Forever with Him Read online

  “What?”

  “We just had our first fight as husband and wife.”

  I pull back in surprise. “You’re right.” I stop for a second, then realize I need to say something else. “I’m sorry, Davison. I know you’ll be there. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

  “I’m sorry too. I just need to be more understanding when it comes to you and what being a professional singer actually entails.”

  “Apology accepted. Now that we’ve made up, we still need to do one more thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “Make-up sex!” I shout, rushing out of the kitchen down the hallway to our bedroom, Davison’s feet thundering on the floor right behind me.

  * * *

  The stage lights of the Metropolitan Opera warm my face, my makeup adding a second layer of skin that I cannot touch for fear of smearing it. The orchestra follows the guiding baton of our masterful conductor as the audience sits in rapt attention.

  Luca is holding me to his chest. The sweat from his face touches my cheek, the heat from his body enveloping mine. I am lifeless in his arms, my eyes now closed and arms hanging at my sides as he sings mournfully, calling out Mimi’s name in grief, with me as Mimi finally succumbing to tuberculosis.

  But my exterior appearance is polar opposite to what is happening inside me. My heart is pounding inside my chest. My debut performance on the stage of the Metropolitan Opera is coming to a close. There were no slipups, and my voice did not waver once. I sang with strength and passion, as did our entire cast. Blood is rushing like a geyser through every vein in my body, the excitement of this night heightening my nerve endings and adrenaline coursing out my ears. My dream has just come true.

  The curtain falls to the stage as the thunderous applause from the packed house takes on a life of its own, full of emotion and appreciation. Luca whispers in my ear, “We did it, Allegra!” as we kiss each other on the cheek. We rush off, following the rest of the cast to the stage floor to take our curtain calls. From behind the curtain, I step out with Luca and the main players as shouts of “Bravo!” echo throughout the Met. Then we step back behind, allowing the supporting players to take their bows. I follow again with Luca, our director, and our conductor who has joined us from the orchestra pit. Luca then steps out with me for our mutual curtain call, then Luca takes his solo bow, and finally, it is my turn.

  I walk out to the crowd, and the crowd erupts with calls of “Brava! Brava!” The director comes out and presents me with a huge bouquet of red roses. I kiss him on both cheeks, then gesture to the orchestra with my hand over my heart as a sign of gratitude. Finally, I look up into the Berkeley family private box to see Davison and my loved ones. I see Papa, Lucy, Tomas, Davison’s mother, and Signora Pavoni.

  My heart drops. Davison is not there.

  I plaster a smile on my face and bow one last time, then wait as I watch Luca and the rest of the cast come out for a final curtain call.

  I walk with the cast backstage to our dressing rooms so we can change into our evening wear for the opening night after-party on the Grand Tier balcony overlooking the plaza of Lincoln Center. My dresser, Gwen, who’s worked at the Met for twenty years, helps me remove my costume, wig, and body microphone.

  “You were lovely, dear,” she congratulates me. “I’ll just go return these. Be right back.”

  I nod silently to her as I slump down into my makeup chair. Tears threaten to take over me. There must be a reason why Davison wasn’t there.

  I reach for my purse and rummage for my cell phone. When I power it on, a flurry of pings sound off, followed by texts from Davison.

  Thunderstorm in Zurich. Airport issued a ground stop. Will keep you posted.

  Finally got the all clear. I’m on my way, baby.

  Nightmare traffic on the Turnpike. GWB backed up. Charles is doing his best.

  Finally on the West Side Highway. Be there ASAP. Love you, Venus!

  I sigh in disappointment. He called me yesterday to tell me that Christoph asked him to stay one more day, so he couldn’t exactly say no. But now it doesn’t matter. He may as well have stayed another week.

  He missed it. He missed my debut, my opening night at the Met.

  Before he left for Zurich to meet with Christoph, I told him again that I wasn’t angry at him for going because this was business. We made up after the fight, having make-up sex more than once because we just weren’t sure that once would be enough; it was our first fight, after all.

