You and I Alone (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

             
Glancing out the window, I watch as the countryside passes us by as we get closer to the city. By the time I realize that I have fallen silent, I don't know what to say to pick the conversation back up so I focus on the music playing lightly around us.

              I try to imagine Bentley as a young boy, tucked away in the corner of a dusty club listening to this very same music. I imagine the atmosphere and how alive everything must have seemed to him back then. I get so carried away in my day dream, that I don't even process we have entered the city until Bentley pulls the car to a stop in front of
Piermans
, one of Chicago's finest restaurants.

              The valet quickly approaches and before I really have time to process, my door is being opened and I am being assisted from the low bucket seat, taking extra caution to not let my nearly bare breasts topple out of the low cut dress.

              Bentley crosses around the car and retrieves his valet ticket before joining me on the curb and offering me his arm. “Shall we?” He asks, smiling sweetly at me, his dimples on full display.

              Nodding, I allow him to lead me through the revolving glass doors into a lobby that looks more like I just stepped into a fish bowl rather than a restaurant. Floor to ceiling aquariums line the interior walls which have various forms of sea life living within.

              “Come on.” Bentley says, steering me to the right, away from the hostess area and down a long corridor with more aquarium walls and shiny marble floors. It isn't until he pushes his way through the double swinging white doors that I realize he has led me into the back entrance of the kitchen. Chefs and waiters bustle around busily trying to get food out to the already packed restaurant.

              “Bentley?” I question, turning to look at him like he's lost his mind.

              “Don't worry. I know the chef.” He smiles and kisses me lightly on the cheek before leading me further into the kitchen and then turning to the right revealing a small oval booth tucked away in the corner, a single candle lit in the middle as the centerpiece.

              “Bentley.” His name falls off my lips as I realize what he's doing.

              “Best table in the house.” He smiles, squeezing my hand as he leads me across the room and waits until I scoot into the booth before sliding in next to me.

              “What are we doing back here?” I ask, still trying to process that not only I am going to eat at a restaurant that costs more than ten meals at my favorite little diner, but that I am also going to do so in the company of the actual chef.

              Before he has a chance to answer, a middle aged handsome man approaches our table wearing a full white uniform which immediately sets him apart from the rest of the staff that is dressed all in black.

              “Anna Blake, meet Derek Shipley. Head Chef and a very good friend of mine.” He says, gesturing between the two of us. It takes me a moment to process the fact that he just used my real name. But as Derek turns to me to speak, I try to push past it and not dwell. While my mind may want to run away with a trillion reasons why he chose to use Anna instead of Logan, I know that he probably just didn't want to introduce me to someone under a fake name.

              “It's very nice to meet you Ms. Blake.” Derek says, smiling a toothy grin at me, making him even more handsome. Nothing like Bentley of course, but he definitely has a certain charm to him. He's tall and broad, with short dark blonde hair and a square jaw that is lined with a light dusting of facial hair that makes him seem even manlier. Like Josh, he seems more fit for manual labor.

              “And you.” I say, reaching out to allow him to shake my hand lightly before pulling it away. Derek proceeds to ramble off the specials for the evening and while I try desperately to follow, I only understand about half of the things he says.

              “I will give you a few minutes to decide.” Derek finishes, nodding at Bentley before walking away and reclaiming his post in the action of the kitchen.

              “Do you know what you would like?” Bentley asks as a young waiter in a black suit approaches, filling our glasses with some type of red wine before walking away without speaking one single word.

              “What do you suggest?” I ask, hoping he doesn't pick up on the fact that I am asking because I have no idea what anything is.

              “Do you prefer fish or red meat?” He asks, not questioning me any further.

              “Red meat.” I answer almost immediately, having always been more of a steak than fish girl. He smiles and then nods his head.

              “The filet here is the best you can get in Chicago.” He says, retrieving his wine glass and waiting for me to lift mine before speaking again. “To you. Happy Birthday.” He says, lightly clinking my glass before taking a long drink of the red content.

              “It's not technically my birthday until tomorrow, but thank you.” I say, lifting the glass to my face to inhale the sweet smell before hesitantly tipping the glass to my lips and taking a small drink. The moment the sweetness settles over my tongue, I immediately take another long gulp.

              “This is incredible.” I say a little too enthusiastically, setting the glass back down. “I probably don't want to know how much a bottle of this costs do I?” I ask, regretting how judgmental the question sounds.

              “Red Moscato, it's only about a hundred dollars a bottle.” He laughs at my surprised expression. “While I prefer some of the finer things life has to offer, I am not by any means a wine expert. I drink what tastes good and this is my favorite.” He says, taking another drink of the dark red liquid.

              “I can see why.” I say, trying to move past my sudden embarrassment that I just assumed something about him when I should know better. I am about to say more but immediately fall silent when Derek approaches our table again.

              “Have you decided what you would like this evening?” He asks, smiling warmly, his eyes going back and forth from me to Bentley and then back to me.

              “She will have the filet.” Bentley says, pausing to look at me.

              “Medium.” I add in, not sure why he felt the need to order for me and even more unsure as to why I kind of like that he did.

