by Bex Dane
Matteo embraced me with gusto. He ran his hands down my sides and patted my bum as he kissed each of my cheeks. "Aida, Aida. How I have missed my Aida."
We played Aida together six months ago, but the separation took its toll on me. Tonight was a homecoming and reunion of friends. "And I have pined through the long hot summer, eager to return to my Radames."
"Go now. Become Aida and I will be Radames and we shall die together and rise again." He added more kisses to my cheeks before flouncing away to his dressing room. Having him here helped calm my nerves. Opera fans picked sides, and I liked having Matteo on my team.
Falcon's cold stare at Matteo's back smothered the warm embers of Matteo's hug and reminded me of my house arrest.
"These are my friends. Many people will hug me. I have a reputation to maintain. Do not interfere."
He smirked. "Yes, ma'am."
His totally sarcastic tone told me he would stand between me and anyone else until after he'd checked their toilet to make sure it was clean.
As I sighed, Falcon opened the door and stuck his head in the dressing room. Over his shoulder, I could see the tips of Leticia's fingers waving hello to him. "Heya, Falcon man."
I pushed past him and shoved the door closed. His hand on the doorknob resisted until he'd finished checking the room. I brushed past Leticia and slammed the inner door to the bathroom.
What had he been looking at? My reflection told me nothing. I was wearing a blouse in copper silk. It had three wavy tiers at the wrists. When I put my hands on my hips, my fingers disappeared into the fabric. The flared sleeves swung back and forth like church bells. Add the peplum ruffle at the waist and I looked like the… Liberty Bell.
How infuriating? The man was exasperating and maddening.
I changed into my dressing gown, and my face frowned back at me in the mirror as I plopped down in the makeup chair. I had applied only eyeliner and mascara this morning. Leticia swiped a makeup remover sheet gently over my eye.
"Your bodyguard is hot." She dried my face with a soft cloth and took stock of my skin tone and puffy eyes. "You getting enough sleep?"
No. Sleep eluded me lately. "I'm fine."
"He's got that dark and dangerous thing nailed down. His body is fah-ine. Maybe a little big up top, but I wouldn't kick him out of bed. His ass is tight like a trampoline and those eyes. Mmm-mmm. I'd drop my panties just to get those eyes on me." She was a sweet African American woman with natural curls and gorgeous dark skin. Her makeup skills were unparalleled, and I requested her whenever I was in New York.
"He's driving me insane," I said to her.
She paused and her head wobbled the opposite direction of her neck. "Who cares what he does? He’s fine. If my bae gave me a hall pass, I'd for sure use it on your Falcon man straight away."
Couldn't argue with her. Primitivo grew up to be even more attractive than he was at eighteen. He smoldered back then, but now, with his added height, long hair, a sexy goatee, and much bigger body, he flamed like a blowtorch.
"He's a draconian prison guard. He won't let me go anywhere alone. He ignores my preferences. I can't even go shopping."
It felt good to share my frustration with another woman.
"What's that?" She scrunched her nose and put her cute little face right up in mine like she planned to kiss me. "That breath coming out of your nose?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You still alive? No bombs going off this week? He is my new favorite person for keeping you safe."
Aww, Leticia was so nice.
She worked quietly for a while. She artfully applied a dark foundation, thick eyeliner, mocha lips, and the controversial bronzer that transformed me into an Ethiopian princess. Some theatre goers objected to the heavy bronzer to hint at black skin. They called me a weak imitation of the great Leontyne Pryce whose naturally dark skin cemented her as the original Aida. I'd been highly criticized for the makeup, but when we toned it down, the negative reaction was even greater. They wanted Aida to appear as a bronzed princess, and I was making a name for myself as the new Aida.
"Is he married?" Leticia dragged me out of my pre-performance thoughts.
Was he? He didn't wear a ring, but he could be married. Why did I feel a twinge of jealousy about an unknown woman who had potentially snagged his heart? "I'm not sure. If he were married, the travel and full-time nature of his job has to be stressful on a relationship." Either way I wasn't going to be the one to ask him. Unless forced to communicate, we maintained a tense silence between us. He did his job with cold calculated precision. I refused to acknowledge anything about him. Neither one of us went anywhere near the turmoil and my weak moment on St. Amalie. He texted Thorne to make travel plans and only talked to me for safety briefings.
