“You’re Beatrice.”
“Beatrice?”
“Dante’s Beatrice.”
Julia flushed. “I don’t know who that is.”
Gabriel chuckled to himself, his breath warm against her face as he nuzzled her ear with his nose. “Didn’t they tell you? Didn’t they tell you the prodigal son is writing his book on Dante and Beatrice?”
When Julia didn’t answer, he brought his lips to the top of her head and brushed a gentle kiss against her hair. “Dante was a poet. Beatrice was his muse. He met her when she was very young, and he loved her from afar his whole life. Beatrice was his guide through Paradise.”
Julia’s eyes were closed as she listened to his voice, inhaling the scent that clung to his skin. He smelled of musk and sweat and beer, but Julia ignored those distractions and focused on the scent that was Gabriel, something very masculine and potentially dangerous.
“There’s a painting by an artist named Holiday. You look like his Beatrice.” Gabriel reached down and brought her pale fingers to his lips, kissing her skin reverently.
“Your family loves you. You should make up with them.” Julia’s own words surprised her, but he only pulled her in more closely.
“They aren’t my family. Not really. And it’s too late anyway, Beatrice.”
Julia started at the name and realized that the beer had definitely caught up with him. But she didn’t move her head from resting on his shoulder.
A short while later he was rubbing his hand up and down her arm, trying to attract her attention.
“You haven’t had your dinner.”
She shook her head. “No, I haven’t.”
“Shall I feed you?”
Though it made her sad to do so, she lifted her head from his shoulder.
He smiled at her and walked over to one of the remaining apple trees. He studied the boughs of hanging fruit and chose the largest, ripest red apple before picking a smaller one. He put the smaller one in his pocket as he walked back to her.
“Beatrice.” He smiled and handed her the apple.
Julia stared at it entranced, as if it were a treasure.
Gabriel laughed and moved his hands, extending the fruit in his right palm, the way a child would hold a sugar cube to a pony. Julia took the apple and brought it immediately to her lips, taking a firm bite.
He watched her chew; he watched her swallow. Then in silent satisfaction, he resumed his former position, his arm tight around her waist. He pressed her head gently to his shoulder and began eating the smaller apple that he had hidden in his pocket.
They sat very still as the sun set, and just before the orchard was covered in darkness, Gabriel took the blanket from under Julia’s arm and spread it like a bed on the grass.
“Come, Beatrice.” He held his hand out to her.
Julia knew it would be a very foolish thing to take his hand and to sit with him on the blanket. But she didn’t care. She’d developed a crush on him the first time Rachel had shown his photograph to her, and Julia had stolen it. Now that he was here, real, breathing, alive, in flesh, all she could do was take his hand.
“Have you ever lain next to a boy and looked up at the stars?” He pulled her down to the blanket and watched her as they lay on their backs.
“No.”
Gabriel threaded his fingers through hers and placed the connection that was theirs on top of his heart. She could feel it beating slowly beneath her touch, and she took comfort in its steady rhythm.
“You’re beautiful, Beatrice. Like a brown-eyed angel.”
Julia turned her head so she could look at him and smiled. “I think you’re beautiful.” She shyly began to run her fingers along his jaw, marveling at the way the stubble felt under her hand.
He smiled at her touch and closed his eyes. She traced his features gently for a long time, until her arm began to grow tired.
He opened his eyes. “Thank you.”
Julia smiled and squeezed his hand, feeling his heart leap at her movement.
“Have you ever been kissed by a boy?”
She blushed deeply and shook her head.
“Then I’m glad I’m your first.” Gabriel propped himself up on his side and leaned over. His eyes shone gently, and he smiled down at her.
Julia managed to close her eyes before his perfect mouth found hers.
She floated.
Gabriel’s lips were warm and inviting, and he spread them over her mouth carefully, as if he were worried he might bruise her. Not knowing how to kiss and still slightly wary, Julia kept her mouth closed. Gabriel brought his hand up to cup the curve of her cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb as his lips moved softly over hers.
This kiss was not what she expected.
She had expected him to be careless or slightly rough. She had expected his kiss to be desperate and urgent and perhaps for his fingertips to trail along her skin and down her body to places she wasn’t ready to let him touch. But he kept his hands where they were, one caressing the small of her back and the other at her cheek. His kiss was tender and sweet — the kind of kiss she imagined a lover giving his beloved after a long absence.
Gabriel kissed Julia as if he knew her, as if she belonged to him. His kiss was passionate and full of emotion, as if every fiber of his being had melted and spread itself on his lips only to be given to her. Her heart skidded in her chest at the thought. She had never dared to hope for such a first kiss. Somehow, as the pressure of his lips lessened, she felt like bursting into tears, knowing that she’d never be kissed like that again. He’d ruined her for anyone else. Forever.