Chapter 3 #2
Desmond’s smile widened. “The buffet table is over there. Valentine’s themed, of course.”
“Shall we?” Javier asked, offering his arm with comical formality.
Desmond shook his head slightly, still smiling, and the two of them headed over to the buffet.
The spread laid out by the catering staff was surprisingly good for an event that wasn’t specifically food-centric.
It was, however, definitely Valentine’s Day themed.
Everything on offer was red, white, or pink with touches of garnish in contrasting colors.
Javier was particularly impressed with the heart-shaped blinis with red caviar, and the bruschetta with two shrimps arranged on top to make a heart.
“Try one of these,” he told Desmond after taking a bite of bruschetta, reaching to put one on the small plate Desmond was filling.
“No!” Desmond stopped him so aggressively that Javier nearly dropped the snack. Desmond winced in apology and said, “Sorry, it’s just that I’m allergic to shellfish.”
“Oh, God, sorry,” Javier said, putting the bruschetta on his own plate, since he’d already touched it. “Can you eat anything that’s been in the same room with shellfish, then? Do you have an EpiPen on hand or something? Are you going to die? I’m not sure I’m dressed for the hospital.”
Desmond smiled again, and Javier felt like he’d won another point. “I’m not that allergic,” Desmond said. “Shellfish allergies vary. I’m more of the ‘gets sick to his stomach and has to spend the next three hours in the loo’ kind of allergic, not the anaphylactic shock kind.”
“In that case,” Javier replied, camping it up again, “I’ll just help myself to a few more of these shrimpies.”
It was silly and probably juvenile, but anything that made Desmond laugh fell into the category of acceptable behavior for the evening.
Especially since the company they found themselves in was so incredibly stuffy and smug.
The reception was for a charitable foundation sponsored by Ronald Hawthorne, the pianist and composer who was headlining that evening’s concert.
The guests were all exactly the sort who would open their wallets to spare loose change for orphans in the Sudan, but who balked at paying just a little bit more in tax so that the children of Great Britain could have better healthcare and stabler schools.
But those guests all looked like saints compared to the reason Desmond hadn’t wanted to attend the event alone.
“Well, well. There you are.”
Desmond had been talking finance with one of the middle-aged, stuffed-suit guests while Javier listened with a serious face, pretending he understood, when the smarmy greeting came from behind them.
Desmond turned to face the newcomer, and Javier watched about a dozen different emotions, from anxiety to anger to outright fear, cross his face.
It had to be Matthew.
“Matthew,” Desmond greeted his ex with a nod, proving Javier’s suspicions.
“Hello, darling,” Matthew said, his tone and expression incredibly inappropriate, both for the venue and for the fact that they’d broken up months ago. “It’s so good to see your face.”
Desmond cleared his throat, suddenly awkward and tense. “Might I introduce you to Javier Rivera?” he said, gesturing to Javier, then resting a hand subtly on his back.
Javier knew exactly what Desmond was doing and ran with it. “Hello,” he said in exactly the over-the-top tone Matthew deserved. “We haven’t met in person, but you spoke to my assistant over the phone.”
Matthew looked completely confused for a moment before realization dawned on his face.
“Rivera. Rivera Talent. You’re Gordon’s friend and employer with the whole singing telegram thing.
” He clutched the small plate he was holding tighter and glanced at Desmond again, like he was trying to solve the riddle of whether he was being played or if he’d inadvertently hired the wrong people for his little stunt.
Javier decided to go for the option that would benefit Desmond the most. “That’s right.
And if I had known Gordon was agreeing to emotional sabotage against my very own boyfriend, I would have picked up the phone myself and told you to go fuck yourself.
” He smiled brightly and blinked a few times with utterly fake sweetness.
Matthew lost all pretense of smiling. Nearly everything Javier had just said was a lie.
While Gordon had handled most of the contact, he had communicated with Matthew directly through email.
Thank God he’d never actually spoken to the bastard in person.
It meant that kernel of plausibility still existed and they just might be able to get away with the story.
“I hadn’t realized you were seeing someone else,” Matthew said, narrowing his eyes at Desmond.
Desmond hummed and nodded tightly. “It’s been nearly two months now,” he said. “Javier and I met shortly after New Year’s at a, er, business convention. Javier runs one of the top modeling agencies in London.”
Top modeling agencies in London? Hardly. Still, Javier could have kissed him. In fact, that wasn’t a half bad idea.
“Aaw, sweetie, thanks,” he said, then leaned right in and planted his lips over Desmond’s.
Desmond jerked in surprise, but quickly relaxed.
Javier intended to just give him a peck and then move on with things, but the warmth of Desmond’s mouth drew him in and the way Desmond seemed to melt a little had his heart beating harder.
One closed-mouth kiss with a man he barely knew shouldn’t have affected him that much, but it made Javier completely lose his bearings.
By the time he stepped back, Javier didn’t know if a few seconds had passed or if it had been ten years. He met Desmond’s startled eyes, and for one, beautiful instant, the two of them smiled at each other.
“I see.” Matthew’s curt statement shattered the moment.
“After all the time we spent together and everything we meant to each other, you’ve replaced me just like that.
” He thrust the small plate of hors d’oeuvres he held at Desmond.
Desmond fumbled to catch it, sending heart-shaped mini quiches right into the front of his suit.
“I know when I’m not wanted,” he said before turning and marching away like a petulant child.
“No, I’m not sure you do,” Javier said quietly, staring at Matthew’s retreating back.
Desmond sighed as he pushed the mini quiches around the plate, moving them into perfect, symmetrical order. There was an odd one out, so he popped it into his mouth and chewed dejectedly. Once he swallowed, he said, “Sorry about that.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Javier said, resting his hand on Desmond’s back. “It was bound to happen anyhow, and I’m glad I was here to have your back.”
Desmond made a noise like he wasn’t so sure, then ate another quiche. “It’s bloody embarrassing,” he muttered. He looked around, found a passing member of the event’s wait staff, and handed the plate off to them. “At least we won’t have to deal with him again until after the concert.”
Desmond was right. Chimes sounded just then to indicate the concert was about to start, and the event staff started to gently herd the VIP guests out of the room and on toward the concert hall.
Javier had been to plenty of concerts in his life, but never a classical concert.
He wasn’t entirely surprised to find that Desmond had box seats off to one side of the auditorium.
Everyone else who had attended the event seemed to be seated in the boxes while the rest of the auditorium filled with people who actually liked classical music.
Javier noticed something was wrong with Desmond right from the start, before the lights even went down. He was increasingly restless as they took their seats and flipped through their programs. As the lights began to dim, he cleared his throat a few times.
Finally, after the conductor had taken the stage, the orchestra had tuned, and the soloist had walked on to thunderous applause, Desmond turned to Javier and muttered, “I’m going to be sick.”
“Oh, honey,” Javier said, jumping into action. He stood quickly, reaching to help Desmond out of his seat. Even in the dim light, as the first piece began with a flourish, Javier could see how green Desmond had turned.
The other thing he saw as he hurried Desmond out of the box and into the hall was Matthew sitting a few boxes over from them with a smug smile.
“He handed you his plate,” Javier said, putting two and two together as he rushed Desmond across the hall to the men’s room. “That bastard handed you his plate. He knows about your allergy, I assume.”
“They were only quiches,” Desmond managed to ground out before bolting for one of the stalls and throwing up in spectacular style.
They might have just appeared to be quiches, but clearly Matthew had stuffed shrimp inside them. The maniac had made Desmond sick on purpose.