  Hmm, do you feel like we’ve made up enough? he asked.

  Mmmm, I don’t think so. I think we should do that again—you know, just to make it official.

  I lost count after four, of how many times it took to make it official.

  But I understand that his work is important to him. And I have no right to be angry now, because he can’t control the weather.

  I walk to the en suite bathroom and hop into the tiny shower, scrubbing the makeup off with my face wash and a hand towel, refreshing me enough to let me put on a brave face for the partygoers and well-wishers so my disappointment over Davison’s absence doesn’t show.

  I put on a slinky silver gown that I found at a boutique in SoHo for the party. It’s not something I would normally wear, with its plunging neckline and tight skirt, but Lucy said it looked perfect on me, and insisted I get it because how many times do I have a debut at the Met?

  I blow-dry my hair, reapply my makeup, then slip into a matching pair of silver stilettos. I give myself a once-over in the mirror, checking to make sure my poker face is intact.

  I shove my wallet, phone, compact, and lipstick into my clutch, and make my way through the backstage area to the elevators to take me to the party.

  When the doors open, the noise from the party assaults my ears. I show my ticket to the guard, who gives me a smile as he takes it from me. Suddenly, I’m surrounded by the cast, Jared and his team, and so many other people who I don’t know.

  Luca appears from nowhere, shoving a flute of champagne into my hand. “Drink, Allegra. We deserve it.”

  “My savior. Thank you.” I give him a smile and take a sip of the bubbly liquid.

  A tall, willowy woman with sleek black hair stands next to him. She smiles at me, extending her hand. “Allegra, it is so nice to finally meet you. I’m Pilar Montes.”

  I take her hand and shake it warmly. “I’m glad I can finally put a face to the name that Luca talks about nonstop,” I tell her.

  They both look at each other, sharing a loving grin. “Is your husband here?” Luca asks. “I’d love to meet him.”

  “No,” I reply with a forced smile. “He got stuck in bad weather in Zurich, but supposedly he’s on his way. I know we’d love to have you over for dinner one night, maybe after the run is over.”

  Pilar nods. “We would enjoy that very much.”

  I see Lucy elbowing her way over to me, with Tomas, Papa, and the rest of my family close behind.

  “Would you excuse me? I see my family about to pounce on me.”

  “Certainly. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Luca replies before taking Pilar’s hand as they head for the bar.

  Lucy finally reaches me, grabbing me in a tight hug. “Alli! You were so amazing!”

  I hold her tightly, trying to keep my emotions in check because in all honesty, it’s Davison I’d rather be hugging. “Thanks, sweetie!”

  Everyone takes their turns congratulating me, but Papa hangs back. When he finally steps up to me, he holds me and whispers, “You were so lovely, cara. But I know you. You’re sad because Davison wasn’t here.”

  “Sì, Papa,” I murmur into my father’s shoulder. “Did he tell you about the storm?”

  “He called his mother. She wasn’t pleased.”

  I pull back from him, shaking my head. “Oh no. But it was the weather. It wasn’t his fault.”

  “Doesn’t matter. She’s his mother. She has the right to be angry at her son.”

  My father’s face begins to turn red. I sigh. “
Oh God, now you’re mad at him too? Per favore, Papa, give him a break. He’s trying to build his business. I understand that.”

  “But you’re my daughter, and—”

  My eyebrows rise in curiosity when Papa stops talking without warning and focuses on something happening behind me. He nods and grunts. “Bene.”

  I turn around. Everyone’s eyes are on me as Davison walks toward me determinedly, his strong jaw clenched and his emerald eyes locked on mine, with an enormous bouquet of apricot roses in his hands.

  I freeze in place, waiting for him to come to me.

  He finally reaches me. “Allegra,” his voice rumbles in that way that always arouses me to my core. I take the roses from him and wrap my arms around him as I start to cry uncontrollably. He lifts me from the floor, claiming my mouth with his as everyone around us cheers and applauds, watching my husband kiss me with pure, uninhibited ardor.

