“Bullshit.”

Gabriel glared, forcing himself to keep his temper. “If anyone connected with the university found out that you stayed here, I could be in a lot of trouble. We both could.”

“I won’t tell anyone, Gabriel. I’m not stupid, despite what you think of me.”

He frowned. “I know you aren’t stupid. But if Paul or Christa found out, then I…”

“Is that all you care about? Covering your own ass? Well, don’t worry, I covered it for you. I pried Christa off your dick last night before you had a chance to consummate your professor-student relationship. You should be thanking me!”

Gabriel’s face hardened, and he pressed his lips together. “Thank you, Miss Mitchell. But if someone sees you leaving here…”

Julia threw her hands up in frustration. He really was incredibly dense.

“If anyone sees me, I’ll say I was on my knees for your next door neighbor, making money to buy couscous. I’m sure it’s believable.”

In a flash Gabriel’s hand was on her chin again, more forcefully this time. “Stop it. I warned you about saying things like that.”

Julia froze, but only for a second, before jerking out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed. She tried to move past him, praying he wasn’t going to retaliate by hitting her, but he put his hand on the doorknob and braced himself against the door.

“Damn it! Just stop. ” He raised his hand, hoping to still her.

Instinctively, she ducked and reeled backward. Gabriel saw her movement for what it was and instantly felt ill.

“Julianne, please.” He lowered his voice to the softest whisper and pleaded with his eyes. “I’m not going to hit you. I just want to talk to you.”

He placed a hand to his head and grimaced. “I’ve done terrible things when I wasn’t in my right mind. I was afraid I’d treated you badly last night.

I lashed out, but I’m only angry with myself.

“I think very highly of you. Very highly. How could I not? You are…

beautiful and innocent and sweet. I don’t like seeing you crawling on floors as if you were an animal or a fucking slave. Leave the bloody glass where it is — I don’t care. Do you remember the self-deprecating words you said to me when I took you home after The Vestibule? Those words have haunted me. So have mercy on me and stop denigrating yourself. I can’t take it.”

He cleared his throat, twice. “I don’t remember everything that happened with Miss Peterson, but I apologize. I was a fool, and you came to my rescue. Thank you. ”

He slowly adjusted his glasses. “What happened last night cannot happen again. I apologize for kissing you. I’m sure that was a disgusting experience, some slobbering drunk putting his mouth all over you. Forgive me.”

The air left Julia’s body in a loud gasp. Gabriel’s apology hurt. For from the sound of it, he didn’t remember the kiss the way she did. And that upset her, greatly.

“Oh, that,” she said coolly. “I’d forgotten all about it. It was nothing.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. For some reason, his expression darkened and he frowned. “Nothing? It was a good deal more than nothing.” He stared for a moment or two, wondering if he should bring up the note she left on his tray.

“You’re upset. I’m still drunk. Let’s end this before it escalates any further.” His voice was clipped and suddenly cold. “Good-bye, Miss Mitchell.”

He unlocked the door and held it open.

“Gabriel?” She paused once she entered the hallway, turning to look up at him.

“Yes?”

“I need to tell you something.”

“Proceed.” He sounded grim.

“Paulina cal ed last night, while you were — unavailable. And I answered the phone.”

He removed his glasses and began rubbing his eyes. “Shit. What did she say?”

“She called me a slut and told me to roll you over and hand you the phone. I said you were indisposed.”

“Did she say why she was calling?”

“No.”

“Did you tell her who you are? Your name?”

Julia shook her head.

“Thank God,” he muttered.

She frowned. She’d expected him to apologize for Paulina. But he didn’t. In fact, he seemed entirely unfazed by her behavior, as if he were more concerned about Julia upsetting her than the other way round.

She must be his mistress.

Julia fixed him with a stony gaze, as her body began to vibrate with anger. “You begged me to come after you — to look for you in Hell. That’s exactly where I found you. And you can stay there forever, for all I care.”

He stepped back, replacing his glasses, his eyes narrowing into slits.

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. I’m done, Professor Emerson.” She turned on her heel and walked to the elevator.

Confused, he watched her walk away, his thoughts hazy and unfocused.

After a moment he jogged after her. “Why did you write that ridiculous note?”

She felt as if he’d stabbed a dagger into her heart. She straightened her shoulders and tried to steady her voice. “What note?”

“You know damned well what note! The note you left in my fridge.”

Julia shrugged dramatically.

He grabbed her elbow and spun her around. “Is this a game to you?”

“Of course not! Let me go.” She pulled her arm away from him and began punching the down button for the elevator, willing it to come to her rescue. She was humiliated and angry, feeling silly and oh so small. She couldn’t get away from him fast enough, even if she ran down the stairs.

He moved a step closer. “Why did you sign the note the way you did?”

“Why do you care?”

He heard the elevator approaching and knew that he had mere seconds to get answers to his questions. He closed his eyes, her previous words thundering in his ears. She looked for him in Hell. He’d begged the brown-eyed angel to come looking for him. Of course, she hadn’t. Hallucinations don’t respond to begging.

What if Beatrice wasn’t a hallucination? What if… He felt something like fear begin to creep across his skin. Once again, the impossible floated before his eyes. If he concentrated, he could see her in his memory, but her face was blurry.

The ringing of a bell signaled the arrival of the elevator.

His eyes snapped open.

She stepped through the open door and shook her head at him, at his confusion, and at the intoxication that still swam in his eyes. Everything hinged on this. She could tell him or she could keep secret what happened between them just as she always had. Just as she had for six fucking years.

As the door slowly began to close, she saw a wave of realization wash over him.

“Beatrice?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said, moving so she could maintain eye contact with him until the last possible second. “I’m Beatrice. You were my first kiss. I fell asleep in your arms in your precious orchard.”

Gabriel sprang forward to stop the elevator door from closing. “Beatrice! Wait!”

He was too late. The door closed at the sound of her name. He pressed the button furiously, hoping to reopen the doors.

“I’m not Beatrice anymore.” As the elevator began its slow but unstop-pable descent, Julia burst into tears.

Gabriel pressed his forehead and palms against the cold steel of the elevator door.

What have I done?

Old Mr. Krangel looked out his peephole into the hallway and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He’d heard voices, a man and a woman arguing, but couldn’t see anyone. He’d even heard a name — Beatrice. But he was unaware of any tenant called Beatrice on the floor. And now the hall appeared to be empty.

He’d already ventured out once that morning; he’d had to return his anonymous neighbor’s Saturday paper, which had been delivered to his door by mistake. The Krangels didn’t take the Saturday paper, but Mrs. Krangel suffered from dementia and had picked it up and hid it in the apartment the day before.