“What was that?”
She ducked her head. “I’ve—thrown up—before.”
He stared at her incredulously. “What…after?”
“Um, no.”
Gabriel was silent for some time, then his eyes narrowed. “Were you sick because of a gag reflex, or because that bastard held you down?”
She cringed, her head moving in the slightest of nods.
Gabriel swore, his anger burning blue. He sat up swiftly, rubbing his face with his hands.
In the past, he hadn’t been tender with his sexual conquests, although he’d prided himself on maintaining some vestige of good manners. Less so when he was doing cocaine. Despite the Bacchanalia that he’d participated in, parties that had approximated the decadence of Rome on occasion, he’d never, ever held a girl’s head down until she vomited. Nobody did that. Not even the drug dealers and addicts he used to hang around with did that, and they had no boundaries or moral compunctions at all. Only an incredibly sick, twisted, misogynistic motherfucker would get his kicks from humiliating a woman that way.
To do such a thing to Julianne—with her gentle eyes and beautiful soul. A shy creature who was ashamed of having a gag reflex. The senator’s son was lucky he was hiding in his parents’ house in Georgetown under a suspended sentence and a restraining order, or Gabriel would have appeared on his doorstep in order to continue their previous altercation. And he would have ended their conversation with more than a few punches.
He shook the murderous thoughts from his head, lifting Julia to her feet and wrapping her in a blanket. “Let’s go upstairs.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t sit here after what you just told me.”
Julia’s cheeks reddened with shame, and her large eyes filled with tears.
“Hey.” Gabriel pressed his lips to her forehead. “It isn’t your fault. Do you understand? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
She smiled thinly, but it was clear that she didn’t believe him.
He led her upstairs and through the bedroom to the en-suite, ushering her in before closing the door behind them.
“What are you doing?”
“Hopefully, something nice.” He traced the curve of her cheek with his thumb.
Gabriel turned on the shower, testing the temperature of the water until he was satisfied. He adjusted the flow until it was gently falling from the tropical rain showerhead. He slowly removed the blanket from her body and held the shower door open, waiting for her to step inside before he followed her.
She looked confused.
“I want to show you that I love you,” he whispered. “Without taking you to bed.”
“Take me to bed,” she pleaded. “Then our evening won’t be ruined.”
“Our evening isn’t ruined,” he said fiercely. “But I’ll be damned if anyone hurts you again.” He used both hands to caress her hair, parting and moving it so every strand grew wet.
“You think I’m dirty.”
“Far from it.” He took her hand and pressed it over the tattoo on his chest. “You’re the closest thing to an angel I’ll ever touch.” His eyes held hers without blinking. “But I think we both need to wash away the past.”
He moved her hair to one side, pressing a kiss to her neck. Stepping back, he poured some of her vanilla-scented shampoo into his palm. His fingers worked the liquid into her scalp, rubbing slowly, and eventually sliding down the locks to the ends. He was careful in his movements. If he ever had one moment, one act, to demonstrate that his love for her was much deeper than a sexual infatuation, now was that moment.
As Julia began to relax, she thought back to one of the few happy memories she had of her mother. She was a little girl and her mother washed her hair in the bathtub. She remembered the two of them laughing. She remembered her mother smiling.
Having Gabriel wash her hair was far better. It was a deeply affectionate, deeply intimate experience. She was naked before him, as he washed away her shame.
He was naked too, but was careful not to crowd her, or to allow his slightly embarrassed arousal to brush up against her. This was not about sex. This was about making her feel loved.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so emotional.” Her voice was quiet.
“Sex is supposed to be emotional. You don’t have to hide your feelings from me.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her. “I feel very deeply about us as well. These past few days have been the happiest of my life.”
He rested his chin on her shoulder. “You were shy when you were seventeen, but I don’t remember you being so wounded.”
“I should have dumped him the first time he was cruel.” Her voice shook. “But I didn’t. I didn’t stand up for myself and things got worse.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
She shrugged. “I stayed with him. I held onto the times when he was charming or thoughtful, hoping the bad times would disappear. I know that what I told you made you sick, but believe me, Gabriel, no one could be as disgusted with me as I am with myself.”
“Julia,” he groaned, turning her to face him. “I’m not disgusted with you. I don’t care what you did; no one deserves to be treated that way. Do you hear me?” His eyes flamed a brilliant, dangerous blue.
She covered her face with her hands. “I wanted to do something for you. But I couldn’t even get that right.”
He pulled at her wrists, lowering her hands. “Listen to me. Because we love each other, everything between us, including sex, is a gift. Not a right, or an entitlement or an exaction—a gift. You have me now. Let him go.”
“I still hear his voice in my head.” She brushed away a stray tear.
