Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard
He shifted his weight, focusing on his coffee cup.
“Do you want to go to a movie?” she blurted. “I mean, sometime. Not right now. It’s too early to go to a movie now.” Her cheeks pinked up as she searched Paul’s expression.
“I don’t know.” He released her hand and sat back in his chair.
“I don’t want things to be weird between us. We’ve been friends forever and we promised each other we’d always be friends.” She began to score the sides of her coffee cup with her fingernail.
“Things are just—difficult right now.”
Allison scratched at the surface of the cup.
“I’m not trying to rope you into something. I really want to be friends. I know you’re busy and—stuff.” She began ripping off small pieces of her coffee cup and placing them neatly on the kitchen table.
“Hey.” Paul’s hand shot out across the table to catch hers mid-rip. “Relax.”
She looked into his eyes and saw acceptance and kindness. She exhaled in relief.
Paul withdrew his hand again, wrapping it around his cup.
“We have a history and it’s a good one. But I don’t want to jump back into something with you. It would be too easy to do that.”
“I’ve never been easy, Paul.” She sounded offended.
He cleared his throat and looked her straight in the eye. “I never said you were. What I mean is it would be tempting to go back to what we had because it was comfortable. You deserve to be with someone who’s serious and not half in it.”
Paul lost himself in the momentary silence that followed before realizing that Allison was waiting for something.
He blinked at her. “What?”
“Nothing. So are we on for a movie sometime or what? I might even take you to dinner at Leunig’s, now that I’m pulling in the big bucks as a teacher.”
Paul found himself smiling, and his smile was genuine.
“Only if you let me take you to breakfast at Mirabelle’s.”
“Great. When?”
“Get your coat.”
He followed her to the back door and helped her with her coat. When she nearly toppled over trying to put her Uggs back on, he knelt on the sandy, salt-licked floor and slid them on her feet.
“Half of you is better than the whole of anyone,” she whispered, if only to herself.
Chapter Fourteen
July 2011
Oxford, England
At the beginning of the conference’s lunch break, Julia excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, asking Paul to wait for her return. She was ascending the staircase on her way back to the lecture theater when a pair of Christian Louboutins came into view.
Julia’s gaze traveled up a pair of legs clad in silk stockings to a black pencil skirt, to a fitted jacket, and thence to the face of Christa Peterson.
Her expression was hostile but noticeably tense as she clutched the railing with whitened knuckles. She shifted her weight between her feet as if she were uncertain whether to proceed or to retreat.
“I can’t wait to hear your paper. I’m sure I’ll have a few questions.”
Julia ignored her and tried to move forward, but Christa blocked her.
Julia huffed impatiently. “What do you want?”
“You think you’re so smart.”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
“Oh yes, we do.”
Julia screwed her eyes shut before opening them incredulously. “Seriously? You want to have this argument here, at a conference? Don’t you see how your actions are hurting your career? Gabriel says that Columbia made you enroll in the M.Phil rather than the PhD. You burned bridges in Toronto, and you’re burning them here. Don’t you think it’s time to let things go?”
“I don’t give up that easily.”
“Your vendetta is ridiculous. I never did anything to you.”
Christa laughed darkly.
“It isn’t about you. You aren’t worth troubling about.”
“Then why?”
Christa tossed her hair. “You have something I want. I always get what I want. Always.”
“Let me go.” Julia lifted her chin defiantly.
Christa’s almond-shaped eyes passed over Julia from head to foot.
“I don’t understand what he sees in you. You aren’t that pretty.” She waved a contemptuous hand at Julia’s unassuming suit and less-than-designer shoes.
“Gabriel is beautiful. He’s a legend. All the women at Lobby knew him and all of them wanted to fuck him.” She looked at Julia scornfully. “Yet, somehow out of everyone, he ends up with you. But you won’t be able to keep him. He needs to be with a woman whose appetite is as voracious as his.”
“He is.”
Christa laughed, the sound tinny and brittle. “Hardly. I’m sure he enjoyed the conquest, at the beginning. But now he’s had you, his eye will wander and you’ll lose him.” Her eyes flashed with a knowing light. “He’s probably cheated on you already. Or he’s planning to.”
“If you don’t let me go, I’m calling for help. Do you really want to be embarrassed in front of everyone? Again?”
Christa hesitated, and Julia took the opportunity to brush past her. She was two steps from the top of the staircase before she stopped. She turned around.
“Love,” she said quietly.
“What?”
“You’re wondering what Gabriel sees in me. The answer is love. I know about the other women. He hasn’t kept secrets from me. But they aren’t a threat.”
Christa put her hands on her hips. “You’re delusional. So you love him. So what? Look at yourself. Why would he want such a vanilla little mouse when he could have a tiger in his bed?”