  After we kiss for what seems like ages, he breaks away from my lips, his warm breath tickling my ear. “Do you need to schmooze with anyone else? I can wait, but just barely.”

  “Don’t worry, Harvard,” I reply, trying to catch my breath. “Just need to say hi to the board of trustees.”

  As I hold my roses in one hand, Davison pulls me by the other to the group of well-dressed women and gentlemen gathered in one end of the room. He knows them all, of course, and they greet him warmly. Watching him charm the women and talk finance with the men, I’m aroused from simply being so close to him, enraptured by the sheer power of confidence he exudes. It is pure male, and I need him inside me, that power overwhelming me, pushing me to the edge until I can’t think and I am desperate for release.

  I don’t even realize how entranced I am by him until I hear him ask me, “Ready?”

  I can barely nod in reply before he hauls me out of the room. I try to acknowledge my friends and colleagues on our way out, but he’s eating up the carpet with every step.

  “I need to get my things from my dressing room,” I pant as we head for the elevators.

  “Lead the way, baby. Quickly,” he growls back at me.

  We finally reach the backstage area, and I unlock my dressing room. Davison slams the door behind me and pushes me against it. My roses drop to the floor as I tug my husband to me, devouring his mouth, hooking one leg around his waist. His hands roam over my body, reaching my breasts as he kneads them through the thin silver fabric.

  Coming up for air, Davison starts rambling, “Baby, I’m so sorry. God, I was so desperate to get to you and the weather wouldn’t let up, then the fucking traffic on the Turnpike, and—”

  I stop his mouth with my index finger. “It’s okay, Davison. I know you did everything you could to get here. I was devastated when I didn’t see you in the box during the curtain call, but once I saw your texts, I felt better. And there will be other performances.”

  He runs his fingers over my cheeks, staring at me as if for the first time. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

  I melt at the look in his eyes, closing mine at his soft touch. “I think we both finally deserved some happiness in our lives.”

  “Mmmm, I agree,” he moans. “I can’t believe how understanding you are about all this. I wish my mom could’ve seen it your way. She read me the riot act when I called her about my plane being delayed.”

  “Yeah, my father wasn’t too pleased with you either,” I inform him.

  His head falls back as he sighs. “That’s just great. Even my father-in-law is pissed at me.”

  I bring his head back up so I can look him in the eyes. “Hey, Harvard, you know that rush you get after Harvard beats Yale at anything, even rugby?”

  “Harvard doesn’t have a men’s rugby team,” he states matter-of-factly.

  I shake my head. “Whatever. You know that feeling I’m talking about, right?”

  He nods his head vigorously. “Hell yeah. Nothing like it.”

  “Well, I’ve got that same adrenaline rush going now, Davison. You understand what that means, right?”

  His emerald eyes blaze up in comprehension. “Get your shit, baby. We’re taking the long way home with stoplights, because there’s no way we’re waiting until I get home to fuck my wife long and hard.”

  I push him away from me so I can get to my tote bag on my chair. I shove my clutch into it, along with my makeup and water bottle. I sling the bag over my shoulder, tugging Davison’s hand as I shut off the light.

  “Let’s go, Harvard.”

  “Fuck, I love it when you’re bossy, Mrs. Berkeley.”

  * * *

  Davison

  I can’t believe I’m doing this again. It’s three days later. My suitcase is at the elevator, Charles is downstairs waiting to take me to Teterboro, and Allegra is in my arms as we say good-bye to each other.

  “This is killing me,” I declare, gritting my teeth. “I mean, Christ, I just saw Christoph how many days ago?”

  “Davison, remember why you’re doing this. It’s business,” Allegra reminds me.

  “I know, but your second performance is tonight, and I promised—”

  “And again, husband of mine, there will be others, so stop whining and go. At least London is a bit closer this time.”

  “Only by, like, an hour, flyingwise. Frankly, I’m a little hurt that you’re so eager for me to go.” I laugh.

  Allegra smiles, but I can already tell it’s forced because it doesn’t extend across her entire face.

