Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy

by Sylvain Reynard

  “We don’t have whims here at Columbia, Miss Peterson. We have standards. While it’s true you’ve been passing your seminars, you still have to take the oral exam. As I mentioned, no one is willing to serve on your testing committee. That means you won’t be able to complete the program.”

  Christa gazed around the room helplessly, trying to figure a way out of her predicament.

  “Let me talk to them. I’ll go see the professors on my own and plead my case.”

  Lucia shook her head. “I can’t let you do that. At this point, they’ve added a letter to your permanent file. If you go to them after the fact, they’ll view it as harassment.”

  Christa scowled at the implication.

  “That’s ridiculous. I’m not going to harass them.”

  Lucia gave her a long look. “Be that as it may, I can’t let you speak to them.”

  Christa felt the control she thought she’d regained slip through her fingers.

  (It didn’t occur to her that this must have been how Professor Emerson and Julianne felt when they’d been brought before the disciplinary committee in Toronto.)

  “It’s too late for me to apply to other programs. This will ruin me.” Her chin began to wobble.

  “Not necessarily. Many programs receive applications until March. My assistant can help you identify those programs. Perhaps you should consider returning to Canada.”

  “But I want to stay here. Professor Martin said—”

  “Professor Martin is not the chair here; I am.” Lucia nodded at the door. “I realize this is a disappointment, but perhaps at another university, you will be successful.”

  “There must be something I can do. Please.” Christa sat forward in her chair, begging.

  “You can appeal to the dean, if you wish, but university regulations prevent her from demanding that faculty serve on specific examination committees. I’m afraid she can’t help you.” Once again Lucia nodded at the door. “My assistant will help you research other programs. I wish you good luck.”

  Christa stared across the desk, in complete and utter shock. But as she exited the office, she remembered something, something Pacciani had said to her back in Oxford.

  Be careful, Cristina. You don’t want Professor Picton as an enemy. . . . Departments around the world are filled with her admirers. Your chair at Columbia was her student.

  It angered her sorely that in the end, Pacciani had been correct. But as quickly as the realization came to her, so did a possible solution. She would simply have to pursue her education outside the patronage system of Professor Picton. And that meant that she would need to research every single professor in every department that offered a doctoral program in Dante studies.

  She had days of work ahead of her, simply to find a possibility of enrolling in a doctoral program.

  (It must be said parenthetically that karma had been served.)

  Chapter Seventy-two

  Fear and anxiety are not so easily managed, especially by people who have struggled for years with both. When the Emersons returned to Cambridge, they each made appointments to see their respective therapists, immediately.

  Dr. Walters suggested several different strategies for Julia to cope with the anxiety over her pregnancy, but she stressed the fact that Julia needed to ask for help and that she also needed to accept it and not try to do everything on her own.

  Dr. Townsend painstakingly addressed Gabriel’s worries over the health and welfare of his wife and unborn child. But he was pleased with the progress Gabriel had made since the summer.

  The Emersons also visited Dr. Rubio, who confirmed the pregnancy, estimating the due date would be around September sixth. A series of appointments were scheduled, including ultrasounds to monitor the progress of the baby and any issues relating to the uterine fibroids. Julia was urged to modify her diet and to take supplements, in order to ensure her health and the health of the baby.

  She was also instructed to avoid oral sex with her husband.

  “Come again?” The Professor’s voice boomed in the small room.

  “No male-on-female oral sex during pregnancy,” Dr. Rubio repeated briskly.

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Dr. Rubio gazed at him coolly.

  “And where did you become board certified in obstetrics, Mr. Emerson?”

  “It’s Professor Emerson, and I went to Harvard. Where did you go, an anti–oral sex college?”

  “Darling.” Julia placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Dr. Rubio is trying to help us and the baby. We want to be healthy.”

  “Cunnilingus is healthy,” he huffed. “I can prove it.”

  Dr. Rubio cursed obliquely in Spanish. “If air enters the vagina, it could cause an air embolism, which might harm the baby. I advise all my patients not to engage in that kind of oral sex. I’m not picking on you especially, Professor Emerson. Now, I’ll see you at your next appointment. Don’t forget—no caffeine, no raw milk products, no Brie or Camembert, no alcohol, no shellfish, no sushi, no peanut butter, and certainly, no oral sex.” She glared in Gabriel’s direction.

  “One might as well say ‘no pleasure.’ What the hell is left?” he complained, moodily.

  Julia giggled nervously. “I’m sure we can find something. Thanks, Dr. Rubio.”

  And with that Gabriel drove Julia to the nearest Barnes and Noble, whereupon he bought no less than three pregnancy books, all of which stated that cunnilingus during pregnancy was fine, so long as air didn’t enter the vagina.

  Then the Emersons retired to their home, whereupon the Professor commenced proving his point.

  “I’m not sure you should come with me to my next doctor’s appointment,” Julia mused as she dressed one morning.

