Chapter 69
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Cleo
On Tuesday morning, Gabriel and I had just finished breakfast on the deck when my lawyer’s office called.
In the excitement of reuniting with Gabriel and the avalanche of emotions that had entailed, I’d forgotten all about our impending divorce.
But apparently the “Defendant” had failed to sign and return the summons by the specified deadline so now it was being treated as an uncontested divorce, which would make the whole process swift and pain-free. The next step was to get onto the court’s calendar.
“Thank you for calling but a court date won’t be necessary,” I said, watching Gabriel as he looked up from his notebook. “I’ve decided to drop the divorce case.”
When I cut the call, Gabriel set down his pen. “Does this mean you’ll stay married to me?” he asked, his expression a mix of hope and vulnerability.
It reminded me so much of the day he proposed.
“Yes,” I said with a smile. “We’re staying married. I mean, if that’s what you still want,” I added.
“If that’s what I still want?” he asked incredulously. “That was never in question.” He snorted. “I burned the divorce papers.”
“You burned them?”
“Set them on fire and flushed the ashes.”
“Oh my god, Gabriel!” I howled with laughter. “That’s crazy.”
Then we were both out of our seats, lunging for each other. We collided and so did our mouths.
“We need to celebrate,” Gabriel said.
He was beaming. I wish I had a photo of him at this very moment.
I found myself nodding in agreement but quickly caught myself before I got too carried away in the excitement.
One of the pitfalls of earning your living from your art was that you actually had to produce the work and, in our case, meet a strict deadline.
“It’ll have to wait until we get our work done. This is crunch time,” I reminded him.
“Right.” He sighed. “I’m just so fucking happy.”
“Me too.” I felt downright giddy. The past four days had been a whirlwind of reconnecting and making up for lost time. There had been a lot of sex, including one memorable night of skinny-dipping in the moonlight.
“I still can’t believe you burned the papers though.”
“I had hope that you’d change your mind. But honestly? I didn’t even want to read those papers. I couldn’t face the possibility of losing you for good,” he admitted.
Knowing everything I knew now made me doubly regret my actions.
I’d been so busy blaming him for leaving, but I’d let him down too by giving up on us.
I wrapped my arms around him and offered an overdue apology. “It was a shitty thing for me to do. I’m so sorry I did that to you. I should have made more of an effort to talk to you. I should have come out here and spoken to you face-to-face instead of blindsiding you?—”
“Hey. It’s done.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. I probably would have done the same thing if I were in your shoes. I understand why you did it, but it’s in the past now so we can let it go, right?”
There were a lot of things we needed to let go. I was working on that. “Yeah, we can let it go.”
“All right, let’s focus on our work,” he said with a sigh as he reluctantly pulled away. “On Thursday, we’ll celebrate.”
“Okay.” I smiled. “Time to break out the power tools. Nothing like a little blow torching to start the day off right,” I called over my shoulder as I sauntered away, putting a little extra sway in my hips.
“And don’t get me started on the joys of using a power sander to really penetrate all the deep layers. ” I moaned like I was having an orgasm.
Gabriel groaned. “Stop torturing me, woman.”
I laughed. I don’t know what was so sexy about me using power tools, but it really got him going.
I spun around and walked backward. He was still standing on the deck watching me go.
“Get to work!” I yelled. “If you’re good, I’ll suck your dick later.”
That got him moving. He was off the deck in a flash.
I finished on Wednesday evening as the last streaks of sherbet-hued sunlight cast a warm glow on the studio.
Whenever I finished a piece of art, I got a rush of endorphins, but this time it was ten-fold because I’d created this piece in Gabriel’s studio in Montauk after years of separation.
When I began this piece, our relationship was still in chaos. As I’d progressed, our status had fluctuated. Hurt. Anger. Fear. Sadness. Joy. Love. It was all reflected in my art.
Otis appeared at my side, wagging his tail. I gave him one of the treats I kept in my pocket for whenever he paid me a visit.
