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They sat very still as the sun set, and just before the orchard was covered in darkness, Gabriel took the blanket from under Julia’s arm and spread it like a bed on the grass.
“Come, Beatrice.” He held his hand out to her.
Julia knew it would be a very foolish thing to take his hand and to sit with him on the blanket. But she didn’t care. She’d developed a crush on him the first time Rachel had shown his photograph to her, and Julia had stolen it. Now that he was here, real, breathing, alive, in flesh, all she could do was take his hand.
“Have you ever lain next to a boy and looked up at the stars?” He pulled her down to the blanket and watched her as they lay on their backs.
“No.”
Gabriel threaded his fingers through hers and placed the connection that was theirs on top of his heart. She could feel it beating slowly beneath her touch, and she took comfort in its steady rhythm.
“You’re beautiful, Beatrice. Like a brown-eyed angel.”
Julia turned her head so she could look at him and smiled. “I think you’re beautiful.” She shyly began to run her fingers along his jaw, marveling at the way the stubble felt under her hand.
He smiled at her touch and closed his eyes. She traced his features gently for a long time, until her arm began to grow tired.
He opened his eyes. “Thank you.”
Julia smiled and squeezed his hand, feeling his heart leap at her movement.
“Have you ever been kissed by a boy?”
She blushed deeply and shook her head.
“Then I’m glad I’m your first.” Gabriel propped himself up on his side and leaned over. His eyes shone gently, and he smiled down at her.
Julia managed to close her eyes before his perfect mouth found hers.
She floated.
Gabriel’s lips were warm and inviting, and he spread them over her mouth carefully, as if he were worried he might bruise her. Not knowing how to kiss and still slightly wary, Julia kept her mouth closed. Gabriel brought his hand up to cup the curve of her cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb as his lips moved softly over hers.
This kiss was not what she expected.
She had expected him to be careless or slightly rough. She had expected his kiss to be desperate and urgent and perhaps for his fingertips to trail along her skin and down her body to places she wasn’t ready to let him touch. But he kept his hands where they were, one caressing the small of her back and the other at her cheek. His kiss was tender and sweet — the kind of kiss she imagined a lover giving his beloved after a long absence.
Gabriel kissed Julia as if he knew her, as if she belonged to him. His kiss was passionate and full of emotion, as if every fiber of his being had melted and spread itself on his lips only to be given to her. Her heart skidded in her chest at the thought. She had never dared to hope for such a first kiss. Somehow, as the pressure of his lips lessened, she felt like bursting into tears, knowing that she’d never be kissed like that again. He’d ruined her for anyone else. Forever.
Gabriel sighed deeply as he released her and pressed his lips gently to her forehead.
“Open your eyes.”
Julia looked up into a pair of blue orbs that were startlingly clear and very emotional, but she could not decipher the emotions. He smiled and pressed his lips to her forehead again before rolling onto his back and gazing up at the stars.
“What are you thinking?” She shifted herself so that she was curled up at his side, close to but not touching him with her body.
“I was thinking about how I waited for you. I waited and waited, and you never came.” He smiled at her sadly.
“I’m sorry, Gabriel.”
“You’re here now. Apparuit iam beatitudo vestra.”
“I don’t know what that means.” She sounded shy.
“It means now your blessedness appears. But really, it should be now my
blessedness appears. Now that you’re here.” He pulled her closer, snaking his arm beneath her neck and down to her waist where he splayed his hand, fingers wide, at the small of her back. “For the rest of my life, I’ll dream of hearing your voice breathe my name.”
Julia smiled at herself in the darkness.
“Have you ever fallen asleep in the arms of a boy before, Beatrice?”
She shook her head.
“Then I’m glad I’m your first.” He pulled her so that her head rested on his chest near his heart, and her delicate body molded perfectly to his side. “Like Adam’s rib,” he whispered into her hair.
“Do you have to leave?” she whispered back, running her hands hesitantly over his chest, up and down and back and forth.
