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  Thankfully, we only have a few lines left before the act is over. Luca grips me tightly, and I know he is still in the scene as Rodolfo, but in reality, right now he is Luca, my singing partner and good friend who is as worried as I am about what’s just happened to me.

  We exit the garret in character, then I listen as Luca and Julia sing the last two lines together, despite the fact that she is out front and we are standing offstage.

  Within seconds, the Met stagehands are changing the set for Act II, the square in Paris with its shops and café where Rodolfo takes Mimi to meet his friends. There are hundreds of extras, including animals to corral, which requires a five-minute pause to set up between acts.

  Our assistant stage manager, Peter, comes running over, fear etched across his face. “Allegra, what the hell happened?”

  When I open my mouth, I begin to cough. I cover my mouth, and when I pull it away, my palm is covered in my blood.

  Suddenly, Peter shouts into his headset, ordering my understudy, Gina, to the set and for someone to text the doctor on call. Luca yells for a tissue before he hands me off to Peter, kissing my hair and telling me he’ll see me as soon as he finishes tonight. I simply nod as the cacophony around me turns into white noise, and then the ground below my feet disappears.

  * * *

  Davison

  I bound up the front stairs of the New York Eye and Ear Infirmary of Mount Sinai, taking two at a time. I push the glass doors open, rushing for the reception desk.

  “Where is urgent care?” I demand breathlessly.

  The woman points to her left. “Around that corner, sir.”

  I run in the direction she indicated, pushing through another set of doors, targeting the check-in desk as soon as I spot it.

  “Where is my wife?” I pant to the nurse on duty.

  “What is her name, sir?”

  “Allegra Orsini Berkeley.”

  She checks her clipboard. “She’s in exam room two. I can show you—”

  I don’t bother to wait for directions. I need to see Allegra right now. Right fucking now. I rush down the hallway to a set of rooms, scanning the signs outside for the right one. My shoulders sag in relief when I see it, barreling through the door, not giving a fuck who’s inside, if I’ve got the wrong room, any of that shit.

  But I have the correct room, because Allegra is lying on a bed in a standard mint-green hospital gown.

  “Baby!” I growl, rushing to her, desperate to hold her in my arms.

  She sits up at the sound of my voice, tears streaming down her face. Her entire body is convulsing from her sobbing, as her arms shoot out to me, eager for my touch.

  Within seconds, I’m holding her. “I’m here, Allegra. I’m here. Tell me what happened.”

  Her arms encircle my waist like a vise, with her hands fisting my jacket. She won’t stop shaking.

  With one hand, I smooth her hair back. “Please, baby. Talk to me.”

  But she doesn’t say anything. She only whimpers like a wounded, defenseless animal.

  “She can’t talk, Davison.”

  Her father’s calm voice gives me a start. I turn to see him slumped in a chair in the corner behind me. “Shit! I mean… Mr. Orsini, I’m so sorry… I didn’t see you there.”

  He rises to his feet and slowly makes his way over to me. “Per favore, don’t apologize. I’m just glad you finally made it.”

  I hold Allegra’s shoulders with one arm while holding her hand with the other. “I was already on the ground at Teterboro when her manager called me to tell me she’d collapsed backstage, then that she was taken here after she was first examined at St. Luke’s over by Lincoln Center. What happened?”

  Mr. Orsini’s eyes are sunken, his face fallen as he begins to explain. “Apparently, she lost her voice during the first act, then when she came offstage, she started to cough up blood. The ambulance took her to St. Luke’s first, but when the ER doctors said it was her throat, Jared insisted she be brought here because the Eye and Ear Infirmary also has a voice subspecialty—that’s what he called it.”

  I nod. “They do. I Googled it in the car on the way here. So she can’t speak at all?”

  A tug on my jacket brings my attention back to my wife. She grunts something, pointing at herself, as if to say, Hello! I’m right here! Talk to me!

  I caress her soft cheek. “I’m so sorry, baby. Of course. Have you been examined yet? Are you waiting for test results?”

