“He attributed ‘Apparuit iam beatitudo vestra’ to Beatrice, but we all know it was Dante. He says those words in the second section of La Vita Nuova, when he meets Beatrice for the first time.”
Julia knew this, of course, but would never have commented on it.
So she remained silent.
Paul shrugged. “I’m sure it was a slip of the tongue. He can quote those texts from memory in Italian and English. I just thought it was funny that Professor Perfect made a very public mistake and no one corrected him.”
He chuckled to himself. “Maybe that was why Christa put up her hand.”
Julia nodded. She knew that Gabriel’s error had been intentional. But she would tell no one, especially not Paul.
His eyes passed over her admiringly. “You look pretty today. You always look pretty, but today you’re just — glowing.” His face morphed into a serious expression. “I hope I’m not stepping on your boyfriend’s toes by telling you that. What was his name again?”
“Owen.”
“Well, I can see it in your eyes. You’re obviously glad to be back together with him. After weeks of seeing you sad, I’m happy that you’re happy.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“So why the dress?”
She peered around the room. “I didn’t know if people dressed up for these occasions. I knew all the professors would be here, and I wanted to look nice.”
Paul laughed. “Most academic women don’t care about fashion.” He shook his head and gently touched her hand. “I hope your ex treats you right this time. Or I’ll have to go to Philadelphia and kick his ass.”
At this point, Julia was only half-listening as she saw a petite blond professor greet Gabriel with a kiss on both cheeks.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise.
And you gave me a hard time about Paul, Professor. I thought we weren’t sharing…
Paul muttered something under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Well, the lecture was great. You can see why I came here to work with him.” Paul glanced meaningfully at Gabriel. “But look at them.”
As if on cue, the blond threw her head back and laughed uproariously, while Emerson gave her a tight smile. She was less than five feet tall, with flaxen hair that was pulled back tightly into a severe-looking bun. She wore Armani glasses that were both squarish and red and an expensive-looking black suit highlighted by a tight pencil skirt that barely grazed her knees.
Julia noted also that the woman wore black pumps that were very high and fishnet stockings that would have netted only the tiniest of fish.
The woman was beautiful, but she seemed rather out of place amongst all of the other professional academics. And there was something about her presence that was decidedly aggressive.
“That’s Professor Singer.” Paul grimaced.
“The blonde?”
“Yes. The dark-haired woman to her left is Professor Leaming. She’s great. You need to meet her. But stay away from Singer. She’s a dragon lady.”
Julia’s stomach flipped as she watched Professor Singer grip Gabriel’s forearm in a far too familiar fashion, digging her talons into his suit jacket while she stood on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear. His expression remained utterly impassive.
“Why do you say that?” Julia asked.
“Have you seen her website?”
“No.”
“Consider yourself lucky. You’d be shocked by what she’s in to. They call her Professor Pain.”
Julia reluctantly dragged her eyes away from the sickening display that was The Professors Pain and Emerson show and began wringing her hands.
She wondered if Professor Pain’s first name was Paulina.
Disgusted by the display, she grabbed her coat and stood up. “I guess it’s time for us to leave.”
“I’ll walk you home.” Paul chivalrously helped her with her coat.
They left their seats and were just about to walk toward the exit when Professor Martin, the chair of Italian Studies, caught Paul’s eye, motioning him to come over.
“I’ll just be a minute. Wait for me.”
Julia sat back down, fingering her coat buttons as a distraction.
Gabriel wasn’t looking at her at all, and from his body language she suspected that he was avoiding her. Paul had a brief exchange with the chair before turning around and pointing in her direction. The chair nodded and patted Paul on the back. By the time he returned, Paul was beaming.
“Well, you’ll never guess what that was about.”
Julia lifted her eyebrows.
“We’ve been invited to the faculty dinner in honor of Emerson’s lecture.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. Apparently, there’s money in the budget to buy dinner for a couple of graduate students, and the chair decided to invite me. When I told him I was here with you, he invited you to come as my guest.” He winked at her.
“Poor Christa isn’t on the list. Looks like this is your lucky day.”
At that moment, Gabriel’s eyes met Julia’s from behind Paul’s back.
Gabriel was upset, angry even, and he was shaking his head at her. His eyes flicked over to Paul and back to her, and again he shook his head.
Julia pursed her lips stubbornly. How can Gabriel be jealous of Paul when Professor Pain is all over him? Talk about a double standard.
“We don’t have to go, if you don’t want to.” Paul cleared his throat. “I know Emerson has been a jerk to you. You probably don’t want to celebrate his latest success over paella.”
“It would be rude to turn down the invitation when it came from the chair,” Julia said slowly.
