Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I watched the curtains close as time stood still. Ever since I was a little girl, this had been my dream.
To be an opera singer.
Now I was.
With the curtains closed, the symphony concluded. That only made the applause louder, the sound of whistling and cheers more audible. I stayed on the spot and enjoyed the moment a little longer, cherished the connection I felt with every stranger in the room. They could have spent their Friday night doing anything else—but they chose to spend it with me.
Dante came backstage with roses in his hands. He was tall, handsome, and had the cutest smile, and his eyes lit up as he looked at me. He came right up to me and kissed me. “You were amazing.”
“Thank you…”
He presented the roses to me. “I could watch you sing every night.”
“And I’d love to sing every night if my voice could handle it.” There was already a vase sitting at my makeup station, so I set the roses inside and added some water.
“So how about I take you to dinner?”
“Singing for two hours does make me hungry.”
“Perfect.” His arm hooked around my waist, and he escorted me out of the theater, making this night even more magical.
I pulled up to my childhood home and felt the presence of previous generations the second I stepped foot on the grounds. The house had always been large for three people, but now it felt too big for just one.
I entered the house and searched for my father, noticing how it seemed particularly dark. I carried a fresh arrangement of flowers and put them in a vase in the kitchen, just to lighten the place up. My mother used to be the same way, freshening up the house with flowers directly from the garden. She’d been gone a long time now, but I still carried on the tradition.
Father stepped into the kitchen, wearing jeans that were too baggy around his waist and a shirt that also seemed too loose. He was paler every time I saw him, sour like spoiled milk.
He kept telling me nothing was wrong—but now, I wasn’t sure if I believed him.
“There’s my princess.” He walked up to me and kissed me on the head. “How was the show last night?”
“Full house with a standing ovation.”
“Wow, that sounds amazing. This country can’t get enough of that voice of yours.”
“I don’t know about that…but thank you.”
He eyed the pink lilies in the vase, giving them just a glance before he turned back to me. “How are things with you?”
“Good. You know, just lots of work and lots of practice.” I’d been meaning to introduce Dante to my father, but since he was the first man I would bring home, I was nervous about it. My father had always been protective of me, and I wasn’t sure how he would feel about it. But then again, there probably wasn’t a single man he would ever think was good enough for me. “What about you?”
“You know, nothing too exciting.”
We moved to the dining table with a pitcher of lemonade and made small talk. I told him that the opera wanted to add a few more shows, but since I needed to preserve my voice, they would use my understudy. We talked about the weather, the football game, and other things that didn’t really matter.
He started to cough harshly, pressing a napkin to his face as he heaved at the table.
“Daddy, are you alright?” I placed a hand on his shoulder, concerned that this cold wasn’t going away. It only seemed to get worse with every passing week. “Are you sure the doctors said you’re okay? You look worse every time I see you.”
He wiped his mouth and chuckled. “Well, that’s a nice thing to say.”
“Come on, you know what I mean. You don’t seem well… Is there something you aren’t telling me?” Would my father keep something like that from me? Would he lie to my face and pretend everything was okay when it clearly wasn’t?
His smile faded away as his eyes filled with the distinct gloss of melancholy. Like impending tears in a painting, his emotion was clear in the subtleties of his gaze. Sometimes the cliff face of despair was more obvious than the tears themselves. “I’m fine, princess. But there’s something I need to tell you… You aren’t going to be happy about it.”
“Alright…”
“The money is gone. I can’t pay my debts, I’ve screwed over a lot of people, and soon, men will be crawling all over this place and picking it apart piece by piece. I’ve pissed off some scary men…and they won’t be happy.”
I had both French and Italian blood, and I came from a line of wealthy aristocrats I was proud of. Our fortune was massive, and while I never asked for a penny more of it than what was in my trust, I’d assumed it would always be there when it was time to inherit it. “What…? What are you saying? We don’t have any money?”