The Universe of Discretion: Muse

The wedding was a traditional church affair, and I noticed him in the front row, wrestling with a stubborn lock of dark brown hair. His struggle brought a smile to my face, a rare occurrence these days.

I didn’t recall seeing him at the rehearsal dinner, which made me curious about his connection to the bride.

Natalia, the woman my brother was about to marry, was the daughter of Enzo Abano, the man behind the popular ice cream brand. Their peppermint chocolate chip was my go-to comfort food when my thoughts spiraled into darkness.

Our family, on the other hand, came from much simpler beginnings. Dad was a retired police chief and Mom taught high school.

My brother and Natalia’s romance began shortly after he was hired as the general counsel for the Abano’s charitable foundation.

Their whirlwind love story had everyone talking. They went from being a social media sensation to engaged to standing at the altar in just eight months. Only a few of us knew that the beautiful bride was expecting.

As the best man, I was supposed to be focused on the ceremony. I was supposed to remind my brother to breathe if he started to fumble his vows. But all I could think about were the steel gray eyes that had locked onto mine, as if they could see into the darkest corners of my soul.

When my brother began to trip over his vows, I had to pull my attention away. The rest of the wedding kept me occupied until I could finally unwind at the dinner table.

I had recently overcome a pill addiction, but that wasn’t going to stop me from enjoying the expensive red wine that Enzo had personally chosen. It was divine, and by the fourth glass, I was feeling more than a little tipsy.

After dinner, my parents hit the dance floor, Grandma retired for the night, Uncle Peter parked himself at the open bar, and Aunt Susan and her dull new husband were deep in conversation with the Berkeleys.

I was the last one left at table number two when the man with the steel gray eyes slid into the seat next to me, a scotch on the rocks in his hand.

He seemed a little tipsy but not drunk.

I had made three rounds of the grand Elysium hotel ballroom, hoping to “accidentally” run into him, but he had been nowhere to be found.

“Can you help me understand something?” he asked, his voice a deep, sexy baritone. “Back in the church, did we…you know?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” I replied, taking a sip from my glass. Why was I so drawn to him?

“Okay.” He rubbed his chin. “For a moment, the world stopped spinning as I was drawn into a gaze that echoed with the voices of a thousand lifetimes. An old soul yearning for a meaningful connection with a kindred spirit, even if only for a fleeting moment.”

Holy shit! I could feel my cheeks heating up, and it wasn’t from the wine. Was this some sophisticated pick-up line or…

“Warlock’s Son Season 2, Episode 4,” he said, grinning. He was incredibly handsome, and he knew it.

“I never watched that show. I’m not really into fantasy,” I admitted, relieved.

“Are you serious?!” he exclaimed, looking genuinely offended.

I quickly tapped my thumb against my fingers before extending my hand. “Dillon, brother of the groom.”

To my surprise, he gently kissed my hand and said, “A pleasure, Dillon Brother of The Groom.”

He made me blush again, and I could tell he was enjoying it.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, shaking his empty glass.

What?!

“Please, don’t tell me they’ve been charging you for drinks! My dad is paying for the open bar and if he finds out…”

He invaded my personal space again, placing a hand on my knee and saying, “They don’t serve what I drink at the open bar, Dillon Brother of The Groom.”

“Can you stop calling me that!” I snapped. He was as frustrating as he was charming.

“The bar in my room has whatever you want,” he said, a key card appearing in his hand as if by magic.

He placed it on the table and slowly pushed it toward me. Then he leaned in and whispered, “Forty-fourth floor.”

I stared at the room key as if it were a venomous snake. Was this really happening? The idea was crazy but also thrilling. Would my thoughts sabotage me if I decided to go?

I picked up the key card and headed for the lobby. The forty-fourth floor was the penthouse, and I had to swipe the key to access it.

Who was this guy?

This was a first for me, and probably a last. I had to know where this would lead.

I opened the door to the room cautiously, my eyes half-closed. He was standing by the window, looking out over the stunning cityscape before turning to face me.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’ve been shaking since I got into the elevator.”

“For once in my life, I wanted to do something completely out of character.”

“How about we just have that drink you promised?” I suggested, nervously tapping my fingers. What was it about him that intrigued me so much?

“I’d like that,” he whispered. “Although, I don’t understand why you’re still here after my failed attempt at being recklessly impulsive.”

“Oh, you didn’t fail,” I said, my voice shaky. “You had me totally convinced that we were going to…you know.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” he said, a faint smile on his face.

“Dillon Francis,” I said, extending my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“A pleasure, Dillon,” he said, shaking my hand. “I’m Noah Black.”

Why did that name sound familiar?

My phone buzzed. It was Carter; my brother needed me. I wasn’t cut out to be a best man, but after my suicide attempt, everyone was trying to keep me involved. They wanted me to feel like I belonged…like I mattered.

But deep down, I knew the truth.

It was one of the many reasons why, four months ago, my mind, clouded by pills, told me to end it all.

Then, my thoughts took a sudden turn.

I convinced myself that Noah’s ego was as big as his luxurious hotel room and that he was probably just looking for a quick distraction from the wedding because it wasn’t about him.

“I gotta split,” I announced, setting down my fancy cocktail. My thumbs were drumming a nervous rhythm against my fingers.

I was handing Noah an escape route from his failed experiment, but he stubbornly chose to accompany me on the elevator ride down. Would he back off if I made him sufficiently uneasy? I decided to test the waters with some pointed questions.

“So, what’s your gig? Banker? Arms trader? What kind of job foots the bill for a hotel room that big?”

I braced myself for his indignation, but he just chuckled. It seemed his charm wasn’t entirely an act.

“I’ve created something a lot of folks seem to like,” he replied, his words shrouded in mystery.

“That’s not much of an answer.”

“What went wrong?” he inquired, his tone shifting to serious. “We were having a good time and then you just…shut down.”

“Let’s not go there. You obviously needed a quick ego boost but…”

My words trailed off as he tenderly pressed his lips to mine. He tasted like luxury, and I was already craving more.

For the first time in a while, my mind was silent, seemingly content to let me savor the moment.

The possibility of the elevator doors opening at any moment only heightened the intensity. Had I misread him? Or had my own thoughts deceived me yet again?

He pulled back and said, “I looked at you because you’re stunning. I invited you up because you looked back.”

I was at a loss for words. The elevator chimed, giving us barely a moment to gather ourselves before the doors slid open.