Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy

by Sylvain Reynard

  “Of course. But what’s the matter? Have you met him before?”

  “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. I didn’t like how he was looking at you. His eyes could have burned holes in your dress.”

  “It’s a good thing I have Superman to protect me.” Julia kissed her husband firmly. “I promise to avoid him and all the other handsome men here.”

  “You think he’s handsome?” Gabriel glared at her.

  “Handsome the way a work of art is handsome, not the way you are. And if you kiss me now, I’ll forget him entirely.”

  Gabriel leaned forward and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers before pressing their lips together.

  “Thank you.” She chewed at the inside of her mouth. “I’m afraid you embarrassed me in your introduction. I don’t like the attention.”

  “You’re the true benefactor. I’m merely your escort.”

  Julia laughed again, but this time the sound barely echoed. The room had filled with other guests, who were waiting a respectful distance away.

  “You make a charming escort, Professor.”

  “Thank you.” He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you with my introduction. I was hoping to motivate some of our guests to consider donating to the orphanage.”

  “Then embarrass me all you like. If one person decides to support the orphanage, this entire exhibit will have been a success. Even if they hate the illustrations.”

  “How could anyone hate something so exquisite?” Gabriel gestured at the room.

  Julia couldn’t argue. Several different artists had illustrated Dante’s work over the centuries, but Botticelli had always been her favorite.

  They continued through the room, pausing in front of each picture. Gabriel noted with satisfaction that the stranger seemed to have disappeared.

  When they’d reached the one hundredth and final illustration, Julia turned to her husband.

  “An incredible exhibit. They did a fantastic job.”

  “It isn’t finished.” Gabriel tried to smother a smile, his sapphire eyes sparkling.

  “Really?” She looked around, confused.

  He took her hand in his and led her to the second floor and into the Botticelli room.

  She stopped short, as she always did, when she passed through the doors. Seeing The Birth of Venus and Primavera in the same room always left her breathless.

  It was the location of Gabriel’s lecture during their first visit to Florence. He’d spoken of marriage and family then, things that at the time seemed as ethereal as a dream.

  As she stood in front of Primavera, she felt happy. Something about the painting comforted her. And it was never as magnificent to view a copy as it was to see the original.

  If she closed her eyes, she could feel the silence of the museum, hear the echoes from the distant corridor. If she concentrated, she could conjure Gabriel’s voice, lecturing on the four loves of eros, phileo, storge, and agape.

  All of a sudden, she opened her eyes, her gaze drawn to the image of Mercury on the far left. She’d seen the painting a thousand times. But at this moment, his figure disquieted her. There was something about his appearance, something about his face that seemed strangely familiar . . .

  “They’ve made an addition to this room since your last visit.” Gabriel’s voice interrupted her musings.

  “Where?”

  He grasped her elbow, moving her to the right so she could see a large framed black-and-white photograph that hung on the wall opposite The Birth of Venus.

  She covered her mouth with her hand.

  “What’s that doing here?”

  Gabriel tugged her until she was standing in front of a photograph of herself. She was in profile, her eyes closed and her long hair held up by a pair of man’s hands. She was smiling.

  The picture was one that Gabriel had taken back in Toronto, when she’d first agreed to pose for him. She looked at the tag underneath the photograph and read the following,

  «Deh, bella donna, che a’ raggi d’amore

  ti scaldi, s’i’ vo’ credere a’ sembianti

  che soglion esser testimon del core,

  vegnati in voglia di trarreti avanti»,

  diss’io a lei, «verso questa rivera,

  tanto ch’io possa intender che tu canti.

  Tu mi fai rimembrar dove e qual era

  Proserpina nel tempo che perdette

  la madre lei, ed ella primavera».

  —DANTE, PURGATORIO 28.045-051.

  “Ah, beauteous lady, who in rays of love

  Dost warm thyself, if I may trust to looks,

  Which the heart’s witnesses are wont to be,

  May the desire come unto thee to draw

  Near to this river’s bank,” I said to her,

  “So much that I might hear what thou art singing.

  Thou makest me remember where and what

  Proserpina that moment was when lost

  Her mother her, and she herself the Spring.”

  “Those are the words Dante speaks when he sees Beatrice for the first time in Purgatory.” Gabriel touched her face, and his eyes met hers with searing intensity.

  “It was the same for me. When I saw you in Cambridge after being separated from you, I remembered those words. Just seeing you, standing in the street, made me remember all I’d lost. I was hoping you’d see me and come to me.”

  Gabriel pulled her against his chest as Julia’s eyes filled with tears. “Don’t cry, my sweet girl. You’re my Beatrice and my sticky little leaf and my beautiful wife. I’m sorry I’ve been such a bastard. I wanted to show you how important you are to me. You are my most precious masterpiece.”

  Julia gazed up at him.

  He swiped his thumbs under her eyes before pressing his lips to her forehead.