The door opened and Falcon let Babette, the head of wardrobe, pass through. She waggled her eyebrows at me and held back a smile. When the door closed, she rushed over to us and whispered. "Your bodyguard is to die for."
"Oh please, Babette. Not you too."
"He was all business, asking me questions, his eyes seeing into my soul."
"Yes, well. He cleared you as safe to speak to me."
"Good. How are you feeling, Aida? How was your summer?"
She must not have heard about St. Amalie. "It was long and hot, but I'm happy to be back home."
"Good. You almost done, Leticia?"
Leticia finished powdering my cleavage and stepped back. "Yes. Now I'm done. Tah-dah."
"Thank you. The makeup looks sublime. You really are supremely talented."
Her face lit up as she packed up her case. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Soltari. I appreciate you noticing me and requesting me."
That's what we all wanted, wasn't it? To be noticed. To be requested. To be heard and acknowledged.
I stepped over to the dressing area and removed my robe. This left me in flesh-toned seamless bra and thong. Babette helped me into the corset that cinched my waist and pushed up my boobs. It was as painful as a straitjacket and not ideal for singing, but it looked insanely flattering on the stage. I'd learned to adjust my breathing to accommodate the corset. It always felt good to peel it off at the end of a show and massage the indents of the boning out of my skin.
The costume included not one but three pairs of tights. Now I had a big booty and large breasts, but this ensemble tucked and pulled everything into an extreme hourglass. Some reviews called me the pin-up Aida. They praised me for being a real woman and representing a time when women's bodies were rotund. Opera was one of the few realms where a full figure was desired and praised. Take that, haters. Old boyfriends and critics who said I would never make it as a performer commercially because of my body type. In the opera, my body fit Aida and many other roles in a way a skinny girl could never manage.
Babette slipped the dress up my arms and fastened the hidden velcro in the back. She took care to avoid smudging the makeup Leticia had so artfully applied to my breasts.
"You look incredible." She clasped her hands together. "You are going to blow this one out of the water."
"Thank you."
Chapter 8
When I exited the dressing room, Falcon's eyes traveled up and down, stopping at my cleavage, then up and down again. His mouth dropped open, but he didn't say anything.
"What's wrong, Falcon? Never seen an Ethiopian princess before?" I swiveled my hips left and right so he could see the entire costume.
"Threw me off for a second, that's all."
Yeah, right. I rocked his boat.
"You look good," he reluctantly admitted.
With a smirk, I walked away from him, and he followed me to the barrier of the backstage area. The production assistant stationed there looked up at Falcon and instantly started sweating. Three of this guy would not equal the weight of one Falcon. If he knew what I did about Falcon, or at least Primitivo before he became Falcon, he'd be even more terrified.
"Performers only beyond this point," he timidly mumbled to me while keeping his ga
ze to Falcon's.
Wonderful. A moment without my dark shadow. "Bye, bye, Falcon. See you after the show."
He grabbed my upper arm. "No."
His one-word sentences drove me nuts. Could he add a verb or a pronoun?
"House rules," I said. "I'll be fine. Only actors and dancers back here."
"You stay with me."
"Uh, well, I can't actually stay with you because you see, I am Aida, so the show will not start without me and you cannot pass this point, so I'll see you in a few hours. Why don't you go watch from the audience? You might find you enjoy it."
"If I don't go, you don't go."
He was so infuriating. This caveman shit was completely unnecessary and inappropriate for my world.
I wrenched my arm out of his hold. "Call Gaspar, please," I asked the PA. "Tell him I am being restrained against my will."
Falcon rolled his eyes as the PA made a call.
"Gaspar?" Falcon asked me another one-word question.
