Medieval, thought Julia. How fitting.
But the photographs were soon supplanted in her attention by something else, something even more surprising. She stared in shock at the painting on the far wall, her jaw dropping open.
On the wall opposite Gabriel’s large and medieval bed, and strangely out of place amongst the black-and-white erotica, was a Pre-Raphaelite oil painting in brilliant and glorious color. It was a full scale reproduction of Henry Holiday’s painting of Dante and Beatrice, the same painting that hung over her own bed.
Julia’s eyes darted from the painting, to Gabriel, and back to the painting again. He could see the painting from his bed. She imagined him falling asleep at night, every night, looking at Beatrice’s face. It was the last thing he would see at night and the first thing he would see in the morning.
Julia hadn’t known that he owned that painting. He was the reason why she owned it; was she, by any chance, the reason why he did?
She began to tremble at the thought. No matter who came into his bedroom, no matter which girl Gabriel brought home to warm his bed, Beatrice was always there. Beatrice was ever present.
But he didn’t remember that she was Beatrice.
Julia shook her head to suppress those thoughts and gently persuaded Gabriel to lie down. She covered him with the sheet and the silk duvet, tucking the edges under his arms, across his chest. She sat down on the bed next to him, watching him as he looked at her.
“I was listening to music,” he whispered, as if he was continuing a conversation.
She frowned in confusion. “What kind of music?”
“Hurt. Johnny Cash. Over and over.”
“Why do you listen to that?”
“To remember.”
“Oh, Gabriel. Why?” Julia blinked back tears, for that was the one Trent Reznor song she could listen to without heaving, but it always made her weep.
He didn’t answer.
She leaned over him. “Gabriel? Sweetheart, don’t listen to that kind of music anymore, okay? No more Lacrimosa or Nine Inch Nails. Walk out of the darkness and toward the light.”
“Where’s the light?” he mumbled.
Julia exhaled deeply. “Why do you drink so much?”
“To forget,” he said, closing his eyes and resting back on the pillow.
With his eyes closed, she was able to admire him. She surmised that he would have been sweet-looking as a teenager — all big sapphire eyes and kissable lips and sexy brown hair. He might have been shy instead of angry or sad. He might have been noble and good. If Julia and he had been closer in age, he might have kissed her on her father’s porch, taken her to the prom, and made love to her for the first time on a blanket under the stars, in the old orchard behind his parents’ house. She might have been his first, in some more perfect universe.
Julia contemplated how much pain a human soul, her soul, could bear without shriveling completely, and she turned to go. A warm hand darted out to catch her.
“Don’t leave me,” he breathed. His eyes were only half open, and they pleaded with her. “Please, Julianne.”
He knew who she was, but somehow he still wanted her to stay. And the way his eyes and his voice grew desperate…she could not deny him when he looked like that.
She wrapped her hand in his and sat beside him again. “I’m not going to leave you. Just sleep now. There’s light all around you. So much light.”
A smiled played on his perfect lips, and she heard him sigh; the grip with which he held her hand loosened. She took a deep breath, held it, and ghosted a finger over his eyebrows. When he didn’t flinch or open his eyes, she softly stroked them, one by one. Her mother had done this when Julia wasn’t able to sleep as a child. But that was ever so long ago, long before her mother neglected her in order to pursue other, more important interests.
Gabriel was still smiling, and so Julia bravely moved her hand to his hair. Feeling the unruly strands running though her fingers reminded her of a day she’d spent on a farm in Tuscany during her year abroad. An Italian boy had taken her out to a field, and they had walked together, her hand floating over the tops of the grasses. Gabriel’s hair was feather light and soft against her hand, like the whispering Italian grass.
She began to stroke his hair, the way Grace must have done at one time. He allowed her fingertips to trail down the side of his face, tracing his angular jaw and rubbing gently against his stubble. She touched the merest hint of a dimple in his chin and began to move the back of her hand against his high and noble cheekbones. She would never again be this close to him; if he were awake, he wouldn’t let her. He’d have bitten her hand, she was sure, and gone for her throat.
