Haze (8 page)

Isla

"Are you nervous?" I reach up to straighten the lapel of the tuxedo he's wearing. It's the second time I've seen him in it. He looks dashing. I'd told him that the first time and he'd laughed the way he does when he's embarrassed. "You look really nervous, Davis."

"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.

"Davis is gay," I shoot back. "We met when I lived in Chicago. We've been friends since."

A small grin flows over his lips. "I was mistaken."

"Apparently." I half-shrug. "How's Cicely?"

"Cicely? Your manager?"

I don't need him to remind me that I answer to her. Tonight is an escape from the boutique. It's a chance for me to be who I really am. I don't want to think about tomorrow when I have to go back to work and face Cicely again.

"Your date," I counter.

He cocks his left brow. "The misunderstandings are mutual, Ms. Lane. I'm here alone."

"Cicely said she had plans with you, I just assumed…" I begin before I catch sight of her approaching from the right. "I assumed you two came together."

He turns his head towards her. "I'm not here with her, or anyone, for that matter. She's one of a group of employees we invited."

I shouldn't care that she's not dating him. It shouldn't matter to me that he's here, in this room, staring at me, but it does.

"I want to apologize for what happened at the boutique." He reaches forward as if he's going to touch my hand, but then he pulls his back. "I didn't have all the facts when Cicely called me. If I had, I never would have questioned you."

"I gave you my word that I wouldn't break the rules. I don't break my word, Mr. Foster."

"Isla, there you are." I feel a hand on my shoulder just as I hear Davis say my name. "It's time. We need to go."

I suck in a deep breath, sorry that this moment has to end. "It was nice to see you, sir. I hope you enjoy your evening."

"I will, Isla." His eyes lock on mine. "I most certainly will."

Gabriel

"We need to mingle, Gabriel." My mother pulls on my forearm. "That's what we came here for."

I don’t remember what I came here for. All I can remember is the way Isla looked at me when she questioned me about Cicely. There was an invitation woven into her eye's response when I told her I was alone. Her body backed that up when I glanced down to see the outline of her swollen nipples beneath the silk of the dress she's wearing.

She'd walked away from me without a turn back. It only upped my desire for her. She may think she's coy but I felt it. I felt the palpable tension between us.

"There's a string quartet playing in the atrium. I want to see that before we go into the concert hall."

Denying my mother anything at this point is only going to result in a temper tantrum to rival a child's. I came here to further the profile of Foster Enterprises so I'm committed to doing that even if my body is craving a taste of Isla.

"You go ahead." I gesture towards the entrance to the atrium. "I need a drink."

"Fine." My mother runs her finger along my chin. "I don't like this bristle, by the way. You need to shave that."

I nod. I'll allow her to continue to think that her opinion weighs heavily on me. It doesn't anymore. My mother's influence is restricted to a constant reminder of the type of woman I don't want to become involved with.

I love my mother endlessly but her insecurities are exhausting. I've been witness to her self-doubt and the consequences of that my entire life.

I hesitate as I approach one of the servers, knowing that I should be in the midst of the crowd, shaking hands and talking about the good work the charity I'm here to support is doing. I curse under my breath, adjust the arm of my jacket and walk towards the atrium, hoping at some point, I'll see Isla again before the night is over.

***

She's more beautiful now than when I saw her in the lobby. She's different in this space, with her eyes closed, and her body moving slowly to the music.

Her hands are elegant, gifted and as she tilts her chin up at the last note, I realize that this isn't something I'd ever imagined when she stood in my office begging for a second chance to sell lingerie at my boutique or when I saw her at Skyn, using her body to capture the attention of every man in that club.

This young woman has the entire room enthralled. I'd noticed the haunting sounds of the violin the moment I stepped into the space. I'd pushed my way politely through the spellbound crowd until I stood next to my mother mere feet from where the quartet had set up. That's when I saw who was creating the lingering melody that hung in the air. It's Isla.

She parts her lips as soft applause fills the space. I join in, tapping my hands together quietly as I stare at her, in awe of what I've just witnessed.

A dark haired woman holding a viola speaks softly to her. Isla nods and touches her shoulder gently before she pulls the bow back and glides it across the strings of the violin resting beneath her chin.

The woman joins in, her viola a perfect accompaniment to the tender sounds of Isla's violin. Davis Benoit is next to her, a cello perched at the ready. Another violinist is playing but I hear nothing, nothing, but the music that Isla is producing.

I look down at my mother who is captivated by the sounds, her eyes closed, her body slowly swaying as she finds comfort in the music.

This is one of the loves of her life. As children, she'd take us to the symphony when our friends were going to blockbuster movies. She enrolled my brothers and me in music lessons, but Caleb and I failed miserably. It was Asher, my youngest brother, who found his passion there.

I know talent when I see it. I've been trained by my mother's ear to recognize a true gift and that's what Isla possesses.

I feel a tap on my shoulder that I try to ignore, instead keeping my eyes focused solely on Isla. She's enchanting and with each new piece of music she plays, I'm more compelled to stand in place.

"Gabriel." A voice punctures the moment, seeping into my ear. "This is important. We need to talk right now."

I recognize the voice instantly. It's a friend of my father's; a man who worked for our company for decades before I stepped in and pushed the old ways, and him, aside. He was dead weight, pulling a hefty salary for essentially traveling on our dime. He did nothing and when I cut him a severance check and sent him on his way, I'd dealt with the wrath of my father. Our relationship has never fully recovered from that but the company has. I've increased our profits each year since then and I see no end in sight for our success.

I ignore him, hoping he'll recognize my inattention as a refusal to speak. He doesn't. He becomes more persistent, tapping me on the back now, his voice raising a full notch.

The woman playing the viola mutters something indistinguishable under her breath but the words, and disdain, are directed at me. I'm not going to tarnish this moment for Isla so I turn quickly on my heel directing him through the crowd and out of the room.

"What the fuck do you want, Cyril?" I don't try and temper my annoyance.

"It's Roman." He looks past me towards the atrium. "Was that Gianna with you?"

"That's none of your business. What about my father?"

I force myself to face him. His ineptitude may have cost him his job but he's still trying to claw his way back into my good graces. I want nothing to do with the man.

"You haven't heard yet?"

His non-answer only irks me more. "If you have something to say do it now so I can focus on my evening."
"Your father is getting married."

"What?" I snap back. "To who?"

"Caterina Omari." He takes a step back as if he's uncertain of how I'll react to that.

She's a model whose name means nothing to me. She'd thrown herself at both Caleb and me when she was in the vying for a spot in the woman's fashion show in Paris two years ago. I'd turned her down swiftly. Caleb, not one to mute his opinion for anyone, had chastised her in the press for being unprofessional. Neither of us had any interest. Apparently my father does.

"He's a grown man. His decisions are his own." I turn back towards the atrium and pause. "Send him my regards."