"Gaspar Evaristo? Tell me you've heard of him. He's only the most celebrated opera star that ever lived." I'd met him when I competed and won his opera competition for talented new artists. We'd bonded over our love of opera and when he heard I had no family apart from Soledad, he quickly fell into the role of surrogate father. He had no daughters with his wife, only three sons, so I filled a void in his life too.
"I may have heard of him," Falcon said quietly.
"Mr. Evaristo is on his way." Rivulets of stress streamed down the PA's forehead.
"And he's my father," I said to Falcon.
His brow furrowed. "Gaspar Evaristo is not your father."
"How would you know?"
His eyes grew angry and he popped a knee to shift his weight to one leg. "Are you kidding me?"
Ha! I liked getting a rise out of rude caveman Falcon. I decided to make this a game. From now on I'd do whatever I could to make his face look that contorted, confused, frustrated, and totally flabbergasted with me.
Gaspar arrived, looking concerned. "What is the matter, my child?" He was already dressed in his tuxedo and looked dapper with his silver hair combed back.
"This man is restraining me here." I pointed over my shoulder at Falcon.
"I'm her bodyguard. I stay with her wherever she goes."
Gaspar scratched his beard. "I see. But it's the rule of the house only cast members enter this part of the stage. I will watch over her."
Falcon's angry mask gentled. His eyes softened and his mouth turned up in a friendly grin. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Evaristo. My mother loved your singing. I respect your judgment, but Aida's been targeted by terrorists twice in the last month. My name is Master Sergeant Seth Hendrix, retired Special Forces sniper with the U.S. Army and a trained security specialist. I know what to look for, and I'm armed. I can protect her. It's my job. Now how would you feel, Gaspar, if she were hurt backstage because you weren't watching her and you missed someone approaching? What if you failed to defend her and she were injured or killed?"
This was the most I'd heard him speak. And never with respect to anyone in the time we've been together. He hadn't told me the name he'd adopted was Seth Hendrix. He'd only told me he went by Falcon. So much I didn't know about this man who'd been my silent companion and evil distraction for the last two weeks.
"I have an idea, mi corazon. Sergeant Hendrix can be a super," Gaspar said, trying to placate me.
"You can call me Falcon, Mr. Evaristo."
"And you can call me Gaspar." They exchanged a pleasant grin.
"No!" I screamed. "Do you see him? He's huge. He'll stand out like a sore thumb on the stage. He'll distract attention from me."
"Nothing can distract attention from you, my dear Aida, when you're on the stage. Being a super requires no prior acting experience."
"What are we talkin’ about here?" Falcon asked, sounding a bit nervous.
"A super is like an extra," I said. "You would stand in the background and you'd be allowed to access the cast area, but I don't like the idea at all. I doubt we even have a costume that would fit you."
A costume that would fit him. Hmm.
"What kind of costume?" he asked.
"We could make you an Egyptian soldier," Gaspar replied. "That would be appropriate."
"All the supers wear tights." I delivered it like a punch. A man like him would never don tights and stand in front of a huge crowd. I won.
His mouth grew slack and he blinked as he stared at me. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Nope. Very tight tights. And a dance belt. A jock strap shaped like a thong." I grinned up at him.
He looked to the ceiling and shook his head. "Fuuck." When his head came back down, he looked like he was about to say no.
"Do I have to dance?" he asked Gaspar.
Oh, I didn't expect that answer.
"No," Gaspar replied. "You will stand in the back, perhaps some marching."
"I can march."
"I assume you can march better than any of the other actors on the stage." Gaspar gave Falcon a knowing smile. Falcon had disarmed him so quickly with his charm, yet he shared none of that congeniality with me.
A tense silence passed between us, and Falcon's Adam's apple juggled as he swallowed. "I'll do it," he said reluctantly.
"You will?" My voice squeaked up. No way.
He shrugged and a naughty smile grew on his lips. "You thought I wouldn't?"
"No." Total lie. His response to all this shocked the hell out of me.
His grin grew smug, like he could take on anything as long as he won a challenge against me. "I've dressed for many situations in various uniforms and costumes. I could not even explain them all to you, but a pair of tights is not the scariest of them."
Dammit. Damn it all to hell.
