Forever with Him Read online

  My costar leads me to the backdrop, and he once again places his hand on my face as I stare into his eyes, pretending he’s the only man for me.

  * * *

  I walk into my father’s butcher shop, the familiar smell of freshly sliced meat making me hungry within seconds. The customers greet me with hugs and kisses.

  Papa works his way to me through the crowd. “Dio mio! Such trouble I have to go through just to hug my own daughter!”

  I embrace my father, then let him lead me around the counter to the back room. We sit down on the crates lining the walls, like I used to do when I was little, watching Papa and Mamma work out front.

  “Espresso, cara?” he asks, pointing to the coffeemaker on the counter.

  “No, Papa. I’m good.”

  He reaches out to my face, touching it with the tip of his index finger, then checking it when it comes up covered in makeup. “What is all this? You don’t go out like this, do you? You’re beautiful just as you are.”

  I smile at Papa, ever the parent offering positive reinforcement at a moment’s notice. “No. I just had to do a magazine photo shoot with Luca. I came straight here and didn’t have time to wash it off.”

  “Do you want to go upstairs to clean up?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll do it when I get home. I just wanted to see you. It was a long morning. This whole thing, my career, the constant publicity, it’s difficult to get used to, since that’s not how you raised me.”

  “And with good reason. I did it to keep you safe.”

  I nod in agreement. “I know. And I’ll always be grateful for that. But this is my life now, and I just have to learn to deal with it, because this is what I’ve dreamed for as long as I can remember.”

  “I can’t wait to see you up there. I just wish…”

  “Mamma,” I whisper. “Lo so. I wish that too.”

  I reach down to get a tissue from my purse when I spot an open newspaper lying on a crate near me. I pick it up and see it’s open to real estate listings, with a few circled in Queens. “What’s this?”

  “What does it look like? I’m looking for a place to live after I sell the shop.”

  I throw the paper down in frustration. “Papa, I told you that Davison is more than willing to help you out. I’ve already told him about it, and it’s as good as done. And the guy who wants to buy the place, what’s his name… Brett Pryce. Davison said he’s a total creep.”

  “No, Allegra! I told you I won’t take any money from him. It’s a matter of pride.”

  “Ha! It’s a matter of you being a stubborn horse’s ass!” I counter.

  He shakes his head vigorously, jumping from his seat and now pacing the floor, muttering all sorts of things in Italian.

  With his back to me, I hear him take a deep breath. “It’s very nice of your husband to offer.” He pauses. “Fine. I’ll listen to what he has to say, but I’ll still say no.”

  I grin to myself, pursing my lips together when he turns around so he can’t see how happy I am now. I stand up to give him a tight hug. “Grazie, Papa.”

  I pick up my purse and begin to walk out when Papa pulls me back by the elbow. “Aspetta, cara! You’re not going anywhere without taking home some food to feed that man of yours.”

  I sigh in exasperation. “I do cook, you know. So does Davison, believe it or not.”

  He waves his hand at me dismissively. “Eh! That’s fine, but there’s nothing like the best Italian prosciutto thinly sliced with a side of melon. At least I can give you that.”

  Papa grabs an apron from a hook on the wall and holds it out to me. “You can do the honors. How do you say, I’m ‘keeping it true’?”

  I laugh out loud. “Keeping it real.”

  “Sì, keeping it real. You may be a future star on the stage of the Met, but here on Mulberry Street, you’re still Giacomo Orsini’s daughter, who works the counter at her father’s butcher shop.”

  I take the apron from him and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Sempre, Papa.”

  Chapter Ten

  Davison

  With my suitcase lying open on the bed, I begin to fill it, traveling back and forth to the closet with more clothes to pack in it. The moment I’ve been dreading since the wedding two weeks ago has arrived. Tomorrow, I leave for Switzerland to meet with Christoph Kahn, my childhood friend who I contacted to pitch him the services of DCB Group after I read that article about him in the Wall Street Journal. He was still the same Christoph I remembered from our school holidays in Europe—cocky, outgoing, and smart. We agreed to meet after the wedding, and now that the time has arrived, it’s killing me.