  “You’re my Persephone; the maiden to my monster.”

  “No more talk of monsters.” She brushed his tuxedo with her hand, worried that she’d transferred tears and makeup to the wool.

  Then he was kissing her until she was breathless, arms wrapped tight around her back. When he released her, she giggled.

  “I take it you’re impressed with the exhibition, Mrs. Emerson?”

  “Yes.” Her face grew grave. “But I’d like you to take the photograph down. It’s a magnificent gesture, but I don’t want to be on display.”

  “You aren’t.”

  Julia looked from Gabriel to the photograph and back again.

  “I’m hanging there for all to see.”

  “Vitali wished to give us a gift to thank us, but I refused. When I asked if I could do something—ah—unusual for you, he agreed.” Gabriel gestured to the room. “Vitali is an old romantic and it pleased him to be able to do something special for us. He agreed to display the picture and give us an hour on this floor, all to ourselves.”

  Julia’s eyes widened. “We have the Botticelli room all to ourselves?”

  “Not just that.” His blue eyes danced with amusement as he brought his lips to her ear. “We also have the corridor.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. This floor is off limits until”—he glanced at his Rolex—“forty-five minutes from now, when we have to go downstairs for the reception and dinner.”

  With one quick movement, she grasped his lapels with both hands and pulled him to her, pressing a long, hard kiss against his lips.

  “I take it you’re pleased?” he said, when she finally released him.

  “Let’s go.” She grabbed his hand and began tugging him toward the door.

  “Where?”

  “Makeup sex, museum sex, corridor sex. I don’t care what you call it, but now is our chance.”

  Gabriel found himself chuckling and trotting after a very determined, ve
ry fast-moving Julianne, who was tottering on high heels.

  “You surprise me, Mrs. Emerson.”

  “How so?” She lifted her voice slightly so it could be heard above the tapping of her stilettos.

  “You’re supposed to be shy. You’re supposed to be the seduced, not the seducer.”

  She turned around, her eyes glittering.

  “I want a heart-stopping, mind-blowing orgasm against a Florentine wall, Professor. You’ve just told me we have what I never thought we’d have—privacy in a public space. Screw shyness.”

  Now Gabriel laughed, tipping his head back.

  He marched her swiftly down the corridor and around the corner to the opposite side, where he positioned her in a dark corner between two high marble statues perched atop plinths.

  “This time, I won’t stop,” he whispered, his large hand pulling up her dress in order to rest on her thigh.

  “Good.”

  “There’s no air conditioning in here, so things might get a little . . . hot.” He stroked the skin of her thigh with the back of his hand.

  “I would expect nothing less, Professor.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close.

  He lifted her and her legs surrounded his waist, pressing their lower bodies together. Her back came into contact with the glass of the museum windows and she shivered a little at the cool sensation.

  “Now tell me who is handsome.” He spoke against her lips.

  “You are.” Julia captured his mouth just as a groan escaped him.

  She kissed him determinedly, her tongue tracing the seam of his lips. He opened to her, and her tongue eagerly entered his mouth.

  They kissed as if they’d been separated for years, lips eager and wanting.

  He slid his hand up and down her thigh before pulling the skirt of her dress higher. The taffeta sighed its approval.

  As he pressed against her more tightly, his fingers moved to the flare of her hip, where he caressed back and forth and back and forth. When he came to rest on her hip bone, he pulled back.

  “Where are your panties?”

  “I like my body when it is with your body, remember? Panties just get in the way.”

  Gabriel groaned, the sound traveling down the empty corridor. “You’ve been walking around like this all evening?”

  She winked at him provocatively.

  “No wonder that man was staring at you.”

  “Stop talking about other men.” She tugged at his bow tie.

  He leaned forward to taste her lips again, stroking her tongue with his own.

  Julia shifted in his arms, the heels of her shoes catching on his tuxedo jacket. She undid his bow tie, tossing it to the floor, and hastily unbuttoned his shirt. She began kissing his neck and chest, her lips whispering across the surface of his skin, before sliding a hand down to his waistband.

  But Gabriel would not be rushed. He moved her hand back to his shoulder, then reached between her legs, touching her gently. He was barely able to contain his joy at her reaction to him.

  Julia moved and writhed, moaning in his ear.

  “Don’t make me wait,” she begged, trying in vain to pull him closer.

  Gabriel rummaged in his pockets.

  “It’s a good thing I brought this.” He held up a square foil packet triumphantly.

  She opened her eyes, fixing on the item. “Where did that come from?”

  Gabriel chuckled.

  “I thought you’d be uncomfortable all evening otherwise.”

  She blinked. “Did you plan this?”

  “Absolutely.” His left hand squeezed her backside for effect.

  She moved to take it from him, but he shook his head.

  “Allow me, Mrs. Emerson.” He held the packet in his teeth while he unzipped his trousers. Then he ripped the foil before swiftly rolling it over himself.

