“I remember.”
“There’s nothing sexier than having the woman you love fix your tie.” He took her hands in his. “We’ve come a long way since that first night.”
She reached up to kiss him, taking care not to sully his masculine mouth with her lipstick.
He brought his lips to her ear. “I don’t know how I’m going to keep the Florentine men at bay this evening. You’ll have to stay very close to me.”
Julia squealed as he put his arms around her, lifting her so he could kiss her properly, which required Julia to reapply her lipstick and both of them to check their appearance in the mirror before they left their room.
Gabriel held her hand during the short walk to the Uffizi and even after they were whisked to the second floor by a rather pudgy gentleman wearing a paisley bow tie who introduced himself as Lorenzo, Dottore Vitali’s personal assistant.
“Professore, I’m afraid we have need of you.” Lorenzo glanced between Gabriel and Julia, his eyes darting to their conjoined hands.
Gabriel tightened his grip.
“It’s for the—how you say—on the screen? PowerPoint?” Lorenzo gestured to the room behind them where guests were already congregating.
“Miss Mitchell has a reserved seat,” said Gabriel pointedly, irritated that Lorenzo was ignoring her.
“Yes, Professore. I shall accompany your fidanzata personally.” Lorenzo nodded respectfully in Julia’s direction.
She opened her mouth to correct his characterization, but Gabriel pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, murmuring a promise against her skin. Then he was gone, and Julia was escorted to her place of honor in the front row.
She took in her surroundings, noting the presence of what looked like members of Florence’s glitterati mingling with academics and local dignitaries. She smoothed the skirt of her dress, enjoying the whispering sound of the taffeta beneath her fingers. Given the appearance of the other guests, along with the presence of a bevy of photographers, she was glad that she was well-dressed. She didn’t want to embarrass Gabriel on this most important occasion.
The lecture was being delivered in the Botticelli room, which was devoted to the finest of his works. In fact, the lectern was situated in between the Birth of Venus and the Madonna of the Pomegranate, while Primavera hung to the audience’s right. The artwork on the wall to the audience’s left had been removed, and a large screen had been hung, on which Gabriel’s PowerPoint slides would be projected.
She knew how unusual it was to have a lecture in such a special space and silently said a prayer of thanks for this incredible blessing. When she’d spent her junior year in Florence she’d visited the Botticelli room at least once a week and sometimes more often. She found his art both soothing and inspiring. As a shy American undergraduate, she never would have imagined that, two years later, she would be accompanying a world-renowned Dante specialist as he lectured in that very room. She felt as if she’d won the lottery a thousand times over.
More than one hundred people crowded into the room, some even spilling into the standing area at the back. Julia watched Gabriel as he was introduced to various important looking guests. He was a very attractive man, tall and ruggedly handsome. She especially admired his glasses and the way his sleek, dark suit fit perfectly.
When he was blocked from her view by other people, she focused her attention on picking out his voice. He chatted amiably, switching seamlessly from Italian to French to German and back to Italian again.
(Even his German was sexy.)
She grew warm as she remembered what Gabriel looked like under his suit, his form naked and strained above her. She wondered if he was having similar thoughts whenever he looked at her, and in the midst of her private musings, he made eye contact and winked. His momentary display of playfulness put her in mind of their interlude on the terrace that morning, and a pleasant tremor traveled up and down her spine.
Gabriel sat politely through Dottore Vitali’s introduction, which took no less than fifteen minutes as he painstakingly rehearsed the professor’s accomplishments. To the casual observer, Gabriel appeared relaxed, almost bored. His nervousness was telegraphed by the way he unconsciously shuffled his lecture notes, notes that were merely an outline to the remarks that would come from his heart. He’d made a few last minute changes to his lecture. He couldn’t speak of muses, love, and beauty without acknowledging the brown-eyed angel who’d bravely given herself to him the evening before. She was his inspiration, and she’d been so since she was seventeen. Her quiet beauty and generous goodness had touched his heart. He’d carried her image with him as a talisman against the dark demons of addiction. She was everything to him, and by God, he’d say so publicly.
After much flattery and applause, he took his place behind the podium and addressed the crowd in fluid Italian. “My lecture this evening will be somewhat unusual. I am not an art historian, yet I will be speaking to you about Sandro Botticelli’s muse, La Bella Simonetta.” At this, his eyes sought Julia’s.
She smiled, trying to suppress the blush that threatened her cheeks. She knew the story of Botticelli and Simonetta Vespucci. Simonetta was referred to as the Queen of Beauty in the court of Florence, prior to her death at the tender age of twenty-two. To be compared to Simonetta by Gabriel was very high praise, indeed.
“I am tackling this controversial topic as a professor of literature, choosing Botticelli’s artwork as a representation of various female archetypes. Historically speaking, there have been many debates as to how close Simonetta was to Botticelli and to what degree she was the actual inspiration for his paintings. I hope to skirt some of those disagreements in order to focus your attention on a straightforward visual comparison of a few figures.