  It was January twenty-first, the date of their first wedding anniversary. Rebecca (who was delighted at the prospect of becoming a nanny in addition to her housekeeping duties) had rented out her house in Norwood and moved into one of the guest bedrooms. Julia found her presence comforting, especially since she and Gabriel no longer had mothers to guide them through pregnancy.

  “I’m going to all your appointments. Rubio doesn’t scare me.” Gabriel sounded impatient as he buttoned up his dress shirt. “And she doesn’t know everything, either.”

  Julia didn’t bother arguing.

  She was in her second month of pregnancy and was already feeling the effects. Her breasts had enlarged and were very tender. She was exhausted most of the time, and she’d become sensitive to various scents. She’d had to request that Gabriel no longer wear Aramis because she couldn’t stand the smell. And she’d gotten rid of all her vanilla-scented products and replaced them with grapefruit-scented items because it was one of the few smells she could still tolerate.

  To Gabriel’s delight, however, Julia’s hormones were such that she wanted sex several times a day. He was happy to accommodate her.

  (For in this respect, as in several others, he was the consummate gentleman.)

  “Are you all right?” Gabriel observed her face, which had taken on a greenish cast.

  She continued buttoning up her jeans. “Look, Gabriel, they still fit.”

  He reached over to kiss her forehead. “That’s great, darling. But we should probably start shopping for maternity clothes.”

  “I don’t want to spend my anniversary shopping.”

  “We don’t have to. But I thought we’d spend some time walking around Copley Place before we check into the Plaza for the weekend.”

  “Okay,” she said softly. “That sounds good.”

  By the time she reached the kitchen her stomach had begun to roll. She eyed the platter of scrambled eggs on the breakfast table as Gabriel helped himself to a few strips of bacon.

  She felt a funny sensation in the back of her throat.

  “Why don’t you start with a slice of dry toast? T
hat’s what I used to do every morning.” Rebecca picked up a loaf of bread and motioned toward the toaster.

  “I don’t feel good,” Julia announced, closing her eyes.

  “I bought more ginger ale. Sit down and I’ll get you one.” Rebecca put the bread aside and moved toward the fridge.

  Before Julia could respond, she felt her stomach heave. She covered her mouth and ran for the nearest bathroom.

  Gabriel followed, the sounds of her retching echoing down the hall.

  “Sweetheart.” He crouched next to her, reaching around to lift her hair out of the way.

  She was on her knees, head hanging over the toilet.

  She vomited again and again, her stomach emptying.

  Gabriel rubbed her back with his other hand. He fetched her a towel to wipe her mouth and a glass of water.

  “This must be love,” she murmured, in between sips of water.

  “What’s that?” He sat behind her, cradling her in his arms.

  “You held my hair, Professor. You must love me.”

  He reached a tentative hand to her lower abdomen. “I seem to recall you looking after me once, when I was sick. And that was before you loved me.”

  “I always loved you, Gabriel.”

  “Thank you.” He kissed her forehead. “We made this little one together. You aren’t going to scare me off with bodily fluids.”

  “I’ll remember that when my water breaks.”

  The Emersons spent a few hours leisurely walking around Copley Place before driving to an Italian restaurant in the north end for dinner.

  That evening, in their suite at the Copley Plaza hotel, Julia undressed, dropping her clothes carelessly on the floor. Gabriel surveyed her body, his eyes fixing on her breasts, which were full and ripe.

  “Your beauty always takes my breath away.”

  Julia felt her skin heat under his gaze. “Your compliments always surprise me.”

  “They shouldn’t. Perhaps I don’t say them often enough.” He paused, staring at her. “We aren’t newlyweds anymore.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  “Happy anniversary, Mrs. Emerson.”

  “Happy anniversary, Mr. Emerson.”

  He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a distinctive blue box, tied with a white satin ribbon.

  Julia stammered.

  “I’m sorry, Gabriel. I have a card for you but I forgot your gift back at the house.” She rubbed at her forehead. “I hope I’m not getting pregnancy brain.”

  “Pregnancy brain?”

  “Dr. Rubio says it’s common for pregnant women to experience short-term memory problems. It’s probably due to hormones.”

  “I don’t need a gift, but I’m grateful you thought of me.”

  “It’s a Star of David on a silver chain. I know you don’t wear jewelry.” She gestured to his wedding ring. “Except for that. But I thought maybe . . .”

  “Of course I’d wear it. Thank you, Julianne, that was very thoughtful.”

  “I’m sorry I forgot it. Thank you for your present.” She gazed at him warmly as he handed her the box.

  When she opened it, she found a diamond solitaire pendant suspended on a long platinum chain. She looked up at him quizzically.

  “It matches Grace’s earrings.” He stood behind her, gesturing toward the necklace.

  “It’s beautiful.” She touched the stone as he fastened the chain around her neck. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for putting up with me,” he whispered, kissing the place where her neck flared into her shoulders.

  “I wouldn’t say it’s a hardship. We have our ups and downs like any couple.”

  He straightened, taking her hand in his. “Let’s try to make sure our ups are greater than our downs.”

