Julia began to tap her notebook with her pen just loud enough to be distracting. When Gabriel’s narrowed eyes darted around to look for the noise and landed on her left hand, she slid her right hand closer to Paul and gave his hand a squeeze. He looked over at her with a heart-melting smile, and she gazed up into his eyes through her eyelashes. She parted her lips, exposing her teeth, and gave Paul the loveliest, sweetest smile she could muster.

A half-groan, half-cough from the front of the room caused Paul to rip his eyes away from her and stare straight at the very angry face of Professor Emerson. Paul withdrew his hand from Julia’s immediately.

Smirking now, and still continuing his lecture without fumbling a word, Gabriel began to write on the board. More than one graduate student reacted in shock when they saw what he had written: In real life, Beatrice was only too happy to leave Dante in Hell because she couldn’t be bothered to keep her promise.

Julia was the last person to look up because she was still huffing about what had just happened. By the time she saw the board, Gabriel was leaning his back against it with his arms folded and a very smug expression on his face. Julia determined then and there that even if he had her expelled, that smug expression was going to be wiped off his face. Immediately.

She put her hand up and waited until he called on her. “That’s really arrogant and self-serving, Professor.”

Paul tightened his fingers on her arm, slightly tugging at her. “Are you crazy?” he whispered.

Julia ignored him and continued. “Why blame Beatrice? She’s the victim in all of this. Dante met her when she was under eighteen. It wasn’t possible for them to be together, unless he’s a pedophile. Are you telling us that Dante is a pedophile, Professor?”

One of the female students gasped.

Gabriel scowled. “Of course not! He has true affection for her, and this affection is undiminished even during their separation. If she had ever had the courage to ask him, he would have told her that. Unequivocally.”

Julia moved her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. “That’s a bit difficult to believe. Everything in Dante’s later life seems to revolve around sex. He can’t relate to women in any other way. And he’s certainly not sitting at home alone on Friday and Saturday nights waiting for Beatrice. So he must not have cared for her.”

Gabriel’s face grew very red, and he unfolded his arms, taking a step in her direction. Paul immediately put his hand up, trying to distract The Professor, but Gabriel ignored him and came a step closer.

“He is a man, after al, and needs…uh…companionship. And if it makes it any more palatable, those women were just helpful friends. Nothing more. His draw to Beatrice is undiminished. He simply despaired of waiting for her, since it was obvious that he was never going to see her again. And that’s her fault, not his.”

She smiled sweetly as she prepared her knife. “If that’s affection, I’ll take hatred. And just what were these friends so helpful with, Professor?

Hmmmm? They’re not friends — they’re pelvic affiliates. Wouldn’t a friend want the other person to have a good life? A happy life? And not be clawing after fleeting pleasure like a randy old sex addict?”

Julia saw Gabriel wince, but she ignored his reaction and plowed ahead. “It’s commonly known that Dante’s dalliances were anonymous and tawdry. He tended to pick up women at the meat market, I believe, and when he was finished, he simply threw them away. That doesn’t sound like someone who would appeal to Beatrice. Not to mention the fact that he has a mistress named Paulina.”

Immediately, ten pairs of eyes swung inquisitively to Julia. She flushed a deep red but continued, somewhat flustered. “I–I found something once by a woman from Philadelphia who unearthed evidence of their relationship. If Beatrice lacked affection for Dante and rejected him later in life, it was completely justified. Dante was a self-absorbed, cruel, and arrogant man-whore who treated women like toys for his own personal amusement.”

Now at this point, both Christa and Paul were wondering what in the holy hell had just happened to their Dante seminar, for neither of them knew anything about a female Dante expert from Philadelphia or a mistress named Paulina. They silently pledged to spend more time in the library from now on.

Gabriel glared at the back of the room. “I believe I’m somewhat familiar with the woman you’re talking about, but she isn’t from Philadelphia. She’s from some podunk village in rural Pennsylvania. And she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, so she should refrain from pronouncing judgment.”

Julia’s cheeks flamed. “That’s an ad hominem objection. Her place of origin doesn’t diminish her credibility. And Dante and his family were from a podunk village too. Not that Dante would ever admit it.”

Gabriel’s shoulders shook slightly as he tried to control himself. “I’d hardly call the Florence of the fourteenth century podunk. And with respect to the mistress, that’s just shoddy research. In fact, I’ll go further. That woman’s head is filled with nothing more than appalling rubbish, and she doesn’t have a shred of evidence for her conjectures.”

“I wouldn’t dismiss her evidence out of hand, Professor, unless you’re prepared to discuss it in detail. And you haven’t given us an argument, just an abusive attack,” she countered, arching an eyebrow at him and trembling slightly.

Paul took her hand underneath the table and squeezed. “Stop,” he whispered, so low only she could hear. “Right now.”

Gabriel’s face reddened again, and he began to breathe through his mouth. “If that woman wanted to know how Dante truly felt about Beatrice, she knew where to find the answer. Then she wouldn’t be shooting her mouth off about things she knew absolutely nothing about. And making herself and Dante look ridiculous. In public.”

Christa looked from Professor Emerson to Julia and back again. Something wasn’t right. Something was definitely wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She was determined to find out.

Gabriel turned back to the board and began writing, trying to calm himself down:

Dante thought it was a dream.

“The language that Dante uses about his first meeting with Beatrice has a dreamlike quality. For various — ah — personal reasons, he doesn’t trust his senses. He’s not sure who she is. In fact, one theory is that Dante thought Beatrice was an angel.

“So later in life, Beatrice is completely out of order in assuming that he remembered everything from their first meeting and in holding that fact against him and not giving him the opportunity to explain himself.

Clearly, if he thought that Beatrice was an angel, he would have no hope that she would return.

“Dante would have explained all of this to her, if she hadn’t rejected him before he had the chance. So once again, her lack of clarity on this point is her fault. Not his.”

Christa’s hand shot up, and Gabriel reluctantly nodded at her, growing very tense as he waited for her to speak.

But Julia spoke first. “The discussion of their first meeting is patently irrelevant, since Dante must have recognized her when he saw her the second time, dream or not. So why did he pretend not to?”

“He wasn’t pretending. She was familiar to him, but she was all grown up, he was confused, and he was upset about other things in life.” Gabriel’s voice grew pained.

“I’m sure that’s what he told himself so he could sleep at night, when he wasn’t on an alcoholic bender in the lobbies of downtown Florence.”

“Julia, that’s enough.” Paul raised his voice above a whisper.

Christa was about to interject something when Gabriel held out his hand to silence her.