Gabriel's Redemption (Gabriel's Inferno 3)

“So am I.” He leaned against the vanity, contemplating his bare feet. “But at least I tried to help her.”

“Maybe one of the families you contacted will change their mind. If they could just meet her, I’m sure they’d fall in love with her.”

He nodded, wriggling his toes.

“I won’t say that I understand, Gabriel, because I don’t. I wasn’t adopted and so I don’t share that special affinity you have with the children at the orphanage. But if you could just give me until my fourth year, I—”

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk about that. There’s no rush.” He smiled at her gently.

A feeling of relief mixed with dread washed over her.

Gabriel returned to his shaving, while she watched with rapt fascination.

“This reminds me of our first trip to Florence. We were getting ready together before going to the Uffizi.” She seemed wistful. “I was just your girlfriend, then.”

Gabriel stopped.

“You were never just my girlfriend, Julianne. You were my lover. And we’re still lovers.”

“How could I forget?” She gestured in the direction of the bedroom, pausing for a moment to remember their first time together. “I was so happy here.

“But tonight I’m going to accompany you to the Uffizi as your wife. We get to open the exhibition of your illustrations together.”

“They’re our illustrations. And I love you even more now than I did before. I didn’t think it was possible.”

“I love you more, too.” She peered down at her toes, admiring the way the red nail polish shimmered in the light. “I think your love has healed me, in many ways.”

Gabriel placed his razor on the counter.

“I don’t know why you persist in being sweet when I’m shaving.” He tried not to get shaving cream on her silk robe, but failed. “We’re going to have to have sex now.”

She laughed. “We can’t. We’re due at the Uffizi at seven. The guests of honor can’t be late.”

“It wouldn’t do for one of the guests of honor to be cross all evening because he’s hard and wanting. We had a fight. We made up. You owe me makeup sex.”

Julia reached out a hand to test his arousal.

“I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, Professor. But I really need to get ready. Look at my hair.”

He pulled back to see the dark strands, which were now streaked with shaving cream on one side.

“Fine,” he huffed. “But don’t be surprised if I spirit you off to a corridor and have my way with you.”

“I’m counting on it, Superman.” She nipped his ear with her teeth before escaping his arms. “And just for the record, I like my body when it’s with yours, as well.”

A short while later, Julia exited the washroom, walking over to where Gabriel was seated in the living area of their suite.

“What do you think?”

He stood up and removed his glasses, tossing aside the book he’d been reading.

He took her hand, spinning her in a circle. Her Valentino dress was very feminine, with a boat neckline, cap sleeves, a slim bodice, and a full skirt. The fabric was a rich red taffeta.

She pulled at the hemline, which sat above her knees. “I think I should have bought something black, instead.”

“No.” His eyes traveled from her exposed collarbones, across her br**sts and down to her long and shapely legs. “Red is perfect.”

He peered down at her black Prada peep-toe stilettos.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Mrs. Emerson. I don’t recall seeing those before.”

She arched an eyebrow at him.

“You aren’t the only one with secrets, Professor.”

Gabriel’s smile slid off his face.

She looked down at her shoes.

“But I can arrange a private viewing.”

“In a dark corner at the Uffizi?”

Their eyes met and she nodded.

He kissed her cheek. “You look lovely. The guests won’t be looking at Botticelli. They’ll be looking at you.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Gabriel. I’m nervous enough.” She brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders and then straightened his black bow tie. “You’re handsome. I don’t have the pleasure of seeing you in a tuxedo very often.”

“I can arrange a private viewing.” He pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist, closing his eyes and inhaling her scent.

“Roses.” He opened his eyes. “You’ve changed your perfume.”

“The Noble Rose of Afghanistan. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? It’s fair trade and it encourages development in that country.”

“Only you would choose your perfume because of the company’s commitment to fair trade. What did I do to deserve you?” Gabriel whispered, his eyes dark and searching.

“You deserve happiness. Why can’t you let yourself believe that?”

He gave her a long look, then took her hand in his and led her to the door.

All the while, Julia’s heart nearly cracked under the weight of her realization that her love had not healed him.

“Professore. Signora.” Lorenzo, Dottore Vitali’s assistant, greeted them at the entrance to the Uffizi.

“We shall gather with the media. You will be invited to open the exhibition. Then we will view the collection, enjoy a reception and later, dinner.”

Gabriel acquiesced in Italian, squeezing Julia’s hand.

Lorenzo led them to a hallway where a crowd of about a hundred people were gathered. Julia recognized many familiar faces from Gabriel’s lecture a year and a half ago. All the men were in tuxedos, save the members of the press; all the women were wearing gowns, many of which swept the floor.

Julia looked down at her bare legs self-consciously.

Soon they were surrounded. Gabriel shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, introducing Julia as his beautiful wife. She watched as he greeted guests in Italian, French, and German, working the room fluidly and comfortably. But he never let her leave his side; his arm remained wrapped around her waist.

They were just about to follow Dottore Vitali to the doorway to the exhibition when Julia stopped short. Staring at her, not fifty feet away, was Professor Pacciani, with a tall, dark-haired woman on his arm.

Julia’s eyes widened.

For a moment, she thought the woman was Christa Peterson. But on sustained inspection, she realized that although there was a resemblance, Pacciani’s companion was older than Christa by about ten years.