A First Sight Page 4

  But what could I do?

  If I spoke up now, asked him what he was doing, I’d come across as a jealous bitch. He’d come up with some excuse. He’d use one of those charming smiles of his, use the right words to make everything look like my fault. Like I was the irrational one.

  That’s how it would go, because I knew him. He was already ten moves ahead of me.

  I swallowed hard and lifted my chin.

  Without a word to Dale, Chelsey, or any others who might watch me, I returned to my seat and picked up my violin. Ignoring everyone, I played the first few bars, testing my memory, losing myself in the notes. The music was all that mattered.

  ELEVEN

  DRAKE

  Knowing a private investigator was working to find information on Dale Leighton and my mystery woman made it easier to concentrate. Before long, I was on track.

  My heart beat faster when Mel knocked on my door. It’d been a long dry spell since I last had something that piqued my interest.

  “My friend did some searching.” Mel closed the door when I nodded. “And I’m pretty sure he found the Dale Leighton you’re looking for.”

  My throat went dry, and I straightened in my chair, trying not to look too eager.

  Before taking a seat on the other side of the desk, Mel handed me his tablet. The picture on the screen made my chest tighten. It wasn’t only the man, but her as well. Even if I couldn’t recognize Leighton, seeing my beautiful ghost of Belle would have confirmed it.

  “Aye.” I cleared my throat. “Yes, that’s him.”

  Mel nodded and held out his hand for his tablet. I stole one more look at her and reluctantly gave it back.

  He tapped the screen to pull up the information and started reading. “Dale Leighton, thirty-four. Native New Yorker by way of Queens. Father Ronald Leighton is a successful importer/exporter. Dale graduated from New York University. Been with the Philharmonic for three years, where he plays the violin.”

  I nodded and pretended not to be waiting to hear about my mystery woman.

  “The girl in the picture is his girlfriend, Maggie McCrae. Based on Leighton’s social media accounts, she also plays in the Philharmonic. He lives in Murray Hill, but it’s not apparent if she lives with him.”

  Maggie McCrae.

  A Scottish name, of course. The surname gave me a moment’s pause, tugging at something in my memory. Could she, by any chance, be related to Patrick McCrae? Likely not. There would be thousands of McCrae’s in the world.

  “That’s all my friend has right now, but he said he could dig a bit more.”

  I wanted to know more about Maggie McCrae, not Dale Leighton, but switching to ask for more information on her would undoubtedly make me look like a creep. Now that I had her name and place of employment, I could do a little investigating myself and avoid awkward questions.

  Still…

  “Not at the moment,” I said. “That may change in the future, but for now, thank your friend and have him send an invoice. Include a bonus for how quickly he worked.”

  Mel nodded, making a note on his tablet. “Has anything come up that isn’t already on my list for today?”

  “No, thank you.” I hoped I didn’t sound as impatient as I felt.

  “All right.” Mel stood. “I’ll check in before I leave.”

  I nodded, my fingers tapping on my thigh as I waited for him to leave. He closed the door, halfway as usual. I almost asked him to close it all the way, but I didn’t want to do anything out of the ordinary. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, but this was the sort of thing I didn’t want to have to explain to anyone. Especially since I didn’t understand it myself.

  Once I was sure he settled at his desk, I turned to my computer and pulled up my web browser. A minute later, I was on the website for the New York Philharmonic. No longer my mystery woman, she was easy to find. The website showed her as the assistant concertmaster and second chair at the top of the violin section.

  My conversation with Homer came back to me, and I realized I heard Maggie practicing that day I went to the opera house. It shouldn’t have surprised me that Maggie was a talented musician. Simply because Belle hadn’t possessed a musical bone in her body didn’t mean that her doppelganger couldn’t have.

  The biography on the website was brief.

  Violinist Maggie McCrae comes to New York from San Ramon, California. Accepted in Julliard straight out of high school, she earned a Master’s degree in music in five years. Having joined the Philharmonic shortly after her graduation, she’s risen quickly, having reached principal assistant concertmaster and second chair violinist a year ago.

  San Ramon, California.

  It took my brain a moment to process, but now, I was certain. Maggie was related to Patrick McCrae, the McCrae International Research Institute founder. While McCrae wasn’t an uncommon surname, I didn’t believe there were many of them in San Ramon.

  If my guess was correct, Maggie McCrae and I had a connection of sorts, though not exactly the type that fostered conversation.

  Not that I planned to hold any with her. I didn’t intend to meet her.

  But…I clicked on the link to take me to the event calendar. It had been a long time since I attended a concert, and I told Homer I would have to come to a performance soon. I already planned on it, so it wasn’t strange to purchase a seat for tonight’s show. I was merely continuing my patronage.

  And seeing Miss Maggie McCrae would simply be a little bonus.

  That’s all.

  I fidgeted with the cuffs of my tux, wondering again if I should have chosen a suit instead. A Friday night performance wasn’t as informal as a matinee or a Thursday evening, but I hadn’t been in a long time, and I wasn’t sure what to wear.