              “Medium.” Bentley repeats. “And I'll have the same.” He says, thanking Derek before he walks away.

              “So we have one thing in common then.” I observe aloud.

              “We have a lot more than one thing in common.” He leans towards me, promise in his eyes. “You just need time to realize it.”

              “Is that so?” I question, my breath hitching when his hand settles against my upper thigh, dancing across the silky material.

              “It is.” He says, dropping his hand away and straightening his posture, throwing a wicked grin my way before going in for more wine. I stare at him in playful disbelief for a long moment before I realize, two can play this game.

****

              The rest of our dinner flies by with stolen touches and promising glances, mainly from me. The more wine we drink, the braver I become and the easier the conversation flows. Well for me anyways. Bentley had the initial glass and only drank water throughout the remainder of our meal.

              By the time we exit over an hour later, I am convinced that Derek is the best cook in the world and Bentley is one lucky bastard for having him as a friend. If one of my friends cooked like that, it's likely I would live with them just so I could eat their food everyday.

              The sun has set and the city lights are shining brightly all around us as the valet pulls in front of us and Bentley holds the door open for me, waiting until I am settled before closing the door and climbing into the drivers side.

              I watch the city come to life right before my eyes the further we drive. I love this city and even more so, I love this city at night. There is something so freeing, so liberating about being here around all the life and culture and music.

              It doesn't take us long before we pull up outside of
The Madison Theater
, the large performing arts center that sits in the heart of the city. I have been here before but only once. My grandma brought me to a ballet here when I was ten. It was one of the most incredible nights of my life. It feels strange being back here all these years later and for the opening performance of Chicago's newest dance company no less.

              Once again stopping at a valet station, I climb out of the car with the assistance of a very friendly young man and then wait on the sidewalk for Bentley to join me. Taking my hand, he leads me inside, stopping to give the doorman our tickets before proceeding.

              We walk in silence as my mind takes in the scenery around me. Not much has changed in the twelve years since I was here. The theater is just as beautiful as I remember it. Glossy white floors and wide open staircases lead to each separate section of the theater. Bentley leads me up the first set of stairs but then to my surprise, veers to the left towards a private entrance.

              The man working the entrance to the floor only nods and opens the door for us as we pass through. It doesn't take me long to realize that we are in the private boxes. Bentley leads me to the last door on the left and then holds it open for me, his hand falling to the small of my back as he ushers me inside.

              The moment the stage comes into view, my steps falter. We are on a private balcony just feet above the stage. I can see everything crystal clear and know that we probably have the best view in the entire theater. There's no way we can't. We are just feet from the very stage that dancers will be filling within minutes.

              I look out over the packed crowd, my eyes traveling to the very top, stopping for a moment around the area I sat with my grandma, before finally turning to face Bentley. He's standing next to what looks like a row of four movie theater chairs only they are much more elegant looking and don't fold when you get up.

              Slipping off his jacket, he hangs it on the standing coat rack next to the door before taking a seat in one of the middle chairs and gesturing for me to join him. Smiling, I take the two steps that separate us and sit down carefully, once again being overly cautious given the dresses dangerously low cut.

              “I don't know what to say.” I admit, when I find Bentley staring at me.

              “You don't have to say anything.” He says softly, turning towards the stage as the lights begin to dim. It's a good thirty seconds before I turn my attention to the stage, not able to rip my eyes away from the incredible man sitting next to me.

              The moment the dancers start moving across the stage, everything else fades away. Everything except for what is happening right in front of me and Bentley's fingers lightly trailing against the back of my hand. I watch each dancer as they jump and leap across the stage. I take in the amazing partnership as they do jumps and tricks that I have only ever dreamed of doing.

              It's clear within the first few minutes that the piece is about love. Even if the dance was to no music at all, you can feel it in the passion and the fire that surges between the two main dancers. The way they grip and cling to one another. The way they embrace.

              I have never seen anything like it before. I can't explain the way it makes me feel because more than anything, I don't understand it. I don't understand why suddenly I feel every emotion, every breath, every beat of my heart. I don't understand why suddenly a world that was once so black and white for me, now seems to be clouded in gray.

              Looking to the side, I watch Bentley's face as the dance turns dark and suddenly the lovers are separated. I watch his eyebrows pull up and his forehead crinkle. I watch the intensity in his stare as he loses himself in the movements and I can tell, he feels it too. He feels the power of the piece and what's even more important, he appreciates it.

              Turning my attention back to the stage, my skin prickles when he rests his hand against my leg. Not in a sexual way, but in a comforting way. Like he's telling me he's here. In a weird way, it settles me. It grounds me from the sudden floating feeling that seems to be making my body weightless.

              The dance ends with the two lovers reuniting on an amazing lift that gets more than a few gasps from the audience and then like in all good numbers, the stage goes black and the curtain closes. I stare out into the darkness, so overwhelmed with emotion that I'm having a hard time sorting through it all.

              I stand as the curtain opens again and join the audience in an ear shattering applause. Each dancer re-enters the stage, taking a bow before moving to the side to make room for the next dancer until each one has taken center stage and they are all lined along the edge, taking one large bow together.