He squirmed in her arms. “Because I was ashamed.”
“You weren’t before.”
“That was before I decided to bring an angel to my bed.”
Lazy but curious hands caressed naked skin, exploring gently but chastely. Sighs commingled in the dark as two souls breathed as one. Two heartbeats synchronized when they recognized one another. And two troubled, conflicted minds finally came to rest.
Just as Gabriel was drifting off, he thought he heard her talking in her sleep; not words, just utterances that grew progressively more panicked, culminating in her breathless release of a name he’d not heard before.
“Simon.”
Chapter 17
When Julia awoke, she yawned and stretched, reaching her hand out and…nothing. Gabriel was gone and his side of the bed was cold.
A feeling of unease washed over her. The feeling was old; she’d felt it before.
It made her momentarily nauseated.
She swung her legs to the floor and saw a small note on the bedside table, propped up against a wine goblet, which was filled with water floating with lemon slices. The note was written with a fountain pen: Lovely Julianne,
I’ve gone to pick up something special for breakfast.
Please use the washroom in the master bedroom; it’s better.
I’ve laid out some personal items for you there.
You can also choose whatever you need from my dresser and my closet.
Please stay.
Yours,
Gabriel.
P.S. Forgive my boldness, but you asleep in my arms this morning was by far the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.
Wow. How does he do that? she thought, flushing scarlet. The Professor certainly had a way with words…and flowers and music and chocolate cake…
She placed a hand to her forehead as she tried to collect herself. Chocolate cake was her new favorite dessert. And the memory of her fingertips in his warm mouth and the way that his tongue artfully…
Focus, Julia. You need to take a shower. Preferably, a cold one.
She quickly drank the water he’d left for her and tapped the note against her teeth. The last time she’d slept in his bed she’d had a very rude awakening in his living room. Although he’d been tender with her last night, she worried he might snap at her this morning.
She opened the door to the guest room and stuck her head out, eager to discern any signs of life. When she was satisfied that she was alone, she walked quietly to the master bedroom and closed the door behind her. She retrieved her clothes and entered his large bathroom, making sure to lock the door.
Gabriel had left another note with a wine goblet filled with orange juice. It was garnished with an orange slice. Clearly, Gabriel has a thing for garnishes, she thought .
On the note, she read:
Julianne,
I hope you’ll find everything you need here.
If not, Rachel stocked the vanity in the guest washroom with a number of different items. Please help yourself.
My clothes are at your disposal.
Please choose a sweater as the weather has turned cold today.
Yours,
Gabriel
Julia sipped the orange juice as she examined the items before her. Laid out on the vanity with military precision was a new toothbrush in its packaging, toothpaste, a new disposable razor (which she examined with an arched eyebrow), various feminine-looking toiletries from a company called Bliss, which were all scented with vanilla and bergamot, and a lavender-colored mesh shower sponge that was commonly referred to as a poof.
Had Gabriel asked Rachel to purchase these items for his guests? Or was Gabriel the kind of man who kept random unused shower poofs on hand for just such occasions? Perhaps he followed a color-code: lavender for virgins, red for Paulina, black for Professor Singer, green for the Emerson whores…Julia doubted the lavender one had ever been used before.
A virgin poof for a virgin…how fitting.
Julia stopped herself. Gabriel had asked for forgiveness and tried, gently, to suggest that she refrain from jumping to conclusions about him. And here she was, jumping to conclusions over a shower poof.
Looking around, she found a white, Turkish cotton bathrobe hanging on the back of the door and a pair of ladies’ bedroom slippers by the bathtub.
They were far too large for her and would have been far too large for Rachel’s feet too. This time Julia limited her negative reaction to a roll of the eyes.
It took more than a few minutes for her to figure out how to operate his very fancy shower, for it had multiple settings for body sprays, water pressures, and temperatures, and was extremely complicated. Julia was only interested in the large and central tropical rain shower, which was, of course, controlled by the last lever she pulled.
While she surrounded herself in vanilla and bergamot and tried not to think of Cream Earl Grey tea, Julia asked herself some very serious questions. She suspected that Gabriel would want to have their conversation as soon as possible. It was going to be painful. And what was she going to do afterward? Try to be friends with him? For what purpose?
She realized that if she focused on the future, she’d never be able to address the past, at least not adequately. So she was determined to focus solely on their past interactions, including his rudeness and condescension this semester. He needed to explain himself, and she needed to listen without jumping to conclusions. Then she would tell him exactly what she thought about him.
Yes, it was going to be painful for both of them. It saddened her to realize that she had never had a healthy romantic relationship, when one of the things she wanted most in life was to enjoy affection and love. And Gabriel, despite the fact that he came from a good albeit adopted family and was intelligent, handsome, and wealthy, was probably incapable of having a healthy romantic relationship at all.