Gabriel shook his head, shifting them so they stood in the center of the downpour, the hot water spilling over them. “Do you remember what I said in my lecture about Botticelli’s Primavera?”
She nodded.
“Some people think that Primavera is about sexual awakening—that part of the painting is an allegory for an arranged marriage. At first, Flora is a virgin and she’s afraid. When she’s pregnant, she appears serene.”
“I thought Zephyr raped her.”
Gabriel clenched his jaw. “He did. He fell in love with her afterward and married her, transforming her into the goddess of flowers.”
“Not a very good allegory for marriage.”
“No, it isn’t.” He swallowed noisily. “Julia, even though some of your sexual experiences were traumatic, you can still have a fulfilling sexual life. I want you to know that you’re safe when you’re in my arms. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t enjoy, and that includes oral sex.”
Gabriel wrapped an arm around her waist, watching the hot water as it traveled over their naked bodies before splashing to the tile at their feet. “We’ve only been sleeping together for a week. We have our whole lives to love each other, in multiple ways.”
He silently and lovingly soaped the nape of her neck and across her shoulders with a sponge. Then he traced the lines of her shoulders and the individual bumps of her spine, pausing regularly to place his lips where the soap had been rinsed away.
He washed her lower back and the two little dimples that marked the transition to her backside. Without hesitation, he soaped each cheek and massaged the backs of her legs. He even washed her feet, grasping her hand and placing it on his shoulder to steady her as he soaped between her toes.
Julia had never felt more cared for in her life.
He attended the front of her neck and the slope of her shoulders. He washed and caressed her breasts with his hands, putting the sponge to one side as he kissed them. Then he was gently touching between her legs, not sexually but reverently, rinsing the suds that accumulated among her dark curls and finally pressing his mouth there as well.
When he was finished, he took her into his arms and kissed her like a shy teenager, chastely and simply. “You are teaching me to love, and I suppose I’m teaching you to love too, in a way. We aren’t perfect, but we can have happiness. Can’t we?” He pulled back so he could read her eyes.
“Yes,” she murmured, her eyes filled with tears.
Gabriel clutched her to his heart and buried his face in her neck as the water rained down on them.
Emotionally exhausted, Julianne slept until noon the following day. Gabriel had been so kind, so loving. He’d foregone what Julia had always thought was a man’s basic need—oral sex—and given her what could only be described as a cleansing of shame. Gabriel’s love and acceptance had its intended, transformative effect.
As she opened her eyes, she felt lighter, stronger, happier. Carrying the secrets of how he humiliated her had proved to be a very heavy burden. With the weight of guilt lifted, she felt like a new person.
She thought it was probably blasphemous to compare her experience with that of Christian in The Pilgrim’s Progress, but she saw an important resemblance between their respective deliverances. Truth sets one free, but love casts out fear.
In her twenty-three years, Julia hadn’t realized how pervasive grace was and how Gabriel, who considered himself to be a very great sinner, could be a conduit of that grace. This was part of the divine comedy—God’s sense of humor undergirding the inner workings of the universe. Sinners participated in the redemption of other sinners; faith, hope, and charity triumphed over disbelief, despair, and hatred, while the One who called all creatures to Himself watched and smiled.
Chapter 6
Gabriel awoke in the middle of their last night in Umbria to an empty bed. Dazed, in a semi-dreamlike state, he extended his arm to Julianne’s side. The sheets held no warmth.
He swung his legs to the floor, wincing as his bare feet touched the cold stone. He pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and made his way downstairs, scratching at his bed-mussed hair. The light was on in the kitchen, but no Julianne. A half-drunk glass of cranberry juice sat on the counter next to a remnant of cheese and a crust of bread. It looked as if a mouse had been there for a nocturnal feeding but had been surprised and scurried off.
Walking into the living room, he saw a dark head resting on the arm of an overstuffed chair next to the fireplace. In sleep, Julianne looked younger and very peaceful. Her skin was pale, but her cheeks and lips had a rosy hue. Gabriel would have loved to compose a poem about her mouth and resolved to do so. In fact, her appearance reminded him of Frederick Leighton’s Flaming June. She was clad only in an elegant ivory silk nightgown. One of the thin straps had fallen off her right shoulder, leaving the beautiful curve bare.
Gabriel couldn’t help himself as the pale, smooth skin called out to him. He kissed her shoulder and crouched near her head, floating a hand over her hair and petting her softly.
She stirred and opened her eyes, blinking twice before smiling at him.
Her slow, sweet smile set his heart aflame. He actually felt his breathing speed. He’d never felt this way about anyone before, and the depth of feeling she drew from him consistently surprised him.
“Hi,” he whispered, smoothing her hair away from her face. “Are you all right?”
