Sorry I didn’t get the chance to say good-bye before you went home. I hope you have a good Christmas. I have a gift for you. Would you give me your address in Pennsylvania so I can send it?
I’m back at the farm trying to find time to work on my dissertation in between large family gatherings and getting up early to help my dad. Let’s just say my daily routine involves a lot of manure…
Can I bring you something from Vermont?
A Holstein of your very own?
Merry Christmas,
Paul.
P.S. Did you hear that Christa Peterson’s dissertation proposal was accepted by Emerson?
I guess Advent really is the season of miracles.
Julia stared at the computer screen, reading and rereading Paul’s postscript. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was possible, she thought, that Gabriel accepted Christa’s proposal because she threatened him.
Julia didn’t want to bring up such an unpleasant topic during their vacation, but the news troubled her. She typed a short reply to Paul, giving him her address, then she emailed her father, telling him that Gabriel was treating her like a princess. She closed the laptop and sighed.
“That doesn’t sound like a happy Julianne.” Gabriel’s voice sounded behind her.
“I think I’m going to ignore my email for the rest of our trip.”
“Good idea.”
She turned to find him standing in front of her, wet from the shower, hair tousled, a white towel wound around his hips.
“You’re beautiful,” she blurted before thinking.
He chuckled and pulled her to her feet so he could embrace her. “Do you have a thing for men in towels, Miss Mitchell?”
“Maybe for one particular man.”
“Are you feeling all right?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly, his expression hungry.
“I’m a little uncomfortable. But it was worth it.”
His eyes narrowed. “You need to tell me if I’m hurting you, Julianne. Don’t hide things from me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Gabriel, it doesn’t hurt; it’s merely uncomfortable. I didn’t notice it during because there were other things on my mind—several other things. You were very distracting.”
He smiled and kissed her neck loudly. “You need to let me start distracting you in the shower. I’m tired of showering alone.”
“I’d like that. How are you feeling?”
He pretended to ponder her question. “Let’s see—loud, hot sex with my beloved inside and outside…Yes, I’d say I’m great.”
He hugged her close, and the cotton of her robe absorbed some of the water droplets from his skin. “I promise it won’t always be uncomfortable. In time, your body will recognize me.”
“It already recognizes you. And misses you,” she whispered.
Gabriel moved the top of her robe aside so he could kiss the slope of her shoulder. With a gentle squeeze, he walked to the bed, retrieving a bottle of ibuprofen and handing it to her.
“I have to run over to the Uffizi for a meeting, then I have to pick up my new suit at the tailor’s.” He appeared concerned. “Would you mind shopping for a dress by yourself? I’d go with you, but my meeting won’t leave me with much time.”
“Not at all.”
“If you can be ready in half an hour, we can walk out together.”
Julia followed Gabriel into the bathroom, all thoughts of Christa and Paul forgotten.
After her shower, she stood in front of one of the vanities, drying her hair while Gabriel stood at the other. She found herself glancing over at him, watching as he carried out his shaving preparations with military precision. Finally, she gave up putting on lipstick and simply leaned against the sink, staring.
He was still naked to the waist, the towel now low on his hips, as he painstakingly shaved in the classical style. His brilliant blue eyes narrowed in concentration behind his black glasses, his damp hair impeccably combed.
Julia suppressed a laugh at the degree to which his quest for perfection was manifested. Gabriel used a shaving brush with a black wooden handle to mix European shaving soap into a thick lather. After spreading the foam on his face with the brush, he shaved using an antiquated safety razor.
(For some professors, disposable razors simply aren’t good enough.)
“What?” He turned, noticing that she was perilously close to ogling him.
“I love you.”
His expression softened. “I love you too, darling.”
“You’re the only non-British person I’ve ever heard use the term darling.”
“That isn’t true.”
“It isn’t?”
“Richard used to call Grace that.” Gabriel gave her a sad look.
“Richard is old-fashioned, in the best sense.” She smiled. “I love the fact that you’re old-fashioned too.”
Gabriel snorted and continued shaving. “I’m not so old-fashioned, or I wouldn’t be making mad passionate love with you outside. And fantasizing about introducing you to some of my favorite positions from the Kama sutra.” He winked at her. “But I am a pretentious old bastard and a devil to live with. You’ll have to tame me.”
“And how shall I do that, Professor Emerson?”
“Never leave.” His voice dropped, and he turned to face her.