Gabriel's Inferno: Gabriel's Rapture Part 34

Chapter 28.

Several hours after the hearing, Gabriel sat in his apartment shrouded in darkness. The only light visible came from the blue and orange flames that flickered in his fireplace. He was surrounded by her. Completely surrounded by her memory and her ghost.

Closing his eyes, he swore he could smell her scent or hear her laughter echoing down the hall. His bedroom had become like a shrine, which was why he was sitting in front of the fire.

He couldn't bear to look at the large black and white photographs of the two of them. Especially the one that hung over his bed-Julianne in all of her magnificence, lying on her stomach with her naked back exposed, partially wrapped in a sheet, gazing up at him in adoration with s.e.x-mussed hair and a sweet, sated smile...

In every room he had a memory of her-some of them joyous and others bittersweet, like dark, dark chocolate. He stalked to the dining room and poured himself two fingers' worth of his very best Scotch and downed it quickly, relis.h.i.+ng the burning sensation as it stung his throat. He tried desperately not to think about Julia standing in front of him, jabbing an angry finger into his chest.

"You're supposed to love me, Gabriel. You're supposed to support me when I decide to stand up for myself. Isn't that what you wanted me to do? And instead, you cut a deal with them and dump me?"

At the memory of the look of betrayal in her eyes, Gabriel threw his empty gla.s.s at the wall, watching it shatter and fall to the floor. Shards of crystal like jagged icicles scattered over the hardwood, glimmering in the firelight.

He knew what he had to do; he simply needed the courage in order to do it. Grabbing the bottle, he walked reluctantly to the bedroom. Two more swallows and he was able to throw his suitcase on the bed. He didn't bother to fold his clothes. He barely cared about taking the essentials.

He thought about what it was like to be banished. About Odysseus's tears at being so far away from home, from his wife, from his people. Now Gabriel understood exile.

When he was finished, he placed the framed photograph from atop his dresser in his briefcase. Stroking a tender finger over the face of his beloved, he downed more Scotch before staggering to the study.

He ignored the red velvet wing chair, for if he turned to look at it, he would see her, curled up like a cat, reading a book. She'd worry her lower lip between her teeth, her adorable eyebrows scrunched in thought. Had any man ever loved, adored, wors.h.i.+pped a woman more?

None but Dante, he thought. And he was seized by a sudden inspiration.

He unlocked one of the drawers of his desk. This was the memory drawer. Maia's picture was there, along with the scant remnants of his childhood-his grandfather's pocket watch, some jewelry that belonged to his mother, her diary, and a few old photographs. He removed a photograph and an ill.u.s.tration before locking the drawer again, placing the items in his pocket. Pausing only to open a black velvet box and withdraw a ring, he headed for the door.

The chill in the Toronto air sobered Gabriel as he walked determinedly to his office. He only hoped he would be able to find what he needed.

The building in which the Department of Italian Studies was housed was dark. As he switched on the light in his office, he was a.s.saulted by memories. Memories of the first time Julia visited his office and he'd been unspeakably rude. Memories when Julia stood by the door after that disastrous seminar, telling him she wasn't happy. Telling him she didn't want Paul. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, as if he could block out the visions.

He packed his fancy leather briefcase with only the files he needed and a few books, before searching the shelves. Moments later, he found the simple textbook and breathed a sigh of relief. He penned a few words, added his bookmarks, then switched off the light and locked the door.

All faculty in the department held keys to the departmental office, where Mrs. Jenkins's desk and the mailboxes were located. Gabriel used the light from his iPhone to find the box he wanted. He deposited the book, stroking his fingers lovingly across the name labeling the mailbox. He noted with satisfaction that other textbooks were in other boxes, then with a heavy heart, he exited the office.

Paul Norris was angry. His anger was directed at the most evil man on the planet, Gabriel Emerson, who had verbally abused and seduced his friend before dumping her.

If Paul had been a fan of Jane Austen, he would have likened Professor Emerson to Mr. Wickham. Or perhaps, to Willoughby. But he wasn't.

Nevertheless, it was all he could do not to pummel Emerson senseless and give him the a.s.s whipping he'd been in desperate need of all year. Additionally, Paul felt betrayed. For G.o.d knows how long, Julia had been involved with a man she called Owen.

Gabriel Owen Emerson.

Perhaps she wanted Paul to figure it out. But it had never crossed his mind that Owen was, in fact, Professor Emerson. He'd cursed the man and told her secrets about him, for G.o.d's sake. Secrets about Professor Singer. And while she was accepting his sympathy, she was sleeping with him. No wonder she'd sworn up and down that Owen hadn't bitten her neck, that it was some other a.s.shole.

Paul thought of Professor Emerson doing depraved things to Julia, and her small, small hands. Julia, who was sweet and kind, with blus.h.i.+ng pink cheeks. Julia, who never pa.s.sed a homeless man on the street without giving him something. Perhaps the true pain of betrayal was the realization that sweet Miss Mitch.e.l.l had shared a bed with a monster who got off on pain, who had been a plaything of Professor Singer. Perhaps Julia wanted that lifestyle. Perhaps she and Gabriel invited Ann into their bed, as well. After all, Julia had picked Soraya Harandi to be her attorney. Didn't that mean she was familiar with Professor Pain?

Clearly, Julia was not who he thought she was. But his suspicions morphed into something else when, on the Monday after the hearing, he ran into Christa Peterson as she exited Professor Martin's Office.

"Paul." She nodded at him smugly, adjusting the expensive watch on her wrist.

He jerked his chin in the direction of Professor Martin's door. "Having some trouble?"