“You’re probably right. I promise we’ll have fun. We’re going to Segovia, which is a great restaurant. But dinner isn’t until seven. Would you like to go to Starbucks? Or somewhere else?” Paul extended his hand to help her to her feet.
“Starbucks is fine.”
Within a few minutes of exiting the building, Julia finally found the courage to ask a question that had been troubling her.
“Do you know Professor Singer well?” She tried to sound casual.
“No. I stay away from her.” Paul cursed more than once. “I wish I could unsee the e-mails she sent to Emerson. They’re burned into my brain.”
“What’s her first name?”
“Ann.”
Chapter 20
Julia treated Paul to a coffee that she paid for surreptitiously with a Starbucks gift card — a card that had a picture of a light bulb on it.
When they eventually crossed the threshold of Segovia, they were met by a very pleasant-looking Spaniard who identified himself as the owner. Much to his delight, Paul responded in Spanish.
Segovia’s interior featured sunny yellow walls on which were painted images from Picasso’s drawing of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. A classical guitarist sat in a corner playing arrangements by Maestro Segovia.
And nearby, a series of long tables had been placed in a square in the very center of the room, marking the reserved space for the faculty dinner. Its geometric configuration made it inevitable that all guests would sit facing one another. Julia did not relish the idea of facing Professor Pain, and if she thought she could have escaped without insulting or drawing undue attention from Professor Martin, she would have.
Paul chose seats on one of the far corners of the table; for once again, he was conscious of the class system and knew that his place was not one of honor. While he discussed the menu with the waiter en Español, Julia silently mused about Gabriel’s jealousy and stealthily turned on her cell phone so that she could text him. But there was a text already waiting for her: Don’t come to dinner. Give Paul an excuse.
Wait for me at my place; the concierge will admit you.
I’ll explain later. Please do as I ask. — G
Julia staring at the screen blankly until Paul nudged her.
“Would you like a drink?”
“Um, it’s probably out of season for sangria, but I’d love some if they have it.”
“Our sangria is excellent,” said the waiter before leaving to place their drink orders with the bartender.
Julia gave Paul an apologetic look. “I have a text from Owen. I’m sorry to be rude.”
“No worries,” said Paul, busying himself with the menu while she quickly prepared a reply:
My phone was off. It’s too late, I’m already here.
You have nothing to be jealous of — I’m going home with you.
You’ll have me in your bed until morning. — J
She deposited her phone in her messenger bag, praying silently that Gabriel would not be too cross. Oh gods of all over-protective and jealous (fill in appropriate description of Gabriel and our relationship here), please don’t let him make a scene. Not in front of his colleagues.
Unfortunately for Julia and whoever was texting her, the messenger bag muffled the sound of an incoming message, which arrived shortly thereafter.
Within twenty minutes, the rest of the guests filtered in. Professor Leaming and some of the other professors were seated beside Paul. On the far end, Gabriel was sandwiched in between Professors Martin and Singer.
At the sight of Gabriel and his seatmates, Julia began sipping her sangria a little too eagerly, hoping she’d be able to get a refill to alleviate the tension that crackled in the air. The sangria was delicious and packed with lots of citrus fruit, which pleased her greatly.
“Are you cold?” Paul gestured to the purple pashmina that was wound around her neck in a very chic manner.
“Not really.” She slowly removed the scarf and placed it on top of her bag.
Paul politely averted his eyes as the delicate pale flesh of Julia’s neck and décolletage became visible. She was beautiful, and her body, although small, was blessed with generous breasts that provided her with very handsome, proportional cleavage.
As soon as she removed her pashmina, a pair of jealous blue eyes darted across the table, hungrily taking in her newly exposed skin before making a hasty retreat.
“Paul, what’s up with Professor Singer?” Julia kept her voice low behind her wine glass.
He saw Singer sitting far too close to Emerson, and he watched as Emerson subtly moved his chair away from her. She moved her chair closer in response. But Julia missed the exchange.
“She and Emerson had an affair. Looks like they’re back at it.” Paul snickered. “I guess we discovered the reason for his good mood this week.”
Julia’s eyes widened, and she felt ill.
“So she was his — girlfriend?”
Paul moved his chair closer so that Professor Leaming couldn’t overhear their conversation. Of course, the fact that a flamenco dancer had appeared and was now dancing to the loud strains of a classical guitar made his task much easier.
“Just a minute.” He passed a tapas plate to Julia. “Try these. It’s chorizo and Manchego cheese, and crostini with Cabrales, a Spanish blue cheese.”
She helped herself, nibbling on the appetizers while she waited anxiously for an answer.
“Singer doesn’t have boyfriends. She’s into pain. And control. You know…” His voice trailed off suggestively.