“Good boy.” I crouched in front of him and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Who’s a good boy?” I loved this dog so damn much. “Otis!” His ears perked up like he was really listening.
Sudden inspiration struck. I ripped off a piece of paper from my sketchpad and wrote a note in Sharpie then folded it into a paper airplane and tucked it under Otis’ collar.
“Where’s Gabriel?” Otis cocked his head. “Go get Gabriel,” I said, clapping my hands and using the excited tone you used with small children or dogs when you wanted them to do something for you.
I gave him a little nudge out the door. “Go get Gabriel. You can do it, boy. I have faith in you.”
Otis looked over his shoulder then ran through the garden.
Hopefully, my furry friend understood the mission.
A little while later, I saw Gabriel walking toward the studio.
I threw a sheet over my art and shimmied out of my shorts then pulled my T-shirt over my head and tossed it on the floor.
I had the sudden thought that maybe I was making it too easy for him, but the thought vanished as soon as he walked through the door.
His heated gaze roamed over my body, and my skin flushed with heat as I plastered myself against the wall, one arm flung over my head in a dramatic display as I beckoned him to come closer with my other hand.
Nina Simone was singing “I Put a Spell on You” as he stalked toward me.
I put my hand on his chest to stop him from getting any closer.
“You better stop your fooling around,” I said, shaking my index finger at him. “This girl won’t stand for any of that lyin’ or cheatin’ or puttin’ me down.” My tongue glided over my lips. I removed my hand from his chest and ran it down my body.
“Oh baby, I will give it all up for you,” Gabriel said, caging me in his arms and leaning in. “You know why?”
I gave him a coy smile and fluttered my lashes. “Because you’re mine.”
“Because I’m yours.” He trailed a finger down my chest and traced the demi-cup of my bra. “Come and see the art,” he said, repeating the message I’d sent. “ You are the art.”
“You’re pretty easy on the eyes yourself,” I said. “Have you been working hard ?” My gaze dipped to his fly.
“ Too hard.” He pressed his body flush against mine, confirming his answer.
“What do you think we should do about that?”
“I don’t know.” He pinned my wrists to the wall with one hand and cupped my breast in the other, tugging my nipple between his teeth through the fabric of my bra. My breathing got shallow. I was already so wet. “Maybe you can kiss it better.”
“Or maybe you could just fuck me like a rock star. I like it rough,” I said, freeing my hands and unbuttoning his shorts. I wrapped my hand around him and squeezed, rubbing my thumb over the slit. “Quick and dirty.”
Gabriel didn’t need much more incentive than that. He grabbed my wrist, twisting me around, and with his palm firmly on my back, he bent me over the drafting table.
I pressed my cheek against the wood, my pulse quickening.
He took his time. His fingers hooking into the sides of my panties and sliding them down my legs. His hands gliding up my thighs.
I heard him taking off his shorts, casting them aside. He gripped the small of my waist and slid inside, filling me.
Then he pulled out, waiting a moment, teasing me before gliding in again. Smoother. Deeper.
When he pulled out again, I lifted my head to glare at him. He laughed, and then without warning, he drove his dick into me so hard and so fast that I couldn’t breathe for a few seconds.
“Too much?” he said, gripping my hips and withdrawing only to slam into me again.
I grabbed the edges of the table and clenched around him. “Never too much.”
All I could hear was skin slapping against skin. Nina Simone’s voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a tunnel. The studio looked dreamlike, infused with pink light.
Gabriel’s hand was in my hair, yanking my head up. He slid his arm around my ribs, his fingers stroking my clit while he thrust faster, harder, deeper.
His scent pervaded my senses. Woodsy. Spicy. The musk of a boy. I could feel his sweat on my back and his warm breath on my neck and I wanted to weep with happiness.
I loved him. I loved him. I loved him.
A strange thought, perhaps, when you were being fucked from behind on a drafting table, but it was enough to come undone.
Afterward, when he’d collapsed on top of me, he laced his fingers through mine and whispered in my ear, “I love you.”
