Coming Soon Follow the continuing story of Gabriel and Julia in the highly anticipated sequel to Gabriel’s Inferno, coming soon from Omnific Publishing. Prologue 2 страница

Chapter 4

Professor Emerson had taken a wrong turn. His life, perhaps, could be described as a series of wrong turns, but this one was entirely accidental. He’d been reading on his iPhone—an angry e-mail from his brother—while he was driving his Jaguar through a thunderstorm in the middle of rush hour in downtown Toronto. Consequently, he turned left rather than right onto Bloor Street from Queen’s Park. This meant that he was headed in the opposite direction of his apartment building. There was no possibility of a U-turn on Bloor during rush hour, and there was so much traffic he had a difficult time pulling over so that he could make a right and turn around. This was how he came upon a very wet and pathetic-looking Miss Mitchell, walking dejectedly down the street as if she were a homeless person, and how in a fit of guilt he came to invite her into his car, which was his pride and joy. “I’m sorry I’m ruining your upholstery, ” she offered hesitantly. Professor Emerson’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I have someone who cleans it when it’s soiled. ” Julia bowed her head, for his response hurt. Implicitly, he had compared her to dirt, but of course, that’s what he thought she was now. Dirt beneath his feet. “Where do you live? ” he asked, seeking to engage her in polite and safe conversation for the duration of what he hoped would be a short time together. “On Madison. It’s just up there on the right. ” She pointed some distance in front of them. “I know where Madison is, ” he snapped. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, Julia cringed toward the passenger window. She slowly turned her head to look outside and drew her lower lip roughly between her teeth. Professor Emerson cursed under his breath. Even beneath the tangle of wet, dark hair she was pretty—a brown-eyed angel in jeans and sneakers. His mind halted at the inward sound of his description. The term brown-eyed angel seemed oddly familiar, but since he couldn’t think of the source for that reference he put the thought aside. “What number on Madison? ” He softened his voice, so much so that Julia could barely hear him. “Forty-five. ” He nodded and shortly pulled the car in front of the three-story, red brick house that had been converted into apartments. “Thank you, ” she murmured, and in a flash she dove for the door handle to make her escape. “Wait, ” he commanded, reaching into the backseat to retrieve a large, black umbrella. She waited and was stunned to see The Professor walk around the car to open the door for her, wait with an open umbrella while she and her abomination exited the Jaguar, and march her up the sidewalk and the front steps of her building. “Thank you, ” she said again as she pulled on her book bag zipper, trying to open it so she could find her keys. The Professor tried to hide his distaste at the sight of the abomination, but said nothing. He watched as she struggled with the zipper, then watched her face as she grew very red and upset over the fact that the zipper wouldn’t open. He remembered her expression as she knelt on his Persian rug, and it occurred to him that this current trouble was probably his fault. Without saying a word, he grabbed the book bag out of her hands and shoved the now closed umbrella at her. He ripped open the zipper and held the bag out, inviting her to stick her hand inside to retrieve her keys. She found the keys, but she was nervous, so she dropped them. When she picked them up her hands were shaking so badly she had troubling locating the correct key on her key ring. Having lost all patience, The Professor snatched the key ring away from her and began trying keys in the lock. When he’d successfully opened the door, he allowed her to enter before returning her keys. She took the repellant book bag from him and murmured her thanks. “I’ll walk you to your apartment, ” he announced, following her through the hallway. “A homeless person once accosted me in the lobby of my building. One can’t be too careful. ” Julia silently prayed to the gods of studio apartments, begging them to help her locate her apartment key swiftly. They answered her prayer. As she was about to slip behind the door and close it firmly but not unkindly in his face, she stopped. Then, as if she’d known him for years, she smiled up at him and politely asked if he would like a cup of tea. Despite being surprised by her invitation, Professor Emerson found himself standing in her apartment before he had the opportunity to consider whether it was a good idea. As he looked around the small and squalid space, he quickly concluded that it wasn’t. “May I take your coat, Professor? ” Julia’s cheerful little voice distracted him. “Where would you put it? ” he sniffed, noticing primly that