"Then we have our solution," Gaspar said with a smile. He must have seen my discomfort because he looked at me and laughed. He patted Falcon on the shoulder "Good to meet you, Falcon. Thank you for watching over her. She is precious to me and to the future of theatre. I'm glad you'll be close during the performance, and you'll keep her out of trouble during this perilous time."
Mama mia. Gaspar took Falcon's side? I should've guessed. My adopted father always worried about me.
"Is your makeup artist still free?" Gaspar asked me. "Check for someone in wardrobe to help. It's still early. Plenty of time."
"Fine." I marched back to my dressing room and surprised Leticia, who was still cleaning up her supplies and putting them in her makeup box.
"Gaspar wants Falcon to play a Egyptian warrior." I said it with the tone of a recalcitrant teen who had lost a fight with her father.
Her eyes blew wide as she glanced at Falcon. "He does?"
"Yes, as a super. Can you do his makeup and call Babette to help with wardrobe?"
"Ooh, girl. Is it my birthday?"
She scooted over to Babette's part of the dressing room and rummaged through some drawers to pull out a pair of men's tights and a dance belt, the athletic supporters male dancers wore to create the notorious idealized bulge in their tights. She held the items out for Falcon. "Put these on. Go back there. When you come out, I shall see my canvas."
He hesitated a second, and I challenged him with my eyes. I would love to see him squirm and back out right now. This had to be outrageously outside of his comfort zone. Falcon swiped the articles from Leticia's hand and strode to the bathroom.
She gave me an evil grin. "I love this job sometimes."
Falcon emerged a few minutes later wearing the tights and nothing else. The air sucked out of the room as Leticia and I feasted on the sight before us. Falcon was cut in every corner and plane of his body. His tattoos looked like war paint. Gaspar was right. He was the ideal warrior with phenomenal abs and pecs and muscles. His thighs alone were worthy of a solo performance. My core heated seeing him close to naked and what should feel vulnerable to him, but his demeanor had not changed. His legs were wide, his shoulders back. He looked nothing
but sexy and confident. Oh my.
After feasting on his chest and legs, my gaze crashed and locked on his package. He was not hiding anything from us and—oh my lordy lordy good gordy—what we could see in his tights was X-rated. His cock extended from between his legs up to his left hip. Gods of Athena, help me. I could not stop staring. It had bumps. Small pointy bumps.
"Uh, ermm." Leticia was the first to form words. "What about the uh, dance belt?"
"It didn't fit," he said, deadpan.
Hmm. I could see why. His massive dick would poke out the top of a Lycra belt, and I was sure even the large wouldn't fit around his waist. The dance belt was also thong style. Falcon might be willing to don tights, and now I knew why, but he'd never put on a thong athletic supporter.
"Can I ask…"
He looked at me and his eyes burned through me. He had to see the heat in my neck, my pulse pounding, the absolute curiosity in my voice. "Ask what?"
"What the hell is in there?"
"My cock." He grinned.
Oh um. Well… "I mean, what are the points?"
He laughed. "The points are barbells. Piercings." He kept talking when I didn't respond. "Metal posts with balls on each end."
"Oh." I pulled my gaze from Falcon's fascinating package and focused on Leticia. Her lips pressed together and her eyes danced. She shook her head to break the trance and pulled up her phone. "Babette, we're gonna need a warriors' skirt with extra leather panels in the front." She ended the call. "Right. So. Lots of tattoos to cover. Have a seat."
In three steps, he was in the same chair I had sat in for my makeup. He spread his legs wide, and I saw his balls for the first time too. I didn't see any piercings there, but I sure wanted to know.
I stepped back as Leticia moved closer. She was a brave girl. "This one we might be able to keep because it matches the theme." She pointed to two spears crossed at an angle. "What's this one?" She ran her fingers over crosshairs and a target with thorns at the points."
"When I made sharpshooter in the Rangers."
"Oh, the Army?"
"Yeah."
"And how long did you serve?"
"Twenty years."
Wow. Leticia had Falcon opening up and she'd barely met him. I'd spent two weeks with him and got nothing.