Her mother’s relationships were far from healthy or normal, and Julia had seen too many of them from an early age, an endless parade of myriad dysfunctions. In contrast, her father’s relationship with Deb Lundy was normal enough, if not a little on the casual side. They cared for one another, Julia thought, but their care was cool and small, like a distant star.
Gabriel’s love would burn hot like the sun, if he was even capable of loving someone. It’s obvious he prefers sex to love, or maybe he just conflates the two.
What’s worse — thinking sex is love, or thinking that the two can be separated from one another and preferring sex?
Julia al owed the warm water of the shower to pour over her, trying to take her mind away from the inexplicable draw she felt toward him. What I would not give to have even a part of the happiness that Grace and Richard had. They had the ideal marriage. They always spoke kindly to one another.
And they were so much in love…
Julia exited the shower and was soon clad only in Gabriel’s bathrobe with a thick, white towel wrapped around her curling hair. At least, she thought it was Gabriel’s bathrobe. It didn’t smell like him. She pulled on the slippers and went hunting in the bedroom for some clothes. She found a pair of socks, a white undershirt, and a pair of Princeton boxer shorts in his dresser, all of which looked like they would fit her somewhat. Walking over to Gabriel’s large and immaculate walk-in closet, she flipped on the light switch. Row upon row of meticulously organized clothes met her on three sides.
She moved to the far wall and began going through a pile of sweaters and cardigans, almost all cashmere by Loro Piana, neatly arranged between wooden dividers on a shelf. She quickly found the British-racing-green sweater that she’d borrowed before and noticed with satisfaction that it had apparently been returned to its formerly pristine condition. She boldly held the sweater to her nose and inhaled, smiling with pleasure as she realized that it smelled of Aramis and Gabriel. He must have worn it after it had come back from the dry cleaner.
Just then, something shiny caught her eye. Leaning up against the wall and half-hidden behind the hangers of sports coats and suit jackets were Gabriel’s black-and-white framed photographs. She recognized the top photograph as the fifth one, the one that had been over the bed. It was gently erotic and almost tender.
He shouldn’t have been ashamed of this one. Julia wished her back was that beautiful. And part of her wished that Gabriel would look at her the way the man in the photograph looked at the woman. Just once.
She quickly returned to the bathroom and regarded her face in the mirror. She looked tired. She was pale, as usual, with dark circles under her eyes. Those eyes were glassy, and her veins showed at her neck. She looked il , actually, after a couple of weeks of drama and lack of sleep, and the contrast between her pale skin and her dark hair wasn’t helping matters. Nor was the fact that Rachel had not thought to leave cosmetics behind for Gabriel’s overnight guests. Clearly, it was an oversight on her part.
After dressing, Julia ventured into the kitchen. Gabriel was nowhere to be found. She stuffed her dirty clothes into her knapsack and pulled out her phone and the padded envelope. Plopping herself on one of the bar stools she quickly checked her voice mail. Five messages from Paul were waiting, each more urgent than the last, culminating with a message in which he said he was standing outside her building on Madison Avenue and ringing her doorbell.
Scheisse. There was no way she could explain what had happened. But she couldn’t ignore Paul either, so she quickly manufactured an excuse and texted it to him:
Paul, hi. Sorry. Didn’t hear doorbell. Broken? Emerson scolded me but won’t have to drop class (phew). Have to find new advisor. Working on it. Chat later
& thanks, Julia
She hoped her message would be enough to occupy him until she constructed a better explanation. She supposed she would have to speak to Gabriel about that so that they could get their story straight.
Something Gabriel had said yesterday made her curious about the contents of the envelope he’d left for her in her mailbox. Opening it, in addition to her black lace bra she found her iPod. She pul ed it out, placed the ear buds in her ears, and scrolled through the music to the Recently Added Song section, where she discovered that Gabriel had made two additions.
The first song was Prospero’s Speech by Loreena McKennitt. With surprise, Julia listened to the haunting female voice sing words from Shakespeare’s The Tempest:
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands:
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from your crimes would pardon’d be, Let your indulgence set me free.
Julia listened to the song twice more, stunned by both the language and the music. She had known long ago that Gabriel was intense; Grace had said so. And Julia had experienced his intensity during their first encounter, when he’d gazed into her eyes as if she was the first woman he had ever seen.
“Julianne?”
She let out a small cry and clapped a hand over her mouth. Gabriel was standing in front of her with three small bags in one hand and a bouquet of purple irises in the other. Staring, she removed the ear buds from her ears.