she did not seem to have a closet or a hall tree near the door. Her eyes dropped to the floor, and she ducked her head. The Professor watched her chew her lip nervously and instantly regretted his rudeness. “Forgive me, ” he said, handing her his Burberry trench coat of which he was inordinately proud. “And thank you. ” Julia hung his coat up carefully on a hook that was attached to the back of her door and hastily placed her knapsack on the hardwood. “Come in and be comfortable. I’ll make tea. ” Professor Emerson walked to one of only two chairs in the apartment and sat down, trying for her sake to hide his distaste. The apartment was smaller than his guest bathroom and included a small bed, which was pushed up against a wall, a card table and two chairs, a small Ikea bookshelf, and a chest of drawers. There was a small closet and a bathroom, but no kitchen. His eyes roamed around the room, looking for evidence of any kind of culinary activity until they finally settled on a microwave and a hot plate that were perched somewhat precariously on top of a dresser. A small refrigerator sat on the floor nearby. “I have an electric kettle, ” Julia said brightly, as if she was announcing the fact that she had a diamond from Tiffany’s. He noticed the water that was continuing to stream off her, then he began to notice the clothes that were under the water, and then he began to notice what was under her clothes, because it was cold…and he hastily and somewhat huskily suggested that she forego making tea in order to dry herself. Once again her head tipped down, and she flushed before ducking into the bathroom and grabbing a towel. She emerged a few seconds later with a purple towel wrapped around her upper body over her wet clothes and a second towel in her hand. She moved as if she was going to crawl across the floor to clean up the trail of water she’d scattered from the door to the center of the room, but The Professor stood up and stopped her. “Allow me, ” he said. “You should change into some dry clothes before you catch pneumonia. ” “And die, ” she added, more to herself than to him as she disappeared into her closet, trying not to trip over two large suitcases. The Professor wondered briefly why she hadn’t unpacked yet but dismissed the answer as unimportant. He frowned as he cleaned the water from the worn and scratched hardwood. When he’d finished, he looked at the walls and noticed that they had probably been white once, but were now a dingy cream color and were blistered and peeling. He inspected the ceiling and found several large water stains and what he thought might be the beginning of mold in one of the corners. He shuddered, wondering why on earth a nice girl like Miss Mitchell would live in such a terrible place. Although he had to admit that the apartment was very clean and quite tidy. Unusually so. “How much is your rent? ” he asked, wincing slightly as he accordioned his six foot two frame in order to perch once again on the vile thing that masqueraded as a folding chair. “Eight hundred a month, utilities included, ” she called to him just before she entered the bathroom. Professor Emerson thought with some regret of the Armani trousers he had disposed of after the flight back from Pennsylvania. He couldn’t bear the notion of wearing something that had been soaked in urine, even if it had been cleaned, so he’d just thrown them out. But the money Paulina had spent on those trousers would have paid Miss Mitchell’s rent for an entire month. And then some. Looking around the small studio, it was both painfully and pathetically clear that she had tried to make it into a home, such as it was. A large print of Henry Holiday’s painting, Dante meets Beatrice at Ponte Santa Trinita, hung to the side of her bed. The Professor imagined her reclining on her pillow, her long, shiny hair cascading around her face, gazing over at Dante before she fell asleep. He dutifully put that thought aside and reflected on how strange it was that they both owned that painting. He peered at it and noticed with surprise that Julia bore a remarkable resemblance to Beatrice—a resemblance that had previously gone unnoticed. The thought twisted in his mind like a corkscrew, but he refused to dwell on it. He noticed other smaller pictures of various Italian scenes on the peeling walls of the apartment: a drawing of the Duomo in Florence, a sketch of St. Mark’s in Venice, a black and white photograph of the dome of St. Peter’s in Rome. He saw a row of potted herbs gracing the window sill along with a single cutting from a philodendron that she was apparently trying to nurse into a full grown plant. He observed that the curtains were pretty—a sheer lilac that matched the bedspread and its cushions. And her bookshelf boasted many volumes in both English and Italian. The Professor scanned the titles quickly and was but mildly impressed with her amateurish collection. But in short, the studio was