“Who was that?”
“I have no idea, but stay away from him.” Gabriel was visibly agitated, and he passed a hand over his mouth.
“Why? What’s going on?” Julia stopped, facing him.
“I don’t know.” Gabriel’s eyes were sincere. “But there’s something about him. Promise me you’ll stay away.”
Julia laughed, the sound echoing across the gallery. “He’s a bit odd, but he seemed nice.”
“Pit bulls are nice until you put your hand in their cage. If he moves in your direction, turn around and walk away. Promise me.” Gabriel dropped his voice to a whisper.
“Of course. But what’s the matter? Have you met him before?”
“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. I didn’t like how he was looking at you. His eyes could have burned holes in your dress.”
“It’s a good thing I have Superman to protect me.” Julia kissed her husband firmly. “I promise to avoid him and all the other handsome men here.”
“You think he’s handsome?” Gabriel glared at her.
“Handsome the way a work of art is handsome, not the way you are. And if you kiss me now, I’ll forget him entirely.”
Gabriel leaned forward and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers before pressing their lips together.
“Thank you.” She chewed at the inside of her mouth. “I’m afraid you embarrassed me in your introduction. I don’t like the attention.”
“You’re the true benefactor. I’m merely your escort.”
Julia laughed again, but this time the sound barely echoed. The room had filled with other guests, who were waiting a respectful distance away.
“You make a charming escort, Professor.”
“Thank you.” He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you with my introduction. I was hoping to motivate some of our guests to consider donating to the orphanage.”
“Then embarrass me all you like. If one person decides to support the orphanage, this entire exhibit will have been a success. Even if they hate the illustrations.”
“How could anyone hate something so exquisite?” Gabriel gestured at the room.
Julia couldn’t argue. Several different artists had illustrated Dante’s work over the centuries, but Botticelli had always been her favorite.
They continued through the room, pausing in front of each picture. Gabriel noted with satisfaction that the stranger seemed to have disappeared.
When they’d reached the one hundredth and final illustration, Julia turned to her husband.
“An incredible exhibit. They did a fantastic job.”
“It isn’t finished.” Gabriel tried to smother a smile, his sapphire eyes sparkling.
“Really?” She looked around, confused.
He took her hand in his and led her to the second floor and into the Botticelli room.
She stopped short, as she always did, when she passed through the doors. Seeing The Birth of Venus and Primavera in the same room always left her breathless.
It was the location of Gabriel’s lecture during their first visit to Florence. He’d spoken of marriage and family then, things that at the time seemed as ethereal as a dream.
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.