“No kitchen? What the hell?”
“The girl is as poor as a church mouse. Not to mention the fact that she carries around this loathsome excuse for a book bag. Spend all the money on buying her a decent briefcase, I don’t care. But do something. Because if I see that knapsack one more time, I’m going to burn it.”
Gabriel raked his hands through his chestnut hair and finally kept them there, hunching his tall frame over the breakfast bar. With the power of perception only possessed by a sister, Rachel regarded him carefully. Gabriel appeared to be the ideal poker player: impassive, unemotional, cold.
Oh, so very cold. Not merely cool, like a breeze, or water from a stream in the autumn, but cold. Cold like a rock against your skin in the shade of the setting sun. Rachel believed that his coldness was his worst character flaw — his ability to say and do things without regard for the feelings of others, including his family.
Despite his failings, Gabriel was her favorite. And as the baby of the family and ten years younger, she was his favorite too. He’d never fought with her the way he’d fought with Scott or their father. He’d always and only protected her — loved her, even. At his worst, there was no possibility of Gabriel intentionally hurting Rachel. She’d only been hurt by watching him hurt everyone else. Especially himself.
She knew that upon closer inspection Gabriel would make a lousy poker player. He had too many tells, too many ways he revealed his inner turmoil. He shut his eyes when he was close to losing his temper. He rubbed his face when he was frustrated. He paced when he was distressed or afraid.
Rachel watched him begin to pace and wondered what he was afraid of.
“Why are you so worried about her? You weren’t that friendly when she was here for dinner. You won’t call her Julia. ”
“She’s my student. I have to be professional.”
“Professionally mean?”
Gabriel stood still and scowled.
“Fine. I’ll take the money for Julia, and I’ll buy her a briefcase. But I’d rather buy her shoes.”
Gabriel sat back on his bar stool. “Shoes?”
“Yes. What if we were to buy her something to wear? She likes pretty things, she just can’t afford them. And she’s cute, don’t you think?”
Gabriel twitched beneath his gray wool trousers. He brought his thighs closer together to hide the disturbing fact from his sister.
“Spend the money on whatever you like, but you must replace the book bag.”
“Good! I’ll buy her something fabulous. But I’ll probably need more money…and we should take her somewhere special so she can show off her new clothes.” Rachel batted her eyes playfully at her older brother.
Without argument or negotiation, he removed a business card from his wallet, picked up his Montblanc fountain pen, and slowly unscrewed the cap.
“Do normal people still use those kinds of pens, or just medievalists?”
She leaned over inquisitively. “I’m surprised you’re not using a quill.”
Gabriel frowned. “This is a Meisterstuck 149 ,” he said, as if that should mean something.
Rachel rolled her eyes as he used his sparkling eighteen karat gold nib to write a brief note on the back of his business card in a confident but old-fashioned hand. Her brother was beyond pretentious.
“There.” He slid the business card across the counter. “I have an account at Holt Renfrew. Show this to the concierge, and he will direct you to Hilary, my personal shopper. She’ll place everything on my account. Don’t go completely mad, Rachel, and you can keep the cash for yourself. Happy Birthday, six months in advance.”
She leaned over to press a light kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. What’s Holt Renfrew?”
“The Canadian Saks Fifth Avenue — they have everything. But you must replace the book bag. That’s all I care about. The rest are just…inconsequential details.” His voice sounded gruff all of a sudden.
“Fine. But I want you to explain why you’re so agitated about an L. L.
Bean knapsack. All the undergrads had one. I had one, for crying out loud.
Before I grew up and discovered Longchamp.”
“I don’t know.” Gabriel removed his glasses and began rubbing his eyes.
“Hmmm. Should I add lingerie to my shopping list? Do you like her — like her?” Rachel grinned annoyingly.
He snorted. “How old are we, Rachel? Remember, she’s my student.
It isn’t about romance — it’s about penance.”
“Penance?”
“Penance. For sin. My sin.”
Rachel snorted. “You really are medieval. What sin have you committed against Julia? Apart from being a jackass! You don’t even know her…”
He replaced his glasses, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He was twitching at the mere thought of sin and Miss Mitchell. Together. In the same room. With him. And nothing else…except perhaps a pair of couture stilettos…which he could finally touch…
“Gabriel? I’m waiting.”
“I don’t need to confess my sins to you, Rachel. I just need to atone for them.” He snatched the magazine out of her hand.
She set her teeth. “How good is your French? And your knowledge of women’s fashion?”
Gabriel glanced down to find the magazine open to a photo of an airbrushed and spread-eagled model wearing a très petite white bikini. His eyes widened.