"Oh, no," she said quickly, smiling altogether too widely. "In fact, I think the only person who's having trouble is Emerson. You'd better start looking for a new dissertation director."

Paul narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"If Emerson drops me, he'll drop you too. If he hasn't already."

"I'm dropping him." She tossed her hair behind her shoulder. "I'm transferring to Columbia in the fall."

"Isn't that where Martin came from?"

"Give my best to Julia, would you?" Laughing, Christa brushed past him.

Paul jogged after her, catching her elbow with his hand. "What are you talking about? What did you do to Julia?"

She wrenched her arm free, her eyes narrowing. "Tell her she f.u.c.ked with the wrong woman."

Christa walked away as a stunned Paul stood, wondering what she had done.

Julia didn't respond to Paul's worried messages or emails. So on the Wednesday after the hearing, he stood on the front porch of her building, buzzing her apartment.

She didn't answer.

Undeterred, Paul waited, and when a neighbor exited the building, he went inside and knocked on her door. He rapped several times until a hesitant voice called to him. "Who is it?"

"It's Paul."

He heard what sounded like the thud of Julia's forehead against the door.

"I wanted to check on you since you aren't answering your phone." He paused. "I have your mail."

"Paul-I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Let me see that you're all right and I'll go."

He heard the shuffling of feet. "Julia," he called to her softly. "It's just me."

A sc.r.a.ping sound echoed in the hallway, and the door slowly creaked open.

"Hi," he said, looking down into the face of a woman he did not recognize.

She looked like a girl really, white skin against dark hair that was messily pulled up into a ponytail. Purple circles rimmed her eyes, which were bloodshot and gla.s.sy. She looked as if she hadn't slept since the hearing.

"Can I come in?"

She opened the door more widely, and Paul walked into her apartment. He'd never seen it so disordered. Dishes were abandoned on every surface, her bed was unmade, and the card table was straining under the weight of papers and books. Her laptop was open as if she'd been interrupted while working on it.

"If you came to tell me how stupid I am, I don't think I can handle that right now." She tried to sound defiant.

"I was upset when I found out you'd been lying to me." Paul shuffled her mail from one arm to the other and scratched at his sideburns. "But I'm not here to make you feel badly." His expression softened. "I don't like to see you hurting."

She looked down at her purple woolly socks and wiggled her toes. "I'm sorry for lying."

He cleared his throat. "Um, I brought your mail. You had some stuff in the mailbox outside, and I also brought your mail from the department."

Julia looked at him with a worried expression.

He held up a hand as if to rea.s.sure her. "It's only a couple of flyers and a textbook."

"Why would someone send me a textbook? I'm not teaching."

"The textbook reps put exam copies in the professors' mailboxes. Sometimes they give books to the grad students too. I got one on Renaissance politics. Where should I put everything?"

"On the table. Thanks."

Paul did as he was bidden while Julia busied herself by retrieving the cups and bowls from around the apartment and stacking them neatly on top of the microwave.

"What kind of textbook?" she asked, over her shoulder. "It isn't about Dante, is it?"

"No. It's Marriage in the Middle Ages: Love, s.e.x, and the Sacred." Paul read the t.i.tle aloud.

She shrugged, for the t.i.tle didn't interest her.

"You look tired." He gazed at her sympathetically.

"Professor Picton asked me to make a lot of changes to my thesis. I've been working around the clock."

"You need some fresh air. Why don't you let me take you to lunch? My treat."

"I have so much work to do."

He brushed at his mouth with the back of his hand. "You need to get out of here. This place is depressing. It's like Miss Havisham's house."

"Does that make you Pip?"

Paul shook his head. "No, it makes me a nosy jerk who interferes in someone else's life."

"That sounds like Pip."

"Is your thesis due tomorrow?"

"No. Professor Picton gave me a week's extension. She knew I wouldn't be ready to turn it in April first because of-everything." She winced.

"It's just lunch. We'll take the subway and head to Queen Street and be back before you know it."

Julia looked up at Paul, into concerned dark eyes. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because I'm from Vermont. We're friendly." He grinned. "And because you need a friend right now."

Julia smiled in grat.i.tude.

"I never stopped caring for you," he admitted, his eyes unexpectedly gentle.

She pretended she didn't hear his declaration.

"I need a minute to get dressed."

They both looked at her flannel pajamas.

Paul smirked. "Nice rubber duckies."

Embarra.s.sed, she disappeared into her closet to find some clean clothes. Not having done laundry in a week, her choices were limited, but at least she had something halfway presentable for a casual meal.

While she was in the bathroom, Paul took it upon himself to clean up her apartment, or at least, to tidy it. He knew better than to touch her thesis materials, choosing rather to straighten her bed and pick up things from the floor. When he was finished, he shelved the textbook and sat down in a folding chair to look over her mail. He quickly disposed of the flyers and junk and stacked what looked like bills into a neat pile. He noticed there weren't any letters of a personal nature.

"Thank G.o.d," he muttered.

After she dressed, she covered the circles under her eyes with concealer, and pinked up her pale cheeks with blush. When she was satisfied that she no longer looked like a youngish version of Miss Havisham, Julia joined Paul at the card table.

He greeted her with a smile. "Ready to go?"

"Yes." She wrapped her arms around her chest. "I'm sure you have things you want to say. You might as well get it over with."

Paul frowned and gestured to the door. "We can talk over lunch."

"He left me," she blurted, looking pained.

"Don't you think that's a good thing?"

"No."

"Jeez, Julia, the guy seduced you for kicks, then dumped you. How much abuse do you want?"

Her head snapped up. "That's not how it was!"

Paul looked at her, at her sudden show of anger, and was impressed. He'd rather have her angry than sad.