretty lucky, actually. Sharon only hit me once.”

  “Nothing you have told me sounds even remotely lucky.”

  “I’m lucky now. No one hits me here. And I have a friend who feeds me.”

  Gabriel shook his head and cursed. “You should have been cuddled and adored and treated like a princess. That’s what Rachel had.”

  “I don’t believe in fairy tales,” she breathed.

  “I’d like to make you believe.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead.

  “Reality is better than fantasy, Gabriel.”

  “Not if reality is the fantasy.”

  She shook her head, but smiled. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  Her smile faded. “Do you have any scars?”

  Gabriel’s face was impassive. “You can’t hit something that you don’t know is there.”

  Julia leaned up and pressed her cheek into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s difficult to know what’s worse—being hit or being ignored. I guess it depends on what kind of pain you prefer.”

  “I’m so sorry, Gabriel. I didn’t know.”

  She took his hand in hers and wrapped their fingers together. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Are you going to go home now?”

  “Not unless you want me to leave.” He stroked her hair again, carefully avoiding the place where the flesh was raised.

  She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. “I want you to stay with me.”

  “Then I’ll stay.”

  Julia fell asleep while Gabriel remained awake contemplating the scars she had shown him, wondering with queasiness and anger about the scars she had not revealed.

  “Julia?” he whispered. Her regular breathing and lack of response indicated that she was sleeping.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He kissed her cheek softly. “Least of all myself.”

  Chapter 19

  Julia awoke the next morning to the sounds of the shower. She was trying to work out how someone other than she could be in her washroom when the sounds stopped and a tall, brown-haired man wrapped in a small, purple towel came through the door. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she gasped, clapping a hand over her open mouth.

  “Good morning,” said Gabriel, clutching the towel that was slung low on his hips with one hand while grabbing his clothes with the other.

  Julia stared. And she wasn’t staring at his face.

  Regardless of what she was staring at, his hair was wet and sticking out in unruly spikes from his head. Beads of water clung to his shoulders and chest and glistened off the surface of his tattoo. The contours of sinew, muscle and veins, symmetry and balance, idealized proportion, and classical lines would be breathtaking even to the casual observer. But Julia was anything but a casual observer, for she had spent the entire night with this very body in her bed, spooning her close and playing with her hair. And this body was attached to a damn fine mind and a very deep, passionate soul.

  Nevertheless, Julia was staring at his physical form, and thus the term aquatic demi-god flitted through her consciousness.

  Gabriel grinned. “I said good morning, Julianne.”

  She closed her mouth. “Um, good morning.”

  He walked over and leaned down, pressing a firm but gentle opened-mouth kiss against her lips. A few droplets of water splashed around her on the sheets. “Did you sleep well?”

  She nodded slowly, feeling a good deal too warm.

  “You’re not saying much.” He straightened up and smirked at her.

  “You’re half-naked.”

  “Right. Would you prefer me wholly naked?” He shifted the towel provocatively on his hips and grinned.

  Julia nearly expired in shock.

  “I’m just kidding, sweetheart.” He kissed her again, with a furrowed brow.

  A discomforting thought occurred to him. He retreated backward with a very serious expression on his face. “I forgot about what happened to you in St. Louis. When you were little,” he clarified. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Julia looked over at him with mute appreciation. She smiled shyly. “It’s all right. You’re just distracting. You seem happy this morning.”

  He grinned. “Sharing a bed with you agrees with me. Can I make you breakfast?”

  “Um, sure. But you know I don’t have a kitchen.”

  “I’m a resourceful man.” Gabriel smiled at her genuinely, his warmth enough to overcome her embarrassment about her cooking facilities.

  Just before he closed the bathroom door behind him, she was treated to the barest glimpse of the most beautiful gluteus maximus muscles as Gabriel dropped his purple towel.

  Julia gaped like a codfish.

  ***

  The following evening, Rachel returned to Philadelphia from her romantic holiday with Aaron and promptly checked her voice mail. After a frantic call to her father, she immediately telephoned Gabriel and left a message.

  “What the hell is going on up there, Gabriel? What did you do to Julia? She only disappeared once in her life and that was when she was completely humiliated by her ex! So what the fuck did you do to her? I swear to God I’m hopping on a plane. Call me…

  “By the way, Dad says hi and he’s glad you called. Would it kill you to call him once a week? He has decided to go back to wo
rk because he can’t stand being home alone. And by the way, he put the house up for sale.”

  Then, more than slightly worried about her best friend, Rachel called Julia and left a message on her voice mail, as well.

  “Julia, what did Gabriel do? He was raving like a lunatic on my voice mail. He isn’t answering his phone, so I can’t get his side of the story. Not that I expect the truth from him. Anyway, I hope that you’re all right, and I’m really sorry. Whatever he did, please don’t disappear on me again. Not when this is our last Thanksgiving in the house. My dad put it up for sale. Aaron still wants to get you a ticket, so call me, okay? Love you.”

  Afterward, Rachel returned to her normal life in Philadelphia, anxiously awaiting news from her brother and her best friend. And quietly planning a wedding.

  After Gabriel convinced his sister not to fly to Toronto in order to kick his ass, and he spoke to Richard about taking the house off the market, he promptly left a message on Julia’s voice mail, which he connected with while she was talking to her father:

  “You never seem to answer your phone. [Fumes slightly…] Do you have call waiting? Would you order it, please? I don’t care what it costs. I’ll pay for it. But I’m tired of leaving messages. [Deep breath.] I’m assuming you’ve heard from Rachel. She’s furious with me, but I think I’ve been able to convince her that you and I had an academic misunderstanding and have since kissed and made up. [Chuckle.] Well, I left out the kissing part.

  “Maybe you can call and reassure her before she fulfills her threat to get on an airplane. [Sigh…deep breath.] Julianne, I enjoyed waking up next to you yesterday. More than I can say on an answering machine. Tell me I’ll be able to wake up next to you again soon. [Lowered, smoldering voice…] I’m sitting in front of the fireplace wishing you were here, wrapped in my arms. Call me, principessa.”

  ***

  Meanwhile, Julia was talking to her father.

  “I’m glad you’re coming home, Jules. I’ll be on call, but we’ll be able to spend some time together…” Tom’s voice trailed off into a cough as he tried to clear his throat.

  “Good. Rachel wants me to visit her too. She’s getting married, and I think she needs some help with the preparations, now that Grace is gone.”