Gabriel's Rapture Reynard, Sylvain (literature books to read TXT) 📖

As she took one last look at the empty hangers in the closet, she contemplated taking her clothes with her but only for an instant. Strangely enough, they no longer felt as if they were hers.

A few minutes later, she was waiting for the elevator, feeling battered and bruised. Her nose began to run as she wiped away a few tears. A hasty search of her pockets yielded no Kleenex, only lint. This made her tears fall faster.

“Here,” a voice at her elbow said, holding out a man’s handkerchief.

Julia took it gratefully, noticing the embroidered initials S.I.R. on it. She wiped her eyes and attempted to return it, but a pair of hands made a motion of refusal.

“My mother is always giving me handkerchiefs. I have dozens.”

She looked up into kind brown eyes that were partially hidden behind a pair of rimless spectacles and recognized one of Gabriel’s neighbors. He was wearing a heavy wool coat and a navy beret.

(Which, because of his age and heterosexuality could only be explained by the fact that he was French Canadian.)

When the elevator arrived, he politely held the door open for her before following her inside.

“Is something wrong? Can I help?” His lightly accented voice cut through her haze.

“Gabriel is gone.”

“Yes, I ran into him while he was on his way out.” The neighbor frowned at the tears that were still welling up in Julia’s eyes. “Didn’t he tell you? I thought you were his —” He looked at her expectantly.

Julia shook her head. “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

They were both silent as the elevator continued its descent to the ground floor. Once again, when the door opened, he held it for her.

She turned to him. “Do you know where he went?”

The neighbor accompanied her to the lobby. “No. I’m afraid I didn’t ask. He was in quite a state, you see.” The neighbor leaned closer and dropped his voice. “He reeked of Scotch and was extremely cross. Not in the mood to chat.”

Julia smiled a watery smile. “Thanks. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“It isn’t a bother. I’m guessing he didn’t tell you he was leaving.”

“No.” She wiped her face with his handkerchief once again.

The neighbor began muttering something about Gabriel in French. Something that sounded a good deal like cochon.

“I could deliver a message for you, when he returns,” the neighbor offered. “He tends to drop by my apartment when he runs out of milk.”

Julia was quiet for a moment, then she swallowed hard. “Just tell him that he broke my heart.”

The neighbor gave her a reluctant, pained nod before taking his leave of her.

Julia walked outside into the bracing wind and began her long walk home, alone.

Chapter 28

Several hours after the hearing, Gabriel sat in his apartment shrouded in darkness. The only light visible came from the blue and orange flames that flickered in his fireplace. He was surrounded by her. Completely surrounded by her memory and her ghost.

Closing his eyes, he swore he could smell her scent or hear her laughter echoing down the hall. His bedroom had become like a shrine, which was why he was sitting in front of the fire.

He couldn’t bear to look at the large black and white photographs of the two of them. Especially the one that hung over his bed—Julianne in all of her magnificence, lying on her stomach with her naked back exposed, partially wrapped in a sheet, gazing up at him in adoration with sex-mussed hair and a sweet, sated smile…

In every room he had a memory of her—some of them joyous and others bittersweet, like dark, dark chocolate. He stalked to the dining room and poured himself two fingers’ worth of his very best Scotch and downed it quickly, relishing the burning sensation as it stung his throat. He tried desperately not to think about Julia standing in front of him, jabbing an angry finger into his chest.

“You’re supposed to love me, Gabriel. You’re supposed to support me when I decide to stand up for myself. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do? And instead, you cut a deal with them and dump me?”

At the memory of the look of betrayal in her eyes, Gabriel threw his empty glass at the wall, watching it shatter and fall to the floor. Shards of crystal like jagged icicles scattered over the hardwood, glimmering in the firelight.

He knew what he had to do; he simply needed the courage in order to do it. Grabbing the bottle, he walked reluctantly to the bedroom. Two more swallows and he was able to throw his suitcase on the bed. He didn’t bother to fold his clothes. He barely cared about taking the essentials.

He thought about what it was like to be banished. About Odysseus’s tears at being so far away from home, from his wife, from his people. Now Gabriel understood exile.

When he was finished, he placed the framed photograph from atop his dresser in his briefcase. Stroking a tender finger over the face of his beloved, he downed more Scotch before staggering to the study.

He ignored the red velvet wing chair, for if he turned to look at it, he would see her, curled up like a cat, reading a book. She’d worry her lower lip between her teeth, her adorable eyebrows scrunched in thought. Had any man ever loved, adored, worshipped a woman more?

None but Dante, he thought. And he was seized by a sudden inspiration.

He unlocked one of the drawers of his desk. This was the memory drawer. Maia’s picture was there, along with the scant remnants of his childhood—his grandfather’s pocket watch, some jewelry that belonged to his mother, her diary, and a few old photographs. He removed a photograph and an illustration before locking the drawer again, placing the items in his pocket. Pausing only to open a black velvet box and withdraw a ring, he headed for the door.

The chill in the Toronto air sobered Gabriel as he walked