Haze(23)

"A little," he confesses as he scoops my hand into his. "I wanted Derek to come with me tonight, but he had to work."

I sensed the disappointment in his eyes the moment I spotted him across the room. His partner, Derek, is the fountain of strength that he thinks he needs. He's wrong. I've known Davis Benoit for most of my life and I admire him more than anyone else.

Much of that has to do with his raw natural talent but there's also the fact that he's the most humble person I've ever met. I've watched him accept numerous awards and each time he is honored, he tells me that he's certain they've made a mistake. There's no mistake. Davis is brilliant and I'm very lucky that he's one of my closest friends.

"What time is it now?"

I glance down at my hands, realizing that I left my clutch with my phone inside back in the room I was directed to when I first arrived.

"Don't you have your phone?" I tap on his arm, before I point at the jacket he's wearing.

"I forgot mine at home. I was in a rush. Do you think I have time to use the washroom?"

I sigh heavily. I know that he needs to know the time not only so he can steal a few minutes away but so he can mentally prepare himself. We follow the same routine each and every time. The only difference is that usually Derek is nearby and he wears a watch.

I scan the area near us looking for a server. They always know the time and they're less likely to look down their noses at me when I ask. I don't see one so I take a few steps to the side, hoping one of them will pop into view.

I throw Davis a half-shrug before I start towards a couple standing a few feet away from us. They can't be much older than I am and when I first arrived, the woman had smiled at me. It was nothing more than a common act of decency but it felt generous to me.

I try to walk towards her but I'm quickly swallowed up the crowds. I look back but Davis has disappeared behind a wall of people I've never met.

"Isla Lane?"

The sound of a man's voice, combined with a light tap on my shoulder, stops me in my tracks. I search my mind, trying to place a face to the voice. It's deep, gruff and completely unfamiliar.

I turn on my heel and look up, my eyes quickly clouding with tears.

"Mr. Benoit," I say his name as he pulls me into his chest. "You came. I didn't think you'd make it."

"I can't resist an invitation from you. You asked and I delivered."

"Davis is going to be so excited." I playfully tap his shoulder as I look up at his kind face, now covered with a graying beard. "He has no idea you flew here from Chicago, does he?"

"I haven't said a word." His eyes leave mine to survey the people around us. "Where is he? Do I have time to talk to him now?"

I grab hold of his wrist and glance at the antique gold watch he's wearing. "You have time. He's near the box office. That's where I left him."

"You'll show me?" He extends his hand in front of him. "I want him to know it was your idea that I come tonight."

"I really need to use the ladies' room," I lie. "I'll catch up with you two in a few."

He nods as he walks away, gently pushing his way through the crowd. I stand in place wanting to give them at least a few moments together before I reappear. They need a chance to just be a dad and his son. I need the time to search out a glass of water to quench my thirst.

I look to the left for a server and just as I spot one, a man steps into my view. I stare at the meticulously crafted tuxedo he's wearing before my eyes travel up to his face and the beginnings of a beard covering his chin. The moment my gaze reaches his lips, my pulse quickens. It's him. Gabriel Foster, dressed to kill, is staring right at me.

***

"Perhaps you'd like something stronger to drink?"

I lick the water from my lips and hand the now empty glass back to him. "I'm fine now. Thank you."

He nods to the server as he places the glass tumbler back on her tray. I'd stopped her when she walked past me just after I spotted him across the lobby. I'd downed the water so quickly that a few drops had scattered onto the front of my black silk dress. I'd brushed them aside. As I did, his eyes raked me from head-to-toe.

"I didn’t expect to see you here. You look lovely, Isla."

I look completely out of place. I knew the event was formal. I'd gotten that memo but this is one of three dresses that I always wear to an event like this. It's not elegant by any means. It's simple and understated.

"Thank you," I say quietly. "I should probably go. Someone is waiting for me."

"Wait." His voice is smooth as he tilts his head to the side. "Is that someone Davis Benoit? I saw you talking with him earlier."

I shouldn't be surprised that he knows who Davis is. There was a generous write up of him in the Sunday arts section of the paper last month. It ran in conjunction with the announcement that he'd been offered a position in an artist-in-residency program with one of the most influential cellists in the world.

"That's him," I answer steadily.

"How do you know him?" He glances at a couple standing near us. "Did he come to watch the performance? Are you his date?"

I study his face, wondering if anywhere beneath that impenetrable expression, there's a hint of jealousy. I can't see it. I can't imagine it either. He's so gorgeous and in control. He could approach virtually any woman in this room and have her naked, and on her knees, within five minutes.