  I return from the closet carrying several pairs of socks, drop them into my suitcase, then stop to stare at my wife. Allegra is lying in bed dressed only in my Harvard sweatshirt, going over the notes her La Bohème director gave her after rehearsal tonight, then picking up the sheet music and quietly alternating between humming and singing as practice.

  This image of Allegra, this is what I look forward to seeing for the rest of my life.

  Between my work and her rehearsals, we didn’t have time for a proper honeymoon, so we made sure to play hermit on the weekends, never leaving our apartment, ordering in, and fucking each other until our bodies were fully sated.

  I go back for my underwear, finding my socks gone from my suitcase when I throw it in.

  “Baby?”

  She doesn’t look up from her notes. “Yeah?”

  “Where’d my socks go?”

  “How should I know? You’re the one who’s packing.”

  I raise my eyebrow at her. “Okay,” I reply, now completely suspicious.

  I grab a bunch of ties, and now my briefs have disappeared from my case.

  “Allegra!”

  “What?” she asks, again only focusing on the papers in front of her.

  I’m about to ask her again when I notice the bedsheets around her have become bulkier, increased in height. I pull the linens back, revealing my socks and my underwear, her notes flying up into the air.

  “Venus…” I sigh.

  She frowns at me and gives me a shrug. “Can I help it if I don’t want you to go?”

  I haul the suitcase from the bed, place it on the floor, then join my wife on our bed, pulling her into my arms. “I know. I don’t want to go either. But you know I have to. This is business.”

  She sighs. “I know. I’m usually not a selfish person—”

  “Very true,” I quickly agree with my wife.

  “—and I would never ask you to put me before your business.”

  I shake my head. “Allegra, you will always come first. I hope you know that by now.”

  “Of course. You’re building your business, and getting this Christoph guy to sign on with you would be a huge coup for you. It’s just we’ve been together every night—”

  “Except the night before we got married, which I still think was unnecessary.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “It’s called tradition, Harvard. But getting back to my point, I know your career is important to you, as mine is to me. I just miss our quiet nights at home, watching a movie on the sofa, cooking together, spending lazy mornings in bed.”

  I kiss Allegra’s hair as I hold her tighter. “And we’ll do all that again really soon, baby, once we get our professional lives in some kind of order. We’ll find our balance. You know that, right?”

  She nods. “I do. I just… Tomorrow morning is going to kill me, saying good-bye to you.”

  I quickly disentangle myself from my wife, hurling the unpacked briefs and socks over my shoulder. “Then let’s say good-bye now properly.”

  Allegra’s eyes light up in recognition, and she mirrors my actions, pushing all of her papers to the floor, followed by ridding herself of the sweatshirt, revealing her lush, succulent tits, which instantly make my dick rock-hard at the sight of them.

  She pulls my face to hers, plunging her tongue into my mouth. “I think I’m going to li
ke your version of good-bye,” she pants when she comes up for air.

  I roam my hands over her, pinching her nipples. “I aim to please, Mrs. Berkeley.”

  Her hands lock their grip on my face so her eyes can bore into mine. “You always do, Mr. Berkeley. Now fuck me hard.”

  I dip my head to her chest, murmuring under my breath as I devour her left breast, “Always, baby. Always.”

  * * *

  With its stark white walls, dark trim, and turreted towers at each end, the Gstaad Palace hotel sits atop a tall hill in the Swiss Alps, hovering over the small village, serving as a beacon at night when illuminated from the outside. I’m in my suite waiting for Christoph Kahn to arrive, coffee and tea at the ready. We agreed to meet here instead of Zurich, where his family’s company is based, to take the pressure off the meeting and keep it more casual since we haven’t seen each other in years.

  From my balcony, I can see the chalet that once belonged to my family, where I spent so many vacations as a child. After my arrival late yesterday, I had my driver take me past it so I could see it. The last time I was there was to help my mother clear out our belongings under the watchful eyes of the local authorities so we wouldn’t take anything deemed valuable that could be seized by the Feds as outlined in the agreement between them and my father’s lawyer.