old, tiny, in poor repair, and kitchen-less, and Professor Emerson would not have permitted his dog to live in a place like this, had he had one. Julia reappeared in what looked like an exercise uniform—a black hoodie and yoga pants. She’d knotted and twisted her lovely hair and fastened it near the top of her head with a clip of some sort. Even in such casual garb he noticed that she was very attractive—extremely attractive and dare he say it, sylphlike. “I have English Breakfast or Lady Grey, ” she spoke over her shoulder, descending to her hands and knees in order to snake the plug from the electric kettle back to the outlet that was underneath the dresser. The Professor regarded her as she kneeled, just as she had in his office, and silently shook his head. She was without arrogance or selfish pride, which he knew was a good thing, but it pained him to see her constantly on her knees, although he couldn’t exactly say why. “English Breakfast. Why do you live here? ” Julia stood up quickly in response to the sharpness of his tone. She kept her back to him as she located a large, brown teapot and two surprisingly beautiful china teacups with matching saucers. “This is a quiet street in a nice neighborhood. I don’t have a car, and I needed to be able to walk to school. ” She paused as she placed a small silver teaspoon on each of the saucers. “This was one of the nicer apartments I looked at in my price range. ” She placed the elegant teacups on the card table without looking at him and returned to the dresser. “Why didn’t you move into the graduate student residence on Charles Street? ” Julia dropped something. The Professor couldn’t see what it was. “I was expecting to go to a different university, but it didn’t work out. By the time I decided to come here, the residence was full. ” “And where were you going to go? ” She began to worry her lower lip between her teeth, back and forth. “Miss Mitchell? ” “Harvard. ” Professor Emerson just about fell off his very uncomfortable chair. “Harvard? What the hell are you doing here? ” Julia smothered a secret smile as if she knew the reason behind his anger. “Toronto is the Harvard of the north. ” “Don’t be coy, Miss Mitchell. I asked you a question. ” “Yes, Professor. And I know that you always expect an answer to your questions. ” She arched an eyebrow, and he looked away. “My father couldn’t afford the contribution he was expected to make to my education, so the fellowship they offered me was not enough, and the living expenses were much more in Cambridge than in Toronto. I already have thousands of dollars of student loans from Saint Joseph’s University, so I decided not to add to them. That’s why I’m here. ” She returned to her hands and knees to unplug the now boiling kettle as The Professor shook his head in shock. “That wasn’t in the file Mrs. Jenkins gave me, ” he protested. “You should have said something. ” Julia ignored him and began to measure loose tea into the teapot. He leaned forward in his chair, gesturing wildly. “This is a terrible place to live—there isn’t even a proper kitchen. What do you eat here? ” She placed the teapot and a small, silver tea strainer on the card table and sat down on the other folding chair. She began to wring her hands. “I eat lots of vegetables. I can make soup and couscous on the hot plate. Couscous is very nutritious. ” Her voice shook a little, but she tried to sound cheerful. “You can’t live on that kind of rubbish—a dog is better fed! ” Julia ducked her head and blushed deeply, suddenly blinking back tears. The Professor looked at her for a moment, then finally saw her. As he regarded the tortured expression that marred her lovely features, he slowly began to realize that he, Professor Gabriel O. Emerson, was a self-absorbed bastard. He had shamed her for being poor. But there was no shame in being poor. He had been poor once too, very poor. She was a smart, attractive woman who was also a student. There was no shame in that. But he’d come into her little home that she had tried to make comfortable because she had no other place to go, and he had said it wasn’t fit for a dog. He had made her feel worthless and stupid when she was neither. What would Grace say if she could hear him now? Professor Emerson was an ass. But at least now he knew it. “Forgive me, ” he began haltingly. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. ” He closed his eyes and began to rub them. “You’ve just lost your mother. ” Julia’s gentle voice was startlingly forgiving. A switch inside him flipped. “I shouldn’t be here. ” He stood up quickly. “I need to go. ” Julia followed him to the front door. She picked up his umbrella and handed him his trench coat. Then she stood with downcast eyes and flaming cheeks, waiting for him to leave. She felt regret for having shown him her home, since it was clearly so far beneath him. Whereas a few hours earlier she had taken pride in her small but clean hobbit hole, now she was mortified. Not to mention the fact that being humiliated again in front of him made matters so much worse. He nodded at her, or at something, muttered under his breath, and exited her apartment. Julia leaned her back against the closed door and finally allowed herself to weep. Knock. Knock. She knew who it was. She simply didn’t want to answer the door. Please gods of over-priced, not-fit-for-a-dog hobbit holes, just let him leave me in peace. Julia’s silent and spontaneous prayer went unanswered. Knock. Knock. Knock. She quickly wiped her face and opened the door, but only a crack. He blinked at her like a Christmas tree, somehow having a difficult time registering the fact that she had clearly been crying in between his departure and his return. She cleared her throat and looked down at his Italian made wing-tipped shoes, which he shuffled slightly. “When was the last time you had a steak? ” Julia laughed and shook her head. She couldn’t remember. “Well, you’re going to have one tonight. I’m starving, and you’re joining me for dinner. ” She allowed herself the luxury of a small but wicked smile. “Are you sure, Professor? I thought this—” she mimicked his gesture from earlier “—was not going to work. ” He reddened slightly. “Never mind about that now. Except…” His eyes wandered to her clothes, resting perhaps a little too long on the curves of her lovely breasts. Julia lowered her gaze. “I could change. ” “That would be best. See that you dress appropriately. ” She looked up at him with a very hurt expression. “I may be poor, but I have a few nice things. None of them are immodest, if you’re worried I might embarrass you by looking cheap. ” The Professor reddened again as he kicked himself, inwardly. “I just meant…appropriate for a restaurant where I will have to wear a jacket and tie. ” He hazarded a small smile as a means of apology. Julia’s eyes traveled over his button down and sweater, perhaps lingering a little too long on the planes of his lovely pectorals. “I’ll agree on one condition. ” “You’re really not in a position to argue. ” “Then good-bye, Professor. ” “Wait. ” He stuck his expensive Italian shoe in between the door and the doorjamb, wedging it open. And he didn’t even worry about the scuffs that would result. “Let’s hear it. ” She cocked her head to one side and regarded him mutely before she spoke. “Tell me why, after everything you’ve said to me, I should join you for dinner. ” He looked at her blankly. Then he blushed to the roots of his hair and began to stammer. “I—um…that is, I think…you could say that we…or you…” Julia lifted a single eyebrow and slowly began to close the door on his foot. “Wait. ” His hand shot out to hold the door and to provide some relief for his now injured right foot. “Because what Paul wrote was correct: Emerson is an ass. But at least now he knows it. ” In that instant she smiled up at him, and he found himself smiling back in spite of himself. She really was very pretty when she smiled. He would have to see to it that she smiled more often, purely for aesthetic reasons. “I’ll wait for you here. ” Not wishing to give her a chance to demur, he reached out and pulled her apartment door closed. Inside her apartment, Julia closed her eyes and groaned.

Chapter 5

Professor Emerson paced the hallway for a few minutes, then leaned up against a wall and scrubbed at his face with his hands. He did not know how he got there or what had propelled him to behave in such a way, but he was about to be caught in a clusterfuck of epic proportions. He’d been unprofessional to Miss Mitchell in his office, perilously close to harassing her verbally. He’d picked her up in his car, without a chaperone, and entered her apartment. All of these behaviors were highly irregular. If it had been Miss Peterson who he’d picked up, she probably would have leaned over and undone his zipper with her teeth while he was driving. The Professor shuddered at the thought. Now he was about to take Miss Mitchell to dinner, for steak, no less. If that didn’t violate the non-fraternization policy set up by the university, he didn’t know what would. He took a long and cleansing breath. Miss Mitchell was a Calamity Jane, a vortex of vexation. She’d had a remarkable string of misadventures, starting with her inability to go to Harvard, and things seemed to fall apart in her wake—including his calm and collected disposition. Although he was sorry she was living in deplorable circumstances, he was not going to risk his career to help her. She would be well within her rights to go to the chairman of his department tomorrow and file a harassment complaint against him. He could not let that happen. He crossed the hall in two long strides and raised his hand to knock on her door. He was going to offer some feeble excuse, which would be better than just disappearing. But he stopped as soon as he heard footsteps from inside. Miss Mitchell opened