  Gabriel teased her, sliding back and forth before easing inside. She exhaled in satisfaction, tightening around him.

  There were no words. Indeed, they were beyond speech. Gabriel knew his wife’s body as she knew his, and the two of them moved and responded to one another with an increasing pace.

  Muffled groans and grunts of satisfaction echoed down the corridor, so much so that a group of statues covered their ears. Julia’s back thumped against the window as they moved in concert.

  “I’m close,” she managed, the last word cut off as her orgasm overtook her.

  Gabriel quickened his thrusts, filling her deeply until he, too, was overcome.

  Julia clung to him as if she were dying, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her face buried in his neck.

  They were motionless for some time. Gabriel’s breath left his body in a long, relaxed exhalation.

  “Okay?” he asked, kissing her cheek.

  “Fantastic.”

  They remained in one another’s arms, holding each other tightly as their hearts and breathing slowed. Gabriel gently placed Julia on her feet, and pulled her dress down to cover her. His hand found her waist and he squeezed.

  “Can you walk?” He eyed her, and her expensive shoes, with concern.

  “I think so. I might be a little wobbly.”

  “Then allow me.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her to a nearby bathroom.

  “Is it very different when you wear one of those?” Julia nodded at the condom that Gabriel threw into a trash can.

  “I can’t feel as much, so it’s frustrating.” Gabriel proceeded to wash his hands. “For most of my life, it was all I knew. But knowing what it’s like to be inside you without it makes a condom a kind of torture.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He dried his hands and leaned over to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t be. I’m not so selfish that I want you to be uncomfortable or messy simply so I can have better sex.”

  She frowned.

  He brought their foreheads together. “Sex with you is always magnificent. But that’s because it’s more than just sex. Now I think you’ll have to fix your hair and your face. Or everyone will know that you’ve just had museum sex.” He looked a good deal more than proud of himself.

  She arched an eyebrow. “And you’re all set to return to the party?”

  “Of course.” Gabriel buttoned his tuxedo jacket.

  “You don’t need to make any—adjustments?”

  “No.” He cocked his head to one side. “Of course, I don’t mind if people realize I just had museum sex with my wife.”

  “Oh, they will.”

  “How?”

  “Because you’re forgetting something, Professor.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Your tie.”

  Gabriel reached up to his neck, a look of surprise flitting across his face. He began buttoning his shirt.

  “Where is it?”

  “On the floor where I left it.”

  “Temptress,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  She leaned over the vanity, attending to her hair and makeup. “So how good was the sex we just had? On a scale of one to transcendent?”

  “Earth-shattering and tie forgetting.”

  Smugly, she reapplied her lipstick. “Don’t you forget it.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  I love exhibition openings,” Julia murmured, as they rejoined the other guests. “They’re the best.”

  “You never cease to amaze me.” Gabriel’s hand hovered at her lower back.

  “I could say the same. I think you can see an outline of my body on the window upstairs.”

  He chuckled, his hand sliding down to pat her bottom.

  Someone cleared his throat behind them.

  Julia and Gabriel turned to find Dottore Vitali standing a few feet away.

  “Forgive
me for interrupting, but would you be willing to speak to a potential donor?” He eyed the Professor hopefully.

  Gabriel looked at Julia. “Vitali asked me earlier if I would try to persuade someone to part with a few paintings. But I can delay.”

  “No, you go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Persuade the person to donate. I’m just going to wander around for a while.”

  Gabriel kissed her cheek. Then he and his old friend joined a group of well-dressed men and women who were standing near the entrance to the exhibition.

  Julia retraced her steps through the gallery, leisurely admiring the collection. She was standing in front of one of the more colorful illustrations of Dante and Virgil in Hell when an oily voice addressed her in English.

  “Good evening.”

  She whirled around and found herself face to face with Professor Pacciani.

  Her eyes darted around the room, relieved to discover that they were not alone. Several couples were nearby, also admiring the art.

  He held up his hands. “I have no wish to disturb your evening. All I require is a moment.”

  Julia’s eyes flickered to his. “In a moment, my husband will return.”

  “In a moment, my wife will return. I had better speak quickly.” He grinned, exposing his teeth. “I regret what happened in Oxford. If you will recall, I was not the one behaving badly.”

  He stepped closer.

  Julia took a step back.

  “I remember. But I must be going.” She tried to walk around him, but he sidestepped her.

  “Another moment, please. Professor Picton was unhappy with my friend’s behavior. So was I.”

  Julia observed him incredulously.

  “I told Christa to stay away from you. But as you know, she didn’t listen.”

  “Thank you, Professor. If you’ll excuse me.”

  He stood in front of her again, far too close.

  Julia had no choice but to step back.

  “Perhaps you could mention this to Professor Picton. I am applying for a job with Columbia University in New York. A former student of Katherine’s is the chair of that department. I wouldn’t want any—bad feelings to interfere.”