  Better to be overdressed rather than underdressed. Exiting my car, I made my way to the VIP entrance. I couldn’t stop the strange onset of nerves that grew with each passing step.

  There was no reason to be nervous. Or so my mind told me. I’d go to my seat, enjoy an excellent performance, then go home. I’d see her, of course—Maggie—but only alongside the other members of the orchestra. Including Dale, her boyfriend. It didn’t matter what I was wearing.

  But I’d still chosen the tux.

  I smiled and nodded at people as I passed, some of whom I knew. With nearly twenty minutes until the concert started, I stopped and did the sort of small talk that came with moving in these circles.

  There were only a few minutes left when I stepped past the curtain to my seat. The other seats in the box were empty, and they would remain that way since I had reserved the entire box. I hadn’t minded sharing space with others in the past, but tonight, I wanted to enjoy the show with no distractions.

  I settled in my seat and looked through the program, forcing myself to not rush to the one profile I wanted to read, the one picture I wanted to see. Fortunately, Maggie was among the first, considering her position in the orchestra.

  The orchestra walked on stage, and I set aside the program, every fiber of my being hyper-focused. Soon I would see her again. It took me only a few seconds. It was as if my eyes knew precisely where to go, where to find Maggie McCrae. I heard the brass as they began tuning, knew that the violins would be next, but it was all in the periphery. She was the only person I had eyes for.

  I couldn’t see her features from where I sat, not without opera glasses, but I knew each line. If I had the slightest artistic talent, I could draw her in my sleep. With her picture in the program, I could get a closer look, and although I could see her clearly, I preferred her in real life.

  Her every movement was graceful, just as it had been on the dance floor with her partner. He was a few seats over from her, but I didn’t look at him.

  Maggie’s hair was twisted up behind her head, making her look older than she had at the restaurant, but still as young as my wife had been. Belle rarely wore her hair up, which meant the resemblance wasn’t as strong tonight as before. Still, they had the same features, the same eyes.

  As “Overture to Candide” began, however, the role music had in Maggie’s life made me realize she differed from Belle. My mind stopped cataloging and categorizing individual traits and started enjoying the music. Without taking my eyes off her, I let myself follow the magic she made. I would follow Maggie McCrae wherever it was she wanted to take me.

  TWELVE

  MAGGIE

  It was no surprise Dale was okay with me going to lunch with Carson and London. He wanted me out of the house while he was gaming.

  I didn’t care.

  I didn’t want to think about him at all.

  La Maison, a small French restaurant, was reasonably close to my place, but Carson and London beat me there thanks to a late bus. I spotted them right away. It wasn’t hard considering who they were.

  Carson was over six feet tall, with burnished copper curls that looked like he’d just run a hand through them. He had baby blue eyes and a face that made people stop and take notice. If he wasn’t a designer, he could have been a model. Well, if he was someone who enjoyed being the center of attention, anyway.

  Then, London. She was tiny, barely over five feet tall. Long, strawberry blonde curls and brandy-colored eyes. She was stunning to look at, with a spirit that was even more beautiful. She was sweet and bubbly, just an absolute joy to be around. Since she was five years younger than me, I had spent little time with her when she was a kid, so now I tried to take any opportunity I had to do just that.

  A smile broke across my face as I hurried over to their table. Carson stood and pulled out my chair, which was typical of my brother. Not all of them would’ve done it, but that was Carson. I did not know why he was still single. I knew there was speculation about his orientation, but no matter who he was attracte
d to, he’d be a catch.

  “I was getting worried,” he said as he kissed my cheek.

  “The bus was late,” I said as I sat down next to London. “Hey.”

  “Hi.” She leaned over and hugged me. “How did things go last night?”

  “Really well,” I said. I paused to order a drink and then continued, “Irene made some changes recently, and we’ve been working our butts off to get them right. It was worth it, though. We sounded great.”

  “I’ll have to look at my schedule to find a time to get to a concert,” London said. “That’s one thing that sucks about our careers. They overlap so much.”

  “Yeah, I’ll have to see you perform,” I agreed. “How long is this show running?”

  “Three more weeks,” she said. “There’s some talk about getting an extension, though.”

  “That’s great!” I said.

  “I saw her opening night,” Carson said, “and she was phenomenal.”

  London blushed prettily. “It’s a minor role.”

  “That didn’t make you any less amazing,” he said.

  As we turned to the waiter to order, I wondered if I could persuade Dale to go to one of London's shows before it closed. If not, I would go on my own. Or with Carson. Dale wouldn’t worry if I was with my brother.

  “Miss McCrae?”

  I jumped in my dressing room chair as the voice startled me from my thoughts about tonight’s concert. Pressing a hand to my heart, I turned.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The young woman gave me a tentative smile.

  “It’s all right.” I smiled back. “Leyla, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She held out a bouquet. “These came for you.”

  Blinking in surprise, I took them. “Who are they from?”

  Leyla shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  “Oh, okay. Thank you.” I looked at the elegant white roses. Half a dozen, with little sprigs of baby’s breath in between. A simple bouquet, but absolutely lovely. I bent my head to breathe in the scent.

