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 orchestra had tuned, the conductor had taken the stage, 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 thedim 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.
four
. . .
Vomiting was always horrid. Vomiting in the men’s room at the Royal Albert Hall while Javier hovered nearby, hands full of damp paper towels that he used to wipe Desmond’s mouth in between bouts of heaving was infinitely worse.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Desmond panted once his stomach settled into a queasy roil.
“Honey, this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with that bitch, Matthew,” Javier said, crouching and helping Desmond to settle against the stall’s wall.
Desmond wanted to protest that it was, indeed, his fault, that he should have been firmer with Matthew about the break-up, and that he should have taken a few other steps to cut all ties with his ex entirely. He was embarrassed now to think about those other steps. In fact, he couldn’t think about that now. All he could think about was the tall, gorgeous man in a designer suit that now had a spot of vomit on the lapel who reached over to flush the toilet, then gently wiped his mouth with more paper towels.
“I am not entirely certain,” Desmond said weakly, glancing up at Javier’s serious, beautiful face as he studied him, “whether this is the most humiliating moment of my life or one of the best.”
A second after the words were spoken, Desmond recognized how silly he sounded. He flushed in mortification, then flushed even hotter when a slow smile spread over Javier’s face.
“I’ll take that as a compliment on my bedside manner,” Javier said before rocking back and muscling himself to stand. He offered a hand to Des as well. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home so you can rest.”
Desmond nodded and let Javier do most of the work to get him fully upright. His stomach was still miserable, but the worst was over. There couldn’t have been too much shrimp in his quiche, otherwise he would have had far more problems that encompassed both ends, and for a much longer length of time.
Still, he felt shaky and delicate as Javier escorted him to the sink, as he splashed his face with water and scrubbed a few spots on his suit, and as he called Hassan to come back early to pick them up.
“Is everything alright?” Hassan asked them as they met the car by the hall’s front entrance.
“Just a bit of an accident with some shrimp,” Javier answered for him.
“How did that happen?” Hassan asked as he held the door while Javier helped Desmond into the car.
“I was careless,” Desmond said, not wanting to admit just how he was careless.
“That’s not like you at all,” Hassan said, shutting the door.
Desmond just hummed as his friend slipped into the driver’s seat.
“No limo tonight?” Javier asked teasingly as they pulled away from the concert hall and started their journey through London.
Desmond laughed cautiously, not wanting to jolt his stomach too much. “I save the limo for special occasions, like rescuing soaked cupids from street corners.”
Javier laughed, which was the best medicine he could have had at the moment. “I’m not sure I thanked you enough for that.”
“It was no trouble at all,” Desmond said. He paused, then continued his earlier thought with, “I don’t live terribly far from here, so the Bentley is fine.”
