If only...
* * *
Reese remained in his seat during intermission, while his father left to work the crowd in the atrium. He knew he was ignoring his duty. As the new managing senior partner of his family’s law firm, Reese should be circulating among the other opera patrons, engaging in small talk with current clients and scouting out potential new ones.
At the very least he should make a point to speak with the firm’s most important client, Beatrix Singletary.
Reese couldn’t drum up the enthusiasm.
He’d already endured three acts of the ghastly Roméo et Juliette. He needed this moment alone to gather the fortitude he would need to suffer through the remaining two acts. He didn’t especially dislike opera, not in general, just this particular one. The main characters’ senseless behavior struck an unpleasant chord.
The impulsive, reckless actions of youth, the unchecked passion that overwhelmed all common sense and eventually led to needless death, it was all so...familiar.
Reese battled against the fourteen-year-old memories always lurking at the edges of his calm nature. They came stronger tonight, momentarily bringing back the fear. The helplessness. The searing pain of grief he’d vowed never to experience again.
Love was a costly proposition best avoided.
Poised between the pull of the past and a need to push toward a predictable, steady future, he looked out over the nearly empty seating below.
The din of conversation and high-pitched laughter grated on him. He kept his reaction hidden behind a blank stare.
To the outside observer he probably appeared to be enjoying this moment alone. If anyone looked closer, would they sense the dark mood beneath? Would they falsely attribute it to his broken engagement with Fanny Mitchell?
He shifted in his seat, fought off a frown.
He regretted losing Fanny, as one might regret the loss of a good friend. Her erratic behavior had given him pause, though. He’d been so careful in his choice of brides, so meticulous. Fanny had seemed a good fit. Until her sudden change of heart had revealed an inconsistency in her character that Reese had missed originally.
Though unexpected, her actions had saved them both a lifetime of regret.
Enough. Enough thinking. Enough pretending he was enjoying himself. There was nothing keeping him from leaving. He would rather spend his time pouring over legal briefs, anyway. The dry, precise language always managed to restore his tranquility.
Decision made, he stood, turned to go and...
Froze midstep.
He was not alone in the box. Two women had joined him. But when? He hadn’t heard them enter. How long had they been standing there, watching him?
The older of the two gave him a slow, significant smile, alerting him that he was staring.
He firmed his expression and opened his mouth to speak.
The widow cut him off before he could begin. “Why, Mr. Bennett, I believe we caught you on your way out.”
“You did.” He hooked his hands together behind his back. “That’s not to say your arrival isn’t a pleasant turn of events. Good evening, Mrs. Singletary.” He inclined his head in the widow’s direction. “You are a vision as always.”
He didn’t need to catalog her attire to know this to be true. She spared no expense when it came to her clothing and made sure her personal style rivaled any woman in Paris, New York or London. As a result, Beatrix Singletary was undoubtedly the best dressed in all of Denver.
“That is very kind of you to say.” She swept her hand in a graceful arc. “I believe you know my companion.”
“Of course.” Reese continued to look into the widow’s eyes another two seconds before turning his attention onto Callie Mitchell.
For a moment, they stared at one another with mutual discomfort. Reese felt the muscles in his back stiffen, and knew his reaction had nothing to do with Callie’s personal connection with his former fiancée. He always had this disturbing visceral response to the woman, a woman most looked past in order to focus on her more glamorous sister.
Reese suspected that was exactly what Callie wished people to do.
“Miss Mitchell.” Her name came out sounding oddly tortured, even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. “You are looking quite lovely this evening, as well.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bennett.” Her gaze didn’t quite meet his, nor did she make a move to enter the box fully. Shadows still curtained most of her hair and face.
“Mrs. Singletary.” He addressed the widow once again, wondering at her sudden arrival. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“The theater is far too full of people milling about, even on the landings between the tiers of box seats.” She flicked a wrist in the direction of the curtain behind her. “We thought we might escape the maddening crush and sit with you a moment before the rest of the performance begins.”
Odd. The maddening crush had never bothered her before. He’d seen her happily mingling amid the largest of crowds. He couldn’t help but wonder again at her sudden presence.
“Please, come in and relax, partake in the desserts the Tabor has provided for my father and me tonight.”
Gesturing to his right, Reese stepped aside to let the woman pass.
The widow went directly to the small buffet table and studied the offerings. After a moment, she released a weighty sigh. “There are too many choices. Come closer, Callie.” She waved the girl forward. “I shall rely on you to fill my plate.”
“Yes, Mrs. Singletary.” Callie hesitated only a beat before moving, her steps surprisingly graceful for a woman of her height, a mere head shorter than his six feet two inches.
She floated along like a snowflake, slowly, smoothly and icily controlled. Eventually, she emerged from the shadows completely and Reese’s heart kicked an extra hard beat.
His stomach knotted with tension.
Did Callie know the way she’d ruthlessly secured her pale blond hair off her face displayed her arresting features in startling detail?
His stomach rolled again.
This was not a new reaction for Reese, nor was it in any way a pleasant sensation. Callie Mitchell disturbed him.
He shook aside the thought, not wishing to dwell on how she made him...feel. Yet he could not look away from those sculpted cheekbones, the perfectly bowed lips and green, green eyes the color of summer-fresh leaves.
What a picture Callie Mitchell made. So pretty. So perfectly upright. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle in her gown. An image that didn’t completely ring true. The woman was too controlled, too perfectly put together.
Reese sensed she hid something a little wild beneath that measured calm. He’d sensed it from the start of their acquaintance and thus had made a point of avoiding her more often than not.
“Mr. Bennett, how are you enjoying this evening’s performance so far?” Mrs. Singletary asked him the question as she sat on a chair beside him, settling her skirts around her with practiced ease. “Do you not find the music lovely?”
“Lovely, no. I find it extremely haunting.”
A soft gasp came from Callie’s direction.
He ignored the sound, and the woman. “The story itself is far too tragic to be considered enjoyable,” he added.
“Isn’t that interesting?” The widow reached out her hand and accepted the plate full of tea cakes