her door and stood, eyes downcast, in a simple but elegant V-necked black dress that fell to her knees. The Professor’s eyes raked over her gentle curves and down to her surprisingly long and very shapely legs. And her shoes…she couldn’t have known this, but Professor Emerson had a thing for women in exquisite high-heeled shoes. He swallowed noisily as he took in her breathtaking and obviously designer black stilettos. The Professor wanted to touch them… “Ahem. ” Julia coughed slightly, and he reluctantly dragged his eyes up from her shoes to her face. She was staring at him with an amused expression. She had pinned her hair up, but several of the curls had escaped and were falling delicately around her face. She wore a little makeup, her porcelain skin pale but luminous, with two delicious swathes of pink on her cheeks. And her eyelashes seemed even darker and longer than he remembered. Miss Julianne Mitchell was attractive. She shrugged into a navy blue trench coat and quickly locked her apartment door. The Professor gestured to her to lead the way and followed her mutely through the hall. Once outside the front door, he opened his umbrella and stood somewhat awkwardly. Julia looked up at him, puzzled. “It would be easier for me to cover both of us if you took my arm. ” He offered her the crook of his left arm, which was holding the umbrella. “If you don’t mind, ” he added. Julia took his arm and looked up at him with a soft expression. They drove in silence down to the harbor front, a place that Julia had heard of but not yet explored. Before The Professor gave his keys to the restaurant’s valet, he asked Julia to hand him his tie from the glove compartment. She obliged, smiling to herself at the fact that he kept a boxed and immaculate silk tie in his car. When she moved toward him, he caught a whiff of her scent and closed his eyes, just for a second. “Vanilla, ” he murmured. “What? ” she asked, not quite having heard him. “Nothing. ” He pulled off his sweater, and she was rewarded momentarily with the sight of his chest and a few curls of dark hair through the open buttons at his neck. Professor Emerson was sexy. He had an attractive face, and Julia believed that underneath his clothes he would be just as attractive. She tried very hard not to think about that too much, for her own sake. But that didn’t stop her from watching in mute but rapt admiration as he effortlessly tied his tie without a mirror. Alas, the tie was crooked. “I can’t seem to…I can’t see. ” He fussed as he tried to straighten his tie, but to no avail. “May I? ” she offered shyly, not willing to touch him without his consent. “Thank you. ” Julia’s deft fingers quickly straightened and smoothed his tie, and she lightly traced the top of his collar back to the nape of his neck, where she tugged the top of the collar down so as to cover the tie at the back. By the time she withdrew her hand, she was breathing rapidly and very red in the face. The Professor was oblivious to her reaction because he was too busy thinking about the strange familiarity of her fingertips, and wondering why Paulina’s fingers never felt familiar. He removed his jacket from the hanger that hung behind his seat and quickly put it on. Then with a smile and a nod, they exited the car. Harbour Sixty Steakhouse was a landmark in Toronto, a famous and very expensive restaurant popular with CEOs, politicians, and various other impressive personages. Professor Emerson ate there because their steak was superior to any other he had tried, and he was impatient with mediocrity. So it never occurred to him to take Miss Mitchell anywhere else. Antonio, the maî tre d’, greeted him warmly with a firm handshake and a torrent of Italian. The Professor responded equally warmly, also in Italian. “And who is the beauty? ” Antonio kissed the back of Julia’s hands while he chattered away to her in very descriptive Italian about her eyes, her hair, and her skin. Julia flushed and thanked him, shyly but determinedly answering him in his own language. Miss Mitchell had a lovely voice, it was true, but Miss Mitchell speaking Italian was something celestial. Her ruby mouth opening and closing, the delicate way she almost sang the words, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips from time to time…Professor Emerson had to remind himself to close his mouth after it had dropped open. Antonio was so surprised and pleased at her response that he kissed her cheeks not just once but twice and quickly led them to the back of the restaurant where he provided them with his best and most romantic table for two. The Professor hovered over his chair reluctantly as he realized what Antonio was doing. He’d sat at that table before, not long ago, but with someone else. This was a mistake and one he needed to correct, but just as he cleared his throat to offer a clarification, Antonio asked Julia if she would accept a bottle of a very special vintage