  She nods vigorously.

  “Do you have to stay overnight?”

  She shrugs her shoulders.

  “Fine, then we’ll wait to find out, but if you do, then I’m staying with you. Did Jared leave?”

  “Yes,” her father replies for her. “He said he’ll be in touch in the morning.”

  A tall woman in a white doctor’s coat with a light brown ponytail and round tortoiseshell glasses walks into the room, carrying a manila file. “Hello, Mrs. Berkeley. I’m Dr. Laura Bauer, the resident on call. From what your tests indicate, your vocal cords have sustained some damage, and I want you to stay overnight so we can monitor you, and then in the morning, the chief voice specialist will study your films and results and can consult with you then. Is that clear? Do you need anything?”

  Allegra shakes her head, then points to me. Dr. Bauer smiles. “I take it that’s your husband. So you have everything you need?”

  Touched by my wife’s sweet nature, I kiss the top of her head as she nods and gives the doctor a thumbs-up.

  “Very well, then. We’ll have you moved into a private room shortly. I’ll see you in the morning. And remember… no talking.”

  Allegra nods. “Thank you, Doctor,” I reply in thanks for both of us as we watch the doctor leave.

  Her father steps closer to the bed, taking Allegra’s other hand. “Cara, do you need anything before I go?”

  She shakes her head, then points to herself, her heart, and finally, Papa.

  His eyes tear at his daughter’s gestures. “Ti amo anch’io. Call me in the morning when you know something, okay?” He says that to Allegra, but I know it’s really meant for me.

  “Of course we will,” I assure him.

  Mr. Orsini gives his daughter one last hug, he shakes my hand, then leaves the room. Allegra begins to pat down my jacket, then my ass.

  “Baby, as much as I’d love to, I don’t think this is the time—”

  She rolls her eyes at me and smacks me on the arm. Gesturing with her hand held up to her ear, she acts out talking on the phone, and then the realization hits me.

  I pull out my phone, which she grabs from me and immediately opens to the notepad app, typing furiously.

  Phone in purse. Left behind in dressing room. Nurse never showed up with paper and a pen.

  I nod in understanding. “Allegra, tell me what happened.”

  More typing.

  Lost voice during first act. Prompter sang for me and I mouthed the words. Came offstage and coughed up blood.

  Oh my God. I hold her tighter as she continues.

  Then I fainted and woke up in ambulance with Jared next to me. He was in the audience and someone rushed out to get him. You know the rest.

  She pauses and looks up at me, then types some more. Don’t leave me. Scared.

  I take my wife’s face in my hands. “I’m not leaving you for a second. If you have to spend the night here, then so am I.”

  She starts to cry again. I take her in my arms, soothing her as I run one hand over her hair again and again. “It’ll be okay, Allegra. Whatever happens, we’re in this together. Why don’t you lie down?”

  I release her and let her fall back onto the bed. She moves over to the edge of the mattress, patting the empty space next to her.

  Right now, I don’t give a shit if Nurse Ratched comes in and yells at me for violating hospital rules. If my wife wants me next to her, nobody is going to stop me.

  I kick off my shoes and carefully slide onto the bed, wrapping myself around her.
/>
  “I’m here, Venus. I’m here,” I whisper to Allegra, watching in relief as her eyes flutter closed for some much-needed sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Allegra

  From the north-facing windows of the office belonging to the chief specialist for voice and throat at the New York Eye and Ear Infirmary on Second Avenue, I can see the tall spire of the Chrysler Building on Forty-second Street, and the Citigroup Center only a few blocks farther up.

  In two separate chairs facing the doctor’s desk, Davison is sitting next to me in one of them holding my hand. He’s freshly showered and dressed after a quick trip back to the apartment before our appointment. Thankfully, I’m now in a sweater and jeans that he brought back for me instead of that scratchy hospital gown.

  “Columbia,” he mutters.

  I pull out my phone and start to type on it: What?