“Better a loving mouse than an indifferent tiger.” Julia straightened her shoulders. “Those women didn’t see who he truly is. They didn’t care that he was miserable. They would have used him until there was nothing left and then thrown him away. I’ve loved him since I was seventeen. I love all of him—the light and the dark, the good and the bad. That’s why he’s with me. He left the others behind and he will never go back. So do your worst, Christa. But if you’re planning to seduce my husband, you—will—fail.”
Julia turned to walk away but stopped again, facing Christa one last time.
“You’re right about one thing, though.”
“And what’s that?” Christa sounded contemptuous.
Julia smiled knowingly. “My husband is an exceptional lover. He’s attentive, creative, and absolutely mind-blowing. And tonight and every night, the woman enjoying his adventurous nature will be me.”
She gave Christa a long look.
“Not bad for a mouse.”
“I’m sorry you had another run-in with Christa.” Paul’s tone was sympathetic as he escorted Julia from St. Anne’s to a small Lebanese restaurant that was within walking distance. “I guess she’s only here to harass you.”
Julia fidgeted with her wedding ring, moving it back and forth with her thumb.
“She told me she was going to ask questions after my paper. She’s going to try to make me look stupid.”
Paul wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
“She can’t make you look stupid because you aren’t stupid. You stand your ground. You’ll be fine.”
He squeezed her before removing his arm.
“You look good. Much better than the last time I saw you.”
She shuddered, recalling when she’d said good-bye to Paul outside her apartment in Cambridge the summer before. She’d been thinner and sadder, but cautiously optimistic that life at Harvard would suit her.
“Married life agrees with me.”
Paul grimaced. He didn’t want to think about what Julia’s married life included, because he couldn’t stand the thought of her sleeping with P
An image of Emerson tying Julia up flashed through his mind. His stomach rolled.
“Are you all right?” Julia peered up at him. “You look a little green.”
“I’m fine.” He forced a smile. “I’ve just noticed that the Rabbit is gone.”
“It was about time, don’t you think?”
“I’ll miss her.”
Julia focused her attention on the sidewalk in front of them.
“She returns at tense moments. My legs are wobbly just thinking about standing in front of all those people.”
“You can do it. Just pretend you’re presenting your paper to me. Ignore everyone else.”
Instinctively, Paul reached out to take her hand but stopped himself.
He gestured to her awkwardly, trying to disguise his movement.
“Uh, you cut your hair.”
She tugged one of the dark locks that fell short of her shoulders. “I thought it would look more professional. Gabriel doesn’t like it.”
“I’ll bet he doesn’t.”
(Paul neglected to mention the fact that he agreed with the Professor.)
He gestured to her left hand. “That’s quite a rock you have.”
“Thank you. Gabriel picked it.”
Of course he’d buy her a big-ass ring, Paul thought. I’m surprised he didn’t have his name tattooed on her forehead.
“I would have married him with a ring from a box of Cracker Jack.” Julia looked at her hand wistfully. “I would have married him with a tie from a garbage bag. I don’t care about this kind of stuff.”
Exactly. I could have never given her a ring like that. But Julia is the kind of girl who would be happy with next to nothing, provided she loved the guy enough.
“He paid off my student loans,” she offered quietly.
“What, all of them?”
She nodded. “I was going to consolidate them and start making payments, but he insisted on paying them.”
Paul whistled. “That must have cost him.”
“It did. It’s taken some getting used to—the fact that we share everything including a bank account. I had a very small checking account when we got married. He had . . . more.”
“How do you like living in Cambridge?” Paul changed the subject, far from eager to learn how much more the Professor had.
“I love it. We live close enough to Harvard so I can walk. Which is good, because I don’t drive.” Julia sounded sheepish.
“You don’t? Why not?”
“I kept getting lost and ending up in sketchy neighborhoods. I called Gabriel from Dorchester one night and he had a fit. And that was after I’d used the GPS.”
“How did you end up in Dorchester?”
“The GPS screwed up. It didn’t recognize one-way streets. It even told me to do an illegal U-turn while I was driving through one of the underpasses. So I ended up farther and farther away from my house. After that, I quit.”
“You don’t drive at all?”
“Not in the greater Boston area. Gabriel’s Range Rover is difficult to park and I was always worried I was going to hit someone. Boston drivers are crazy. And don’t get me started on the pedestrians.”
Paul resisted the urge to itemize Gabriel’s myriad failings, and settled on one.
“Why doesn’t he get you a new car? Obviously, he can afford it.”
“I want something small, like a Smart car or one of those new Fiats. Gabriel says they’re like driving a can of tuna.” She sighed. “He wants me in something bigger, like a Hummer.”
He bumped her shoulder playfully. “Planning on invading Baghdad? Or just Charlestown?”
“Very funny. If I can’t parallel park the Range Rover, how the hell am I going to park a Hummer?”
