As she stood in front of Primavera, she felt happy. Something about the painting comforted her. And it was never as magnificent to view a copy as it was to see the original.
If she closed her eyes, she could feel the silence of the museum, hear the echoes from the distant corridor. If she concentrated, she could conjure Gabriel’s voice, lecturing on the four loves of eros, phileo, storge, and agape.
All of a sudden, she opened her eyes, her gaze drawn to the image of Mercury on the far left. She’d seen the painting a thousand times. But at this moment, his figure disquieted her. There was something about his appearance, something about his face that seemed strangely familiar . . .
“They’ve made an addition to this room since your last visit.” Gabriel’s voice interrupted her musings.
“Where?”
He grasped her elbow, moving her to the right so she could see a large framed black-and-white photograph that hung on the wall opposite The Birth of Venus.
She covered her mouth with her hand.
“What’s that doing here?”
Gabriel tugged her until she was standing in front of a photograph of herself. She was in profile, her eyes closed and her long hair held up by a pair of man’s hands. She was smiling.
The picture was one that Gabriel had taken back in Toronto, when she’d first agreed to pose for him. She looked at the tag underneath the photograph and read the following,
?Deh, bella donna, che a’ raggi d’amore
ti scaldi, s’i’ vo’ credere a’ sembianti
che soglion esser testimon del core,
vegnati in voglia di trarreti avanti?,
diss’io a lei, ?verso questa rivera,
tanto ch’io possa intender che tu canti.
Tu mi fai rimembrar dove e qual era
Proserpina nel tempo che perdette
la madre lei, ed ella primavera?.
—DANTE, PURGATORIO 28.045-051.
“Ah, beauteous lady, who in rays of love
Dost warm thyself, if I may trust to looks,
Which the heart’s witnesses are wont to be,
May the desire come unto thee to draw
Near to this river’s bank,” I said to her,
“So much that I might hear what thou art singing.
Thou makest me remember where and what
Proserpina that moment was when lost
Her mother her, and she herself the Spring.”
“Those are the words Dante speaks when he sees Beatrice for the first time in Purgatory.” Gabriel touched her face, and his eyes met hers with searing intensity.
“It was the same for me. When I saw you in Cambridge after being separated from you, I remembered those words. Just seeing you, standing in the street, made me remember all I’d lost. I was hoping you’d see me and come to me.”
Gabriel pulled her against his chest as Julia’s eyes filled with tears. “Don’t cry, my sweet girl. You’re my Beatrice and my sticky little leaf and my beautiful wife. I’m sorry I’ve been such a bastard. I wanted to show you how important you are to me. You are my most precious masterpiece.”
Julia gazed up at him.
He swiped his thumbs under her eyes before pressing his lips to her forehead.
“You’re my Persephone; the maiden to my monster.”
“No more talk of monsters.” She brushed his tuxedo with her hand, worried that she’d transferred tears and makeup to the wool.
Then he was kissing her until she was breathless, arms wrapped tight around her back. When he released her, she giggled.
“I take it you’re impressed with the exhibition, Mrs. Emerson?”
“Yes.” Her face grew grave. “But I’d like you to take the photograph down. It’s a magnificent gesture, but I don’t want to be on display.”
“You aren’t.”
Julia looked from Gabriel to the photograph and back again.
“I’m hanging there for all to see.”
“Vitali wished to give us a gift to thank us, but I refused. When I asked if I could do something—ah—unusual for you, he agreed.” Gabriel gestured to the room. “Vitali is an old romantic and it pleased him to be able to do something special for us. He agreed to display the picture and give us an hour on this floor, all to ourselves.”
Julia’s eyes widened. “We have the Botticelli room all to ourselves?”
“Not just that.” His blue eyes danced with amusement as he brought his lips to her ear. “We also have the corridor.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. This floor is off limits until”—he glanced at his Rolex—“forty-five minutes from now, when we have to go downstairs for the reception and dinner.”
With one quick movement, she grasped his lapels with both hands and pulled him to her, pressing a long, hard kiss against his lips.
“I take it you’re pleased?” he said, when she finally released him.
“Let’s go.” She grabbed his hand and began tugging him toward the door.
“Where?”
“Makeup sex, museum sex, corridor sex. I don’t care what you call it, but now is our chance.”
Gabriel found himself chuckling and trotting after a very determined, very fast-moving Julianne, who was tottering on high heels.
“You surprise me, Mrs. Emerson.”