  He looks down at his phone, and with a derogatory snort, he points to the degrees on the wall. “Princeton undergrad, and Columbia Medical.”

  I slap him on the arm. Unbelievable. I swear, this doctor had better have good news to give me, because not being able to talk back to my husband when he’s being a total ass is beyond frustrating.

  I quickly type, Give it a rest, Harvard. I can practically see the ivy growing on the damn walls, so zip it! Got it? Where he went to medical school should be the least of your worries right now.

  He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, then lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my palm. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m just nervous.”

  I restrain myself from typing out, Join the fucking club.

  Finally, the door opens behind us, and an older man of medium height with salt-and-pepper hair comes around to shake our hands. “Mrs. Berkeley, Mr. Berkeley, I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Dr. Gabriel Mason. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”

  “Not at all,” Davison replies coolly. “Now just tell me how you’re going to make my wife better.”

  Ignoring my husband’s blunt remark, I watch as Dr. Mason sits down at his desk, pulls out my file and films, then clasps his hands together and looks at me straight in the eye. “Allegra, you have suffered a vocal fold hemorrhage. One of the blood vessels in your vocal cords burst, which caused you to cough up the blood after you came offstage. Did you experience any symptoms before the rupture?”

  Now I feel like the stupidest person on the planet. Davison glances over at my phone as I type out, I’ve had some neck pain, and my dresser said my voice sounded a bit hoarse last night.

  I hold up my phone to Dr. Mason. I’m so thankful to have my phone back. I had texted the stage manager on Davison’s phone last night to allow Tomas to go into my dressing room and get my things for me, which Lucy brought over to the hospital while I was asleep.

  Dr. Mason reads what I wrote and nods. “Yes, those are some of the symptoms.”

  Davison speaks up. “Where do we go from here?”

  The doctor places his hands flat on the desk, leaning in closer to me. “First, Allegra, you must have complete vocal rest for the next two weeks. You cannot utter one single word. I mean it. From now on, write everything out as you’ve been doing to communicate.”

  Davison’s grip on my hand tightens as the doctor continues.

  “Then you will require about a month of voice therapy. After that, we’ll reassess to determine if further action is required.”

  “What kind of ‘further action’ are we talking about?” Davison asks for me.

  “Laser surgery to get rid of the vessel that initially caused the rupture.”

  A wave of goose bumps pop up on my arms. I look over at Davison, whose eyes soften when he stares back at me. “It’s just a last resort, baby, but I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

  I take a deep breath and write, When can I go home?

  Dr. Mason gives me a quick grin. “You can go home today, Allegra. I’ll see you in two weeks, after you’ve rested your voice, and then assign you a vocal therapist. But you’ll also have to contact the Met and let them know your understudy will have to take over the rest of your run. And, personally, I’m so sorry to tell you that because I read your amazing reviews from opening night.”

  “That’s all right, Doctor. Allegra will be back up on the stage before we know it, right, baby?” Davison announces, gripping my hand as my heart melts from my husband’s encouragement and his love for me, which he is never embarrassed to express publically.

  I nod, then the three of us rise to our feet. Davison and I take turns shaking the doctor’s hand. “Thank you so much, Dr. Mason,” Davison tells him.

  “Of course, Mr. Berkeley. Please call me for anything at all. And, Allegra, remember…”

  I motion to my lips with my hands, pretending I’m zipping them shut.

  “Excellent,” Dr. Mason replies, looking pleased with me.

  Davison walks me out holding my hand, which I’m grateful for because I can’t feel my feet under me. He quickly pulls me over to the side in the hallway. He cups my face with his strong hands and locks his eyes on mine.

  “I know you’re scared, baby. It’s going to be okay. I swear to you. I’m going to take care of everything. Nothing but the best doctors and treatment for you, whatever it costs. You come first, and I’m going to take care of you. I don’t want you to worry. I just want you well. Got it?”

  Tears run softly down my face as I nod in gratitude and sheer love for my husband. I lean my forehead on his, letting his strong, hard body support me.