His perfect chest rose and fell with his now regular breathing. He seemed to have fallen asleep.
She stared at his neck, the muscles in his shoulders and the tops of his arms, his collarbone, and the tops of his pectorals. If he had been pale, he would have looked like a Roman statue carved in cold, white marble.
But the merest hint of a tan left over from the summer made his skin glow almost gold in the lamplight.
Julia pressed a kiss against two of her fingers and placed those fingers tenderly against his slightly parted lips. “Ti amo, Dante. Eccomi Beatrice. I love you, Dante. Here I am, Beatrice.”
Just then, Gabriel’s telephone rang.
She jumped in surprise. The phone was ringing very loudly. Gabriel was beginning to move, the horrible noise piercing his rest. So Julia answered it.
“Hello?”
“Who the hell is this?” a woman’s voice, shocked and shrill, demanded.
“This is Gabriel Emerson’s residence. Who is this?”
“This is Paulina. Put Gabriel on the phone!”
Julia’s heart thudded twice and skipped a beat before beginning to race. She stood up, taking the cordless receiver with her, and walked into the bathroom, closing the door.
“He can’t come to the phone right now. Is it an emergency?”
“What do you mean he can’t? Tell him it’s Paulina and I want to speak to him.”
“Um, he’s indisposed.”
“Indisposed? Listen, you little slut, roll Gabriel over and put the phone in his hand. I’m calling from the — ”
“He can’t talk to you right now. Please call back tomorrow.” Julia pressed the end button, interrupting Paulina’s torrent of furious words, feeling thoroughly disgusted.
She’s more demanding than a casual lover. She must be his mistress — and she’s going to be pissed that I answered the phone. Maybe she’ll be so pissed she’ll break up with him.
Julia cringed at her continued misfortune and removed the towel from her hair, hanging it up to dry. She returned to the bedroom and placed the telephone on its cradle. She intended to leave Gabriel to his dreams and sleep in the guest room, because she’d promised that she wouldn’t abandon him.
Suddenly, two blue eyes opened wide and began to stare right through her.
“Beatrice,” he whispered, reaching out his hand.
Julia shuddered convulsively.
“Beatrice,” he whispered again, gazing into her eyes with unblinking recognition.
“Gabriel?” She stifled a sob.
Chapter 14
His eyes closed, but only for a second, and a slow, sweet smile spread across his face. His eyes grew soft and very warm. “You found me.”
Julia chewed at the inside of her cheek, willing herself not to burst into tears at the sound of his voice. This was the voice she remembered.
And she’d waited to hear it for so long. She had waited for him to return to her for so, so long.
“Beatrice.” He clasped her wrist, pulling her toward him. He shifted slightly on the bed to accommodate her, enveloping her in his arms as she rested her head on his naked chest. “I thought you’d forgotten me.”
“Never,” she choked out as the tears began to flow uncontrollably. “I thought of you every day.”
“Don’t cry. You found me.”
Gabriel closed his eyes and turned his head, his breathing beginning to regulate again. Julia lay very still, not wanting her sobs to disturb him, trying desperately not to shake the bed as she let her grief and relief wash over her. Tears traveled in small rivers down her pale cheeks and onto the expanse of tanned and tattooed skin that lay beneath her head.
Her Gabriel had remembered her. Her Gabriel had finally returned.
“Beatrice,” his arm tightened around her waist as he moved to whisper against her hair, still damp from the shower. “Don’t cry.” With his brilliant blue eyes closed, Gabriel pressed his lips to her forehead, once, twice, thrice.
“I missed you. So much,” she whispered, her lips moving against his tattoo.
“You found me,” he murmured. “I should have waited. I love you.”
Now Julia wept harder, clinging to him as if she were drowning and he was her savior. She kissed the skin of his chest lightly and ran her fingers up and down his abdomen.
In response, Gabriel’s fingertips traced the goose-pimpled flesh of her arms before slipping under the loose fabric of her t-shirt. He feathered his fingers across her skin until his hand finally stilled against her lower back.
He sighed deeply and seemed to pass into his dreamland once again.