  When the car drove up to the house, signs were posted to the front door and the garage door, all in German, declaring the house had been seized and warning against trespassers. It broke my heart. I had hoped that one day I could bring Allegra here for vacation, to watch our children open their presents here on Christmas morning, after which we’d spend a full day on the slopes. But that would never happen, and I vowed to myself that I would find a new home for Allegra and our family where we would spend our holidays so we could make our own memories.

  A knock at the door snaps me out of my reverie. I stride over to it, open it, and standing in front of me is Christoph, wearing a cream turtleneck sweater, pressed blue jeans, and black soccer shoes.

  “I think one of us is overdressed, man,” he smirks, staring at me in my charcoal suit.

  I grin back at him. “One of us never grew up, I see.”

  We shake hands, slapping each other on the back. “Good to see you, my friend,” he says in greeting. “Been way too long.”

  “I know. Have a seat. Coffee?” I offer.

  He slouches down onto the couch. “Yeah, thanks. Black. Had a long night last night.”

  I pour the coffee and hand it to him. “And her name was?”

  “Brigitta and Elsa. You can meet them tonight if you like.”

  I shake my head, raising my left hand to him so he can see my wedding ring. “Sorry. I’m officially off the market as of a few weeks ago.”

  He takes a long sip of coffee. “Pity. Could’ve been like old times.”

  I sit down on the other sofa opposite him. “We did have some crazy nights, I’ll admit. But Allegra is it for me. Never been happier in my life.”

  Christoph visibly winces. “I’m allergic to marriage, man. But I’m pleased for you.”

  “Thank you. So, about the piece I read in the Journal…” I begin.

  “Yeah, my father wasn’t too happy about that. He prefers to keep our affairs out of the public eye.”

  I sigh, worrying that this meeting might not go the way I’d like. I open my laptop, clicking on the PowerPoint presentation I made for him. I turn it around to face him. “Look, I know that I’ve been in the news thanks to my own father, so I made this for you to reassure you that—”

  He waves his hand in the air at me. “Don’t bother. I know you’re not your father. God knows I’ve had so many issues with my own father, which is why I can’t do the corporate thing anymore. It’s too much stress, but I do love business. What I need is someone to tell me where to put my money.”

  “And I can do that for you,” I tell him, my voice strong and unwavering.

  He smiles at me, leaning back into the sofa cushions, stretching his arms out across the back. “Why do you think I’m here? I don’t get up before noon for anybody, but you’re Davison fucking Berkeley, man. I saw what you did with your family’s company before all that shit went down. You’re a genius with money. Harvard doesn’t give out MBAs to morons.”

  As encouraged as I am by what he just said, I hesitate before I ask my question. “So, are you interested?”

  Christoph leans across the coffee table, holding out his hand to me. “Fuck interested. We have a deal. Just send me the contract.”

  My eyes pop out in surprise as my shoulders sink from the relief, taking his hand to shake it in return. “You can trust me, Christoph.”

  He laughs out loud. “My friend, after all the shit we pulled as teenagers and all the times you covered for me with my parents, there’s nobody I trust more with my money. All I ask is that if I find a potential investment, you come see it for yourself, no matter where it is—Hong Kong, Dubai, wherever. And our next meeting will probably be in Zurich in two weeks.”

  I mentally calculate the timing. Allegra’s opening night at the Met is in two weeks. I quickly steel myself, so that Christoph can’t read the worry on my face that there might be a possible conflict. “Of course. Whatever you need. You’re my client. Comes with the territory.”

  “Excellent.” He checks his Rolex. “I’m starving. Any chance you could have lunch with me?”

  “I’d love to, but I promised Allegra I’d get home as soon as I was done here.”

  “You couldn’t spare an hour? I’ve already got some ideas in mind. Surely you don’t have a flight to catch, since you probably have your own jet.”