  “We’ve got this, Venus. You and me,” he whispers roughly. He kisses my forehead, then takes my hand. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

  I wrap my arm around my husband’s waist and cradle my head in the crook of his shoulder as he leads me back to my room so I can start packing.

  * * *

  Davison

  I step into the apartment from the elevator, reading an urgent text from Christoph:

  Hey, man, I found something incredible that you must see in Hong Kong. The returns would be huge for both of us. Get here ASAP—C

  I sigh at Christoph’s unfortunate timing when I hear the sounds of a sad tune being played on the piano filling the room that capture my attention. I think it’s Chopin, but I can’t really tell. Dressed in her sweats, Allegra is sitting on the bench, her head bent over as she focuses on the notes. I freeze on the spot, watching her, not wanting to interrupt her.

  The two weeks when she couldn’t talk were probably some of the worst times in my life, right up there with her kidnapping. The pain I felt for her was even more acute because unlike when that pig Morandi took her from me, this time I could actually see the hurt and pain in her face, her frustration at not being allowed to talk or sing. Frankly, I think it was more difficult for her not being able to sing than talk. We left notepads and pens all over the apartment so she wouldn’t have to carry one with her everywhere. Even though she wasn’t part of the production anymore, she still refrained from foods that she didn’t eat when she had to sing onstage, such as dairy, alcohol, and caffeine. She became vigilant about her health, making sure we had more fruits and vegetables in the house. I cooked her salmon steaks for the omega-3, which she loved. Her father, my mother, and Lucy were frequent visitors.

  Now she had a vocal therapist for the next month, who worked with her to gain her vocal strength back while allowing her voice to heal properly. Some of the techniques seemed somewhat dubious to me when I looked them up. One of them is called “digital laryngeal manipulation,” which is basically when the therapist massages the patient’s larynx. To me, it looked like choking, but hopefully, Allegra’s therapist knew what she was doing. And for my peace of mind, I’m glad she was assigned a female therapist, because the image of another man’s hands on my wife’s throat—yeah, that shit would not have sat well with me at all.

  The lack of music being played brings me back to the present moment. Allegra hasn’t moved from the piano. And then I realize what she was playing. It was the section f
rom La Bohème when Mimi and Rodolfo sing together in the falling snow at the end of Act III, vowing to stay together until spring comes. My heart instantly breaks at the recognition, and I pick up my pace toward her, watching as she runs her hands over the smooth keys.

  I approach her slowly. “Hi, baby,” I gently greet her.

  “Hi,” she whispers in return.

  Ever since Allegra came home from the hospital, I’ve used a soft voice with her, and she has done the same since she got the all clear that she was allowed to speak again because she didn’t want to risk injuring herself further. So, if my wife whispers, so do I.

  I run my hand over Allegra’s silky brown hair. “How was your day? Therapy session go well?”

  “As well as can be expected. I just hope it helps.”

  “I’m sure it will. We just need to think positively. Want me to heat something up for dinner?”

  She shakes her head. “No, let me do it. At least it’ll feel like I’m doing something productive. I’ll make a salad too.”

  Allegra pushes back from the piano, giving me a soft kiss on the lips before shuffling to the kitchen in her slippers.

  At that instant, my mind is made up. I walk down the hallway to our bedroom and shut the door so Allegra can’t hear me. I pull out my phone and scroll for Christoph’s number. My message goes straight to his voice mail. “It’s Davison. I got your text. I’m going to send Ian Parker, my number two, to meet you in Hong Kong. He is very good at what he does and I trust him implicitly. I apologize in advance, but my wife needs me at home. We’ll talk soon.”

  After I hang up, I call Ian, who picks up on the second ring. “Davison, everything okay?”

  “No. I need you to fly to Hong Kong tomorrow to meet with Christoph. Apparently, he’s found some amazing investment opportunity, but coming from him, that could mean just about anything. I have no fucking idea what it is, but I need you to check it out and report back to me. Allegra needs me at home. You can take my jet. I’ll call Teterboro and make all the arrangements.”