“Yes, but not tonight.”
“Will you come back?” Her voice was almost a whimper.
Gabriel sighed deeply. “I’m going to be thrown out of Paradise tomorrow, Beatrice. Our only hope is that you find me afterward. Look for me in Hell.”
He gently rolled her onto her back and placed his hands on either side of her hips, hovering over her — eyes wide — staring longingly and intensely down into her very soul.
And then he brought his lips to hers…
Chapter 8
Rachel sat at Gabriel’s breakfast bar Thursday morning, drinking a latté and poring over French Vogue. It was not her normal reading material.
Rachel’s nightstand in Philadelphia was covered with books about politics, public relations, economics, and sociology, all in the hope that someday one of her superiors would ask for her opinion, rather than asking her to photocopy someone else’s. Now that she was on a leave of absence from her job, such as it was, she had time to read beyond mayoral politics.
She was feeling better this morning. Much better. Her conversation with Aaron the night before had gone well. Although he continued to be disappointed that the wedding was off, he told her over and over again that he would rather have her than a wedding.
“We don’t have to get married right away. We can delay the wedding until you’ve finished grieving. But I still want you, Rachel. I’ll always want you. As my wife, as my lover…Right now, I’ll take whatever I can get, because I love you. Come back to me.”
Aaron’s words burned through the haze of depression and grief that clouded Rachel’s mind. And suddenly, everything was clear. She’d thought she was running away from Scott and her father and the ghost of her mother.
But perhaps she was running from Aaron too, and to hear him voice those words…as if it was possible for her to leave him. As if she could even contemplate staying away from him.
His statement had almost broken Rachel’s heart and made her realize how much she truly wanted to be his wife. And how determined she was not to make him wait too long to be her husband while she sorted herself out. Life was too short to be miserable. Her mother had taught her that.
Gabriel entered the kitchen wearing his glasses, kissed the top of her head, and slid a wad of bills in front of her. She glanced at the cash suspiciously and flipped through it, her eyes widening.
“What’s this for?”
He cleared his throat and sat down next to her. “Aren’t you going shopping with Julianne?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s Julia, Gabriel. And no, we aren’t. She’s working on some project all day with a guy named Paul. Then he’s taking her to dinner.”
Angelfucker, thought Gabriel . The expletive sprang into his mind, unbidden and uncensored, and he tensed, rumbling low in his chest.
Rachel slid the money back to him and returned to her magazine.
He placed the cash in front of her again. “Take it.”
“Why?”
“Buy something for your friend.”
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Why? This is a lot of money.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
“This is five hundred dol ars. I know you have money to waste, but jeepers, Gabriel, that’s a bit much.”
“Have you seen her apartment?”
“No. Have you?”
He shifted on his bar stool. “Just for a moment. She was caught in the rain, and I drove her home and…”
“And?” Rachel draped an arm over his shoulder and leaned toward him with a delicious grin. “Spill.”
Gabriel pushed her arm off his shoulder and glared. “It wasn’t like that. But I saw her place briefly while I was dropping her off, and it’s awful.
She doesn’t even have a kitchen, for God’s sake.”
“No kitchen? What the hell?”
“The girl is as poor as a church mouse. Not to mention the fact that she carries around this loathsome excuse for a book bag. Spend all the money on buying her a decent briefcase, I don’t care. But do something. Because if I see that knapsack one more time, I’m going to burn it.”
Gabriel raked his hands through his chestnut hair and finally kept them there, hunching his tall frame over the breakfast bar. With the power of perception only possessed by a sister, Rachel regarded him carefully. Gabriel appeared to be the ideal poker player: impassive, unemotional, cold.
Oh, so very cold. Not merely cool, like a breeze, or water from a stream in the autumn, but cold. Cold like a rock against your skin in the shade of the setting sun. Rachel believed that his coldness was his worst character flaw — his ability to say and do things without regard for the feelings of others, including his family.