  I bring her closer to me. “What’s wrong, baby? I was just joking.”

  “It’s just…”

  I raise her chin with the tip of my index finger. “Tell me.”

  “I know how important your work is to you. I just don’t want…”

  “Go on.”

  She exhales a long breath before continuing. “I’m scared you’ll become like your father: obsessed with money and power. That I won’t recognize you anymore.”

  Her admission shakes me to my core. She saw what my father’s crimes did to my mother and me. I can’t blame her for feeling like this.

  Her face is fixed on the floor. “Allegra, look at me.”

  Finally, her dark brown eyes rise to meet mine. “Baby, as long as I have you to ground me, I will never become my father. And you’re not planning on going anywhere, right?”

  A small smile escapes her lips as she shakes her head. “Nope. You’re stuck with me, Mr. Berkeley.”

  “Good, then it’s settled. You have to stay with me to keep me from becoming a megalomaniacal Master of the Universe. Deal?”

  My wife leans into me. “Deal, Harvard,” she whispers before her lush lips cover mine as she dives into my mouth with her tongue.

  We kiss and kiss until we sense it’s time to let go. “You’d better go, baby,” she insists, albeit reluctantly.

  I pull away from her, picking up my laptop bag. “Back before you know it.” I hug her tightly one last time. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you too. Now go do your thing.”

  I kiss her quickly before I roll the suitcase to the elevator and press the call button. The heavy doors open. I step in, turning back to my wife one last time.

  “Forever, Allegra,” I call out to her.

  “Forever, Davison,” she replies, a glorious smile stretching across her beautiful face.

  Chapter Twelve

  Allegra

  Luca Montes has a beautiful voice. I’m not at all surprised about the glowing reviews he received for our opening night. I’m listening to him now singing as Rodolfo in Act I, exchanging jokes in his Paris garret with his friends Marcello, Colline, Schaunard, and Benoit. Everyone except Rodolfo walks off the set through the garret door, pausing as they sing the lines Puccini wrote with an offstage direction.

  Now it is my turn. I wait for the assistant stage manager’s cue, then sing my first line behind the door. I take a deep breath, waiting for Luca to open the door for me, holding Mimi’s unlit candle and key to her room. I swallow quickly in my throat
and pivot my head from side to side. For some reason, my neck has been killing me since the party, but I think nothing of it. Gwen also made me some hot water with lemon as she was dressing me because she didn’t like the sound of my voice. I just brushed it off, telling her I partied too much on opening night.

  Luca and I ease into the scene, as we have from the first time we rehearsed it, smooth as silk. I could not have asked for a more dedicated, giving acting partner than him.

  As he finishes singing about Mimi’s freezing hands, I inhale deeply, then launch into my aria, “Sì, mi chiamano Mimi,” the lyrics of which I know as well as the Lord’s Prayer by now. The words, the notes, the meaning behind the aria, they are as vital a part of me now as my own flesh and blood.

  Luca and I wait a few moments as we always do after I finish because, inevitably, the audience will applaud me for the opera’s signature aria. We smile at each other, then Rodolfo’s friends sing to him, beckoning him from the courtyard to join them at the café.

  Finally, Rodolfo sings of his love for Mimi, and I sing in reply, reciprocating the emotion that she feels for him in return.

  Luca leans in to kiss me, which we have down to a professional science with the perfect angle for our heads and mouths.

  I pull away, about to object to his kiss. But when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. My voice… it’s… It’s just gone. I try one more time, tears forming in my eyes from frustration and helplessness. Luca’s eyes pop open in panic, and he quickly blinks them and gives me a short nod to tell me he knows something is wrong. He is remembering what happened at the photo shoot. He is right here with me, ready to protect me as his costar and friend.

  I quickly regain my senses and glance over to Julia, the woman who is working as the prompter for tonight’s performance. She sits in a box at the edge of the stage at the level of our feet. Her job is to give cues and pitch when necessary, but right now, with one look from me, she knows she needs to sing my lines as I mouth them in sync with her.