  After they’d spent time loving one another, they curled together on the bed.

  Julia fingered the necklace that rested just above her expanded breasts.

  “Are you scared?” she whispered.

  The corners of Gabriel’s lips turned up. “Terrified.”

  “Then why are you smiling?

  “Because part of me is growing inside you. I get to see my beautiful wife carry my child.”

  “In a few months, we’ll have a family.”

  “We’re already a family.” He reached out to stroke her hair. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m tired. I nearly fell asleep in one of my seminars this week. I’m finding it difficult to stay awake in the afternoon without caffeine.”

  His expression grew concerned. “You need to get more rest. Maybe you should come home and take a nap before your seminars.”

  Julia yawned.

  “I’d love to, but there isn’t time. I just need to start going to bed early. Which means we’ll need to have sex right after dinner.”

  “And so it begins,” he mumbled.

  “Don’t start with me.” She pushed at him playfully and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her into a tender kiss.

  “I hope it’s a girl.”

  Julia was surprised. “Why?”

  “I want someone I can spoil, like you. A little brown-eyed angel.”

  “That reminds me. Until we find out the sex of the baby, I don’t want to call the baby it. I know some people do that because there’s no gender-neutral pronoun in English. But I don’t like that.”

  “I love it when you talk about grammar. It’s sexy.” He kissed her. “We’ll just call her her or the baby.”

  Julia’s hand drifted down to her abdomen. “What makes you so sure the baby is a girl? I think we’re having a boy.”

  “He’s a she. And we’ll have to come up with an appropriate name.”

  “Such as what? Beatrice?”

  “No,” he said softly. “There’s only one Beatrice. We could call her Grace.”

  Julia was thoughtful for a moment.

  “I’m not ready to decide on a name, although Grace is a possibility. I think he’s going to be a boy, though. So for now, we’ll just have to call him Ralph.”

  “Ralph? Why Ralph?”

  “It’s a good, all-purpose nickname. I would have called him Peanut, but that’s what we called Tommy before he was born.”

  Gabriel chuckled. “Your mind is fascinating. Now go to sleep, little mama. Morning comes very early these days.”

  He kissed her forehead before turning out the light. Then he held his wife in his arms.

  A few hours later, he awoke to the feel of a hand stroking his naked chest.

  “Darling?” His voice was thick with sleep.

  “I’m sorry I woke you.” She moved closer, pressing her thigh in between his.

  He felt her lips press light kisses over his pectorals and up to his neck.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  Her hand brushed over his abdominal muscles before descending lower.

  She kissed him and he responded warmly. His sleepiness and fatigue seemed to melt away as she moved her hand up and down.

  “You have something I need.”

  “Are you sure?” His hand caught her wrist, pausing her movements.

  She hesitated.

  “Julianne?”

  “I’m sorry for waking you up, but I really need to have sex. Right now.”

  “Right now?”

  “Right now. Please.”

  He removed his hand and threw back the bedclothes.

  “Do with me as you will.”

  Instantly, she moved to straddle him. He reached up to cup her heavy breasts as she leaned down to kiss him.

  “Invite me inside,” he murmured, as he pressed up against her.

  “Do you need an invitation?”

  Gabriel stared into her eyes, which had widened with excit
ement.

  “I could spend the rest of my life inside you and die happy. You’re my home.”

  Julia paused at the sudden vulnerability that flashed across her husband’s face. She lifted her hands to cover his, pressing into her breasts.

  “You’ll make me cry. And I’m emotional already.”

  “No tears, please.” He squeezed her more tightly.

  “Then come,” she whispered, bringing their hips into alignment.

  He slowly entered her.

  “Home,” he whispered.

  Julia didn’t try to blink back the tears. She let them fall.

  “I love you so much.”

  He responded by licking and sucking her breasts, teasing her and spurring her on. Within minutes they were pushing and pulling, their skin warm and alive with excitement.

  “Is it good?” Gabriel ground out, his hands dropping to her hips.

  Her eyes were closed, her rosy lips parted. When she didn’t answer he placed a tender hand to her face. “Julia?”

  Her eyes fluttered open. “It’s good,” she panted. “So good.”

  His large hands gripped her hips, urging her on.

  “Faster,” he murmured.

  Julia responded by lifting herself and quickly slamming down, over and over again, until they both collapsed from near exhaustion.

  Chapter Seventy-three

  January 31, 2012

  Cambridge, Massachusetts

  Professor Katherine Picton stood in the lecture hall at Harvard, surveying the crowd. She’d delivered her paper presentation a half hour after Professor Jeremy Martin offered his. And she’d fielded questions from the audience and received a very smart paperweight as a gift from Professor Greg Matthews, on behalf of the Department of Romance Studies.

  She hadn’t had the opportunity to greet the Emersons yet. She was eager to do so. They’d invited her to their home for dinner so she could escape Greg’s more experimental culinary choices.

  “Ah, there you are!” Professor Picton’s crisp British accent cut through the hum of a dozen or so conversations.