Paul laughed, opening the door to the restaurant.
Before he could ask the host for a table for two, a commotion emerged from a nearby table. A little girl, who was probably three or four years old, was hitting a button on her book repeatedly, generating a few bars of a song over and over again.
As the girl continued this behavior, Paul and Julia looked around the restaurant. The other patrons were less than impressed.
A woman who was modestly dressed and wearing a hijab tried to persuade the girl to exchange her musical book for another, nonmusical one. But the girl shrieked in protest.
It was at that moment that an older man who had been sitting near them noisily demanded that the waiter silence the girl. He further complained that she was ruining his lunch and that children who cannot behave themselves should not be allowed in restaurants.
The woman flushed a deep red and tried once again to persuade her daughter to switch books. But once again, the girl refused, kicking loudly against the table leg.
At that moment, the host approached them.
“A table for two,” said Paul cheerfully.
“By the window?” The host gestured to a table in the far corner, next to the window.
“Yes.” Paul moved to follow the host as he retrieved two menus.
As they were walking across the dining room, Julia noticed that the older man was still grumbling about the little girl and that she was still playing her music loudly and erratically. Julia wondered briefly if the little girl was autistic. Regardless, she was appalled at the older man’s behavior.
She addressed the host. “Maybe we could trade tables with the girl and her mother? If they don’t want to move, that’s fine. But the girl might like to look out the window and she’d be able to play with her book in peace.”
The host glanced in the direction of Julia’s hand, noting the increasing discomfort of the other diners.
“Excuse me,” he said, before approaching mother and child.
The mother and the host had a quick exchange in Arabic, and then the mother addressed her daughter in English.
“Maia, we can sit by the window. Isn’t that nice? We can look out at the cars.”
The little girl followed her mother’s gesture to the table in the corner. She blinked a little behind her thick glasses and nodded.
“Maia, can you say thank you?”
The girl’s name seemed to carry across the restaurant. At the sound of it, Julia startled. She found herself staring at the child, her body frozen.
Maia looked up at the host and mumbled, while the mother smiled at Julia and Paul.
A few minutes later, mother and child were happily situated in the corner. The little girl pressed her face against the window, looking outside at the cars and pedestrians, her musical book forgotten.
Julia and Paul were seated at the other table, next to the now triumphant older man. They ordered a few plates to share and quietly sipped their drinks.
“You didn’t ask me first.” Paul’s voice broke into Julia’s thoughts.
“I knew you wouldn’t mind sitting here.”
“You’re right. In fact, it’s better that you dealt with the situation because I was about to walk over to that guy and talk to him. What a jerk.”
Julia looked at the man who’d been so censorious and shook her head.
“I don’t know why I continue to be surprised by people’s insensitivity. But I am.”
“I’m glad you are. I know too many cynical people.”
“So do I.”
Paul’s eyes flickered to the mother and child. “Are you planning to have a Maia of your own anytime soon?”
Julia winced, the child’s name continuing to jar her.
“No. Um, not yet, I mean.”
Paul gazed at her for a moment, his large, dark eyes radiating concern.
“You look panicked. Are you worried about having kids?”
She lowered her eyes.
“No, I want kids. But later on.” She sipped her water. “How’s your father?”
Paul considered exploring her anxiety but thought better of it.
“He’s okay. I’m still at the farm helping out, so I had to let my apartment in Toronto go.”
“How’s your dissertation coming?”
He snickered. “Terrible. I don’t have a lot of time to write, and now Professor Picton is pissed with me. I was supposed to give her one of my chapters two weeks ago and it isn’t finished.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Not unless you want to write the damn thing for me. I’d like to go on the job market this fall, but Picton won’t let me unless I’m further along.” He sighed loudly. “I’m probably going to be on the farm for at least another year. The longer I’m there, the harder it is to write.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Julia put her glass down and began rubbing her eyes.
“Are you tired?” Paul sounded concerned.
“A little. My eyes bother me sometimes. It’s probably stress.” She put her hands in her lap. “Sorry. I don’t want this conversation to be all about me. I’d rather hear how you’re doing.”
“We’ll come to that. When did your eyes start bothering you?”
“When I moved to Boston.”
“Lots of grad students end up with eyestrain. You should get your eyes checked.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Do you wear glasses?”
“No, I drank a lot of milk growing up. It helped my vision.”
She appeared puzzled. “I thought carrots did that.”
“Milk helps everything.”
She laughed.
Paul couldn’t help but appreciate Julia’s beauty, made even more lovely when she laughed.
He was about to say something but was interrupted by the waiter, who served their lunch. When he withdrew, Julia spoke.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
Paul fought a frown.
“Ali and I go out occasionally. But it’s casual.”
“She’s a nice person. She cares about you.”
“I know that.” His expression darkened.
“I want you to be happy . . .”