He paused. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t, remember? I’ll probably be finished the day after tomorrow.”
“I’m not kissing you because I expect sex.”
She arched an eyebrow in the darkness.
“I have a fairly good memory. I remembered that you were on your cycle.” He pulled away, sounding chippy.
She tugged at his arm. “Sorry. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”
He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Hope springs eternal.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Tomorrow, I’ll show you. Eternally.”
She laughed and curved herself into him.
“So much witty repartée, Professor. I can almost imagine I’m in a Cary Grant movie.”
“You flatter me.” He kissed her eyelids. “Are you excited about being a big sister?”
“Yes. I want the baby to know me. I want to spend time with him or her. I’ve waited my whole life for a sibling.”
“We were planning to spend part of our vacations in Selinsgrove, anyway. As Rachel’s and Scott’s families expand, we’ll want to spend time with them too. Selinsgrove is the best place to do that.”
“That’s another reason to be glad that Richard decided to move back into the house. We’ll all be together.”
Gabriel pulled a lock of her hair thoughtfully. “I’ve come to like your shorter hair. It suits you.”
“Thanks.”
“Although I like your hair long, too.”
“It will grow back, I promise.”
Gabriel stopped his movements.
“I have half siblings.”
“Oh?” Julia forced herself to sound casual.
“When my mother was upset, she used to say that my father left us because he loved his real family more.”
“What a terrible thing to say to a child.” Julia’s tone was severe.
“Yes. She was troubled, but beautiful. Dark hair and dark eyes.”
Julia gave him a questioning look.
“I have my father’s eyes, apparently. I remember my mother being tall, but I can’t imagine she was more than a few inches taller than you.”
“What was her first name?”
“Suzanne. Suzanne Emerson.”
“Do you have any photographs of her?”
“A few. There are baby pictures of me, as well.”
“You’ve been holding out on me. Why have I never seen them?”
“They aren’t hidden. They’re in a drawer back in Cambridge. I even have her diary.”
Julia’s mouth dropped open. “You have your mother’s diary?”
“And her father’s pocket watch. I use it, on occasion.”
“Did you ever read the diary?”
“No.”
“If Sharon had left me a diary, I would have read it.”
Gabriel gazed at her quizzically. “I thought you didn’t have anything of your mother’s.”
“They sent my father a box of her stuff when she died.”
“And?”
“And I have no idea what’s in it. Dad used to keep it in his closet. I’m assuming he still has it. Now that you’ve reminded me, I should probably ask him to let me see it.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Thank you. How much do you know about your father?”
“Not much. I seem to remember meeting him once or twice, not counting the content of last night’s dream. When he died, I had a few conversations with his lawyer. I know my father lived in New York and had a wife and children. Initially, I declined the inheritance, but when I changed my mind they tried to break the will.”
“Did he disinherit them?”
“Far from it. A year before he died, he added me as an equal beneficiary to his other children. His wife also received a substantial inheritance.”
“So you never met them?”
Gabriel laughed without amusement. “Do you think they were in a hurry to meet the bastard who was stealing their birthright?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I don’t care. They aren’t my family.”
“What was your father’s name?”
“Owen Davies.” Gabriel lifted her chin with his finger. “I’ve told you these things and I’ll share what photos I have when we get home. But I want you to promise you won’t look into my family.”
His expression was intense, if not severe. But there was something else in his eyes that she couldn’t quite decipher.
“I promise.”
He brought her head back to rest on his shoulder.
Chapter Twenty-five
August 2011
Near Essex Junction, Vermont
The following evening, Paul sat at the kitchen table in his parents’ farmhouse, staring at his laptop. It was almost seven o’clock.
He’d been home from England for two weeks. Every day he sat down to type an email to Julia, and every day he found he couldn’t.
Her emails were always cheerful, and the most recent one was no exception. She’d written him from Italy, urging him to visit the Vatican museum the next time he was in Rome. As if he needed urging. As if he needed the reminder that she was married and jet-setting around Europe with her dashing and older husband, who was probably thinking of ways to persuade her to have his baby.