  “Who are those from?”

  Chelsey’s voice made my smile freeze. I lost myself for a moment, forgetting I wasn’t the only person in the room.

  “I don’t know,” I said as I carefully looked between the flowers. “There’s no note or card.”

  “Is that so?” Dale asked.

  For a wild moment, I thought they were from him, a romantic gesture of apology for being such an ass, lately.

  Then I saw the fury in his eyes, and I went cold. No, he didn’t send them.

  “They’re probably from Carson or London,” I blurted. “I saw them Sunday, and they know we have a concert tonight. I’m sure they just forgot to send a card.”

  I forced myself to keep calm. We were surrounded by people, about to go on stage.

  “Tonight’s not a special occasion,” Dale pointed out as he moved closer. “They’ve never randomly sent them before.”

  He had a point.

  “Since there’s no card, it could’ve been a mistake,” I suggested. I set the flowers on a nearby table. “Whoever sent them probably meant them to go to Irene. She is the concertmaster, after all.”

  My gaze slid to her, but I didn’t see her eyes.

  “I think everyone here knows the difference between you and Irene,” he said. He was only a foot or so from me now. “Do you honestly think it was a mistake?”

  I shrugged. “Could be. She’s the one who usually gets the flowers, after all.”

  “But that doesn’t mean no one’s noticed you,” he said. “Maybe someone’s trying to get your attention. Some new…fan.”

  I swallowed hard and hoped that my nerves didn’t show on my face. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t talked to anyone.”

  The corners of Dale’s mouth tightened.

  Shit.

  Ignoring the pang in my heart, I picked up the flowers and tossed them in the trash can.

  “If I find out who sent them, I’ll let you know.” I smiled at him and then moved to reach for my violin. “Besides, I’ve never liked white roses much. Anyone who knows me knows that.”

  A blatant lie. I hoped it would ease his suspicions. Dale had no idea what flowers I liked. The few times he bought me any, they’d been carnations and daisies with lots of ribbons. I appreciated the gift, but I would’ve preferred a single white rose over something meant to be showy.

  A coincidence, of course, that the mysterious sender had chosen those flowers, but I was thankful Dale didn’t know they were actually my favorite.

  THIRTEEN

  DRAKE

  She was stunning, just as she had been during her performance five days ago. A trifle paler, I realized a few minutes after she first came onstage, but it could be the lighting that was different.

  I had flowers sent to her backstage. I only hoped my attempt to show appreciation for her talent wouldn’t come across as…creepy?

  I should’ve signed my name. That would have been the best way to go.

  But, with my name, she would know who I was. She could find me. And I didn’t want that.

  Did I?

  I had thought about it, of course. Since the first time I saw Maggie, I had thought about what it would be like to speak with her. To hear her voice clearly and find out if she sounded like Belle, as I imagined.

  The idea also petrified me.

  I understood the difference between fantasy and reality, what ‘the grass is always greener’ really meant. Chances were, if I met her, I would be disillusioned. Experience taught me all too well that life was more likely to hand down disappointment than anything real.

  Except, as I watched her, I wondered if that would be the case with Maggie McCrae. She seemed pretty extraordinary on paper.

  “Drake, there you are, lad.”

  I turned in time to see Stellan follow Uncle Ben through the curtain. I jumped to my feet, my head spinning. “Uncle Ben! Stellan! What are you doing here?”

  “Well, you raved about the performance you went to last week, so it inspired Stellan and I to join you.” Uncle Ben beamed at me and came forward to hug me. “Thanks to some people I know, we found the box you were sitting in. An entire box to yourself, really? You don’t mind us joining you, do you?”

  Normally, I would’ve been thrilled to have them join me. But could I keep them from noticing Maggie, her likeness to Belle, and when they did, how would I explain? I could lie, try to convince them I didn’t see the bizarre resemblance, but there was no way I could pull that off.

  “You know,” Stellan said, “I’ve never actually been to see the Philharmonic.”

  “Stellan’s always been more of a Broadway fan,” Uncle Ben said.

  “And once you retire, we will have time to go to both,” Stellan said with a smile.

  Uncle Ben put his arm around Stellan’s shoulders. “Sure, and we’ll come back once a week if you enjoy yourself tonight.”

  They moved into their seats, and after taking a deep breath, I followed. Should I tell them about Maggie, or let them see her either in the program or on stage? Before I could decide, Stellan opened the program.

  I sat next to him and waited. It didn’t take long, and I didn’t need to guess when he arrived on the right page. He sucked in a breath and went stiff.

  “What’s wrong?” Uncle Ben said. He leaned over. A moment later, the color drained from his face. “Drake…?”

  “Aye,” I mumbled. “I know.”

  “Who...who is she?” Stellan sounded like he’d been punched in the gut, a feeling I understood all too well.

  “Maggie McCrae,” I answered, even though the information was in front of him. “The first time I saw her, I thought I was seeing a ghost.”

  “The first time you saw her?” Uncle Ben gave me a look so sharp I could feel it. “At the performance last week? Why didn’t you say anything? And why would you come back?”