Gabriel said it all the time now, but I had yet to say the words.
“May I?” Gabriel gestured to the sheet over the canvas.
“You can do anything you want,” I said. I could still feel his semen seeping out of me, dripping between my thighs.
I moved to his side as he whipped the sheet off the canvas with a flick of the wrist, unveiling my art. He dropped the sheet to the floor and moved in closer, studying every detail like he was searching for buried treasure.
I didn’t have to ask Gabriel what he thought of it. The answer was written on his face. Pure, unadulterated love and admiration mingled with awe. It was the kind of look he gave me when he was in the throes of passion.
“Our street?” He gestured to the cityscape at the bottom of the canvas.
I loved how he called it “our” street. It could be any street on the Lower East Side—a row of tenement buildings with fire escapes—but it was ours.
I nodded, watching from the corner of my eye as his gaze swept over the canvas. Music notes, words, and swirls of paint soared above the rooftops in a frenetic dance of color and light and pulsing energy.
Dozens of hands emerged, reaching, as if they were putting the stars into the night sky. His hands. My hands. In black, brown, umber, bronze, sand, ivory, alabaster.
The piece was still chaotic, but so was life, and when I’d sanded down the layers of paint and sketches and found objects, I discovered the meaning in the chaos.
Gabriel read the words under his breath. “GRIEF: the measure of how well we have loved. LOVE: the antidote.”
He moved farther down the canvas and tilted his head. “HUMAN KIND : Are we all not made of stardust? A UNIVERSE. Infinite. Luminous. Explosive. We light the sky with the fire in our souls.”
I told Gabriel that I was donating my hundred grand commission to an AIDS foundation that supported marginalized communities.
He turned to me, and the look on his face made me feel like the Madonna incarnate. “You are a wonder, Cleo Babington. Let’s double it. Call it two hundred grand.”
What a man. What a man.
“You’re a wonder, too, Gabriel Francis.” My voice was hushed like we were in a church. Like this moment was sacred. And it was.
This was the exact moment when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was all in. No holding back. No second-guessing. Right here in this studio in the fading light.
My God. He was so beautiful. So precious to me. With his messy dark hair touching the collar of his faded blue T-shirt and his crooked grin and deep brown eyes.
I pushed a lock of hair off his forehead, my fingers brushing over his skin because I could. His eyes drifted shut and a soft sigh escaped his lips as I traced his dark brows, the slope of his nose, the fullness of his mouth.
Nina Simone’s voice poured from the speakers, an upbeat, joyous “Feeling Good” that made me feel happy just to be alive and so incredibly grateful that he was, too, and that we’d found our way back to each other.
My heart felt too big for my chest, inflating like a balloon filled with helium. It was a wonder my feet were still firmly planted on the ground when I felt as if I could float into the ether.
I was in love.
Madly, deeply, irrevocably.
I didn’t need Gabriel. I was my own person, with my own needs and wants and desires and dreams. I had my art. I had good friends. I had a life I loved and financial independence.
I could live without Gabriel. But I didn’t want to live without him.
With Gabriel, I was the very best version of myself. And that was exactly how my mom had framed it when she said it wasn’t too late for a second chance.
Gabriel filled my life with color and wonder and what’s more, I liked who I was with him.
He made me braver. He inspired me to always reach for my dreams and never settle for less. He just made my life better. Bolder, richer, brighter, more .
Love was a choice. And I would always choose him.
Even if it meant jumping off a cliff without a parachute.
“Will you catch me if I fall?” I asked, just as if he’d been privy to my inner monologue.
“ Or how about this,” he said. “I’ll give you the wings to fly.”
And you know what? That was infinitely better.
Love wasn’t so much about not letting each other down, but rather lifting each other up.
Gabriel slung his arm around my shoulders, and we walked through the garden at dusk.
The fireflies were out, and the air was scented with sea salt and hope when he kissed me on the patio.
It was the perfect night for falling in love all over again.