from his family’s vineyard in Tuscany. Julia thanked him profusely, but explained that Il Professore might have other preferences. He sat down quickly, and not wanting to offend, said that he would be delighted with whatever Antonio offered. Antonio beamed and quickly withdrew. “Since we’re in public, I think it would it be best if you didn’t refer to me as Professor Emerson. ” Julia smiled brightly and nodded. “So just address me as Mr. Emerson. ” Mr. Emerson was too busy looking at the menu to see the way that Julia’s eyes widened before her gaze fell. “You have a Tuscan accent, ” he remarked absently, still not looking at her. “Yes. ” “How did you come by that? ” “I spent my junior year in Florence. ” “Your Italian is fairly advanced for only a junior year abroad. ” “I began studying it in high school. ” He looked across the small and intimate table and saw that she actively avoided his eyes. She was studying the menu as if it were an exam, worrying her lovely lower lip between her teeth. “You are invited, Miss Mitchell. ” Her eyes darted to his with a questioning look. “You are my guest. Order whatever you like, but please order some meat. ” He felt the need to add that qualification since the express purpose of their dinner was to provide her with something more fortifying than couscous. “I don’t know what to choose. ” “I could order for you, if you prefer. ” She nodded and closed her menu, still worrying her lip back and forth. Antonio returned just then and proudly displayed a bottle of Chianti with a handwritten label. Julia smiled as he opened the bottle and poured a little into her glass. Mr. Emerson watched, almost breathless, as she swirled the wine in her glass expertly, then lifted it so that she could examine it more closely in the candlelight. She brought the glass to her nose, closed her eyes, and sniffed. Then she placed the glass to her plump lips and tasted the wine, holding it in her mouth for a while before swallowing. She opened her eyes, smiled even more widely, and thanked Antonio for his precious gift. Antonio beamed, complimented Mr. Emerson on his choice of dining companion a little too enthusiastically, and filled both of their glasses with his favorite wine. Meanwhile, Mr. Emerson had been adjusting himself under the table because the sight of Miss Mitchell tasting wine was the most erotic thing he’d ever witnessed. She was not merely attractive; she was beautiful, like an angel or a muse. And she wasn’t merely beautiful; she was sensual and hypnotic, but also innocent. Her pretty eyes reflected a depth of feeling and radiant purity that he had never noticed before. He had to drag his eyes away from her as he adjusted himself once more for good measure, suddenly feeling dirty and more than a little ashamed of the reaction she was eliciting from him. A reaction that he would need to attend to later that evening. When he was alone. And surrounded by the scent of vanilla. He ordered their meals, making sure that he requested the largest possible portions of filet mignon. When Miss Mitchell protested, he dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand, remarking that she would be able to take her leftovers home with her. If Mr. Emerson had his way, this meal would feed her for a couple of days. He wondered what she would eat after her leftovers were exhausted but refused to allow himself to dwell on the problem. This was a one-time event, and only because he’d shouted at her and shamed her. After this, things between them would be strictly professional. And she would be left to face future calamities alone. For her part, Julia was happy to be with him. She wanted to be able to talk to him, to really talk to him, to ask him about his family and the funeral. She wanted to comfort him over the loss of his mother. She wanted to tell him secrets and have him whisper secrets to her in return. But with his eyes determinedly but somewhat distantly fixed on her, she knew she could not have what she wanted. So she smiled and fidgeted with the silverware, hoping that he wouldn’t find her nervousness and its desperate outlets annoying. “Why did you start studying Italian in high school? ” Julia gasped. Her eyes grew wide, and her beautiful red mouth hung open. Mr. Emerson’s eyebrows furrowed at her reaction. It was completely out of proportion to his question; he hadn’t asked her for her bra size. His eyes dropped involuntarily to the swell of her breasts and returned to her eyes. He reddened as a number and a cup size miraculously entered his head. “Um, I became interested in Italian literature. In Dante and Beatrice. ” She folded and refolded the linen napkin in her lap, a few loose curls hanging forward around her oval-shaped face. He thought of the painting in her apartment and her extraordinary resemblance to Beatrice. Once again, the thought twisted in his mind tauntingly, and once again he pushed it aside. “Those are remarkable interests