  I take a deep breath. He’s right. And he just agreed to sign with me. Allegra will understand. This is business.

  “Of course I do. Lunch would be great. How about that pub where we always went for burgers to get our hangover cures?”

  Christoph points his finger at me excitedly. “Ja! Great idea, man. Let’s go.”

  I get up from the sofa. “Just give me a sec. There’s no way I’m wearing this suit to a pub, especially the pub where we once got kicked out after we got in a fight with those royal snots.”

  “Those were the days, my friend.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “This will be good. I can feel it.”

  Finally, I can breathe easier. “Thanks, Christoph. I think so too.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Allegra

  “You WHAT???”

  Davison takes a deep breath, then looks at me straight in the eyes. “I have to meet with Christoph in Zurich the week of your opening night at the Met.”

  I can’t believe this. We’ve just had his welcome-home dinner, which I ordered in from his favorite Chinese place around the corner, preceded by my jumping into his arms the second he stepped out of the elevator into the apartment and assaulting his lush mouth with mine. I was hurrying with putting the dinner dishes away into the dishwasher so I could get ready for sexy time with my husband when he laid this news on me.

  I put down the dirty plate back into the sink, turn to him, and hold up my wet hands, palms facing out, before I go on. “Let me get this straight. The week that I’m making my debut on the stage of the Metropolitan Opera, something I’ve dreamed of since I knew I wanted to be an opera singer, that’s the week you decide to fly to Switzerland on business?”

  “I didn’t choose that week, Allegra. Christoph did. And I have to do as my client wishes.”

  “But didn’t you tell him you couldn’t?” I ask.

  “No, because—”

  My mouth drops in shock. “What do you mean ‘no,’ Davison? Did it just slip your mind? Am I that fucking forgettable?”

  If there’s such a thing as green fire, I can see it in my husband’s eyes, which are ablaze with it at this moment. “Fuck no, Allegra!” he shouts in my face. “Christ, don’t you ever think of yourself that way with me! I didn’t tell him because I’ll be home with plenty of time before that. It’s just one mee
ting. One overnight stay, tops. And I didn’t tell him because I know it won’t be a problem. I mean, you won’t need me until the day of, right? And what happened to being so understanding about my work?”

  He’s got me there.

  I exhale, taking a dishcloth to wipe off my hands, then turn back to face him. “Okay, you’re totally right about that. I did say that. But you have to understand, Davison. I’m nervous as hell already about that week. The final rehearsals, the last fittings. It’s all going to be too much, and I just need to know that you’ll be home. This is something that’s going to come up again and again when I’m performing. Hopefully, one day, I’ll be making my debut in London at Covent Garden or in Milan at La Scala, and I’ll need you to support me. I’m freaking out that something will happen, and I want to know that when I come home after a long night, whether it’s here or at a hotel, you’ll be waiting for me.”

  “I won’t be.”

  My chin starts to tremble and I’m about to burst into tears. “What?”

  “I won’t be home or in our hotel room because I’ll be in the audience watching you, silly woman.”

  I gasp from relief and pull my husband to me as I dissolve into tears. “I’m so sorry, Davison. I’m such a wreck. I didn’t mean any of it.”

  I can hear the smile in his voice. “I know, baby,” he coos in my ear. “I just have to remember that artists can be a bit sensitive.”

  “Just a bit.” I laugh. “And you business types aren’t exactly known for being mushy or in tune with other people’s feelings, because all you care about are dollar signs.”

  Davison suddenly pulls away from me, but still holds me by the shoulders, a puzzled look on his face. “Umm, did we just inadvertently insult each other?”

  I clamp one hand over my mouth. “Oh shit! I think we did. But I wasn’t hurt because it’s true. I am a sensitive opera singer who needs constant reassurance and positive reinforcement.”

  “And I really am a heartless businessman and all I care about is money and the bottom line,” he adds.

  We pause to look at each other and collapse into peals of laughter. Davison takes me into his arms once more and envelops my face firmly between his hands. “You know what else, baby?”