for a young girl, ” he prompted, allowing himself to memorize her beauty. “I had…a friend who introduced me to them. ” She sounded pained and more than a little sad. He realized he was treading very closely to an old wound, and so he quickly retraced his steps, trying to find more comfortable ground to venture upon. “Antonio is very taken with you. ” Julia looked up and smiled prettily. “He’s very kind. ” “You blossom under kindness, don’t you? Like a rose. ” The words escaped his lips before he had time to consider them, and by the time they were pronounced and Julia had looked at him with no little warmth, it was far too late to retract them. That did it. Professor Emerson began focusing his attention on his glass of wine; his features clouded, and his demeanor grew very cold. Julia observed the change, but accepted it and made no further attempt at conversation. Throughout the meal the clearly charmed Antonio spent more time than was necessary at their table, chatting in Italian with the beautiful Julianne and inviting her to join his family at the Italian-Canadian Club for dinner next Sunday. She accepted his invitation graciously and was rewarded later with tiramisu, espresso, biscotti, grappa, and finally, a small chocolate Baci, in leisurely succession. Professor Emerson was not rewarded with these delights, and so he just sat there, brooding, as he watched Miss Mitchell enjoy herself. By the end of the evening, Antonio had pressed something that resembled a large food hamper into her hands and would not allow her to refuse it. He kissed her cheeks several times after he helped her with her coat, then he begged The Professor to bring her back to them soon and often. Professor Emerson straightened his shoulders and fixed Antonio with a stony glare. “That isn’t possible. ” Turning on his heel, he exited the restaurant, leaving Julia and her heavy food hamper trailing dejectedly behind him. As he watched the mismatched couple depart, Antonio wondered why The Professor would bring such a lovely creature to a romantic place and sit stoically without speaking to her, looking all the while as if he were in pain. When they arrived at Miss Mitchell’s apartment, Professor Emerson obligingly opened her door for her and removed the hamper from the backseat of the Jaguar. He peered into it curiously, moving a few things around so he could analyze its contents. “Wine, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, biscotti, a jar of homemade marinara made by Antonio’s wife, leftovers. You’re going to be very well fed for the next little while. ” “Thanks to you. ” Julia smiled, holding her hand out for the hamper. “This is heavy. I’ll carry it for you. ” He escorted her to the front porch of the building and waited while she unlocked the door. Then he handed her the food. She began to examine her shoes, and her cheeks grew warm as she thought of what she needed to say. “Thank you, Professor Emerson, for a nice evening. It was really generous of you to…” “Miss Mitchell, ” he interrupted, “let’s not make this more awkward than it already is. I apologize for my…previous rudeness. My only excuse is, ah, reasons of a rather private nature. So let’s just shake hands and move forward. ” He held out his hand, and she took it. He shook her hand, trying very hard not to bruise her, and absolutely ignoring the thrill that coursed through his veins at the feel of her soft and delicate skin against his. “Good night, Miss Mitchell. ” “Good night, Professor Emerson. ” And with that, she disappeared into her building, leaving The Professor on slightly better terms than she had that afternoon. An hour or so later, Julia sat on her bed staring at the photograph she always kept under her pillow. She gazed at it for a very long time, trying to decide if she should destroy it, leave it where it always was, or put it away in a drawer. She’d always loved this picture. She loved the smile on his face. It was the most beautiful picture she’d ever seen, but it also hurt her terribly to look at it. She gazed up at the lovely painting that hung over her bed and fought back tears. She did not know what she had expected from her Dante, but she definitely hadn’t received it. So with the wisdom that comes only from having experienced a broken heart, she resolved to let him go once and for all. She thought of her now crammed make-shift pantry and the kindness Antonio had shown her. She thought of the voice mails she’d received from Paul, how he had expressed concern at leaving her alone with The Professor and begged her to call him at any hour to tell him she was all right. She padded over to her dresser, opened the top drawer, and placed the photograph reverently but determinedly at the very back, underneath the sexy underwear that she never wore. And with the contrast between the three men well fixed in her mind, she went back to bed, closed her eyes, and dreamed of a neglected apple orchard.