Breathless for Him (Davison & Allegra)

by Sofia Tate

  Davison can only manage monosyllabic words through his panting. “You. Up here. Now.”

  I laugh quietly to myself. Placing my hands on his knees, I push myself off the floor and once again sit in his lap. I turn so that I can lay my head down on his chest, his arms tight around me.

  “That was…I can’t…” he stammers. “You didn’t have to do that. Not that I’m complaining.”

  “I wanted to, Davison.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to make you come. I wanted to know that I can do that to you.”

  He takes a deep breath, then he pulls my head back so he can look into my eyes. “Baby, you can do that to me anytime. But you have the same effect on me just by being with me. By saying my name. By letting me hold your hand. By your laugh when I say something stupid. By your smile when you first see me after we’re apart.”

  I tilt my head so I can see his eyes, which are staring back at me so tenderly. I reach up to run my hand along his strong, chiseled jaw.

  “Wow,” I exclaim.

  “What?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

  “You are such a romantic, Davison Berkeley.”

  “I have my moments.” He smiles sweetly, cupping his cheek into the palm of my hand, as he tries to reach over and kiss it. I laugh watching him contort his lips, and he just manages to catch the edge of my hand with his lips.

  Still laughing, I lay my head back down in the crook of his shoulder when I hear him say, “Oh my God, you make me act like such a dork. I love it. I l—”

  I pretend not to hear that he caught himself and didn’t finish that sentence. I just keep on laughing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next day, I’m waiting for Luciana in the conservatory’s café sipping a cup of hot tea with lemon when I see her enter. A long black velvet cape covers most of her body from her neck to her knees, which means only one thing. She’s in diva mode.

  I roll my eyes when she waves one end of the cape with dramatic flair before she sits down. “I forgot.” I sigh. “This is part of your process.”

  “How could you possibly forget? I’m very disappointed in you, Alli. Yes, I’m singing an aria from Tristan und Isolde today. I have to prepare.”

  “Well, before you do, could I beg one moment of your time?”

  She waves her hand at me. “Please proceed.”

  “Oh, well, thank you,” I reply, not disguising the sarcasm in my voice. “Last night at dinner with Davison’s parents—”

  “Whoa! Stop right there! I want details about dinner first.”

  “Okay. Let’s put it this way. I totally understand now why Davison wants to be with me, more like needs to be. Their house is gorgeous, of course: a Canaletto over the mantel, everything is perfect and in its place. But there’s no warmth. At dinner, nobody spoke a word. It was like being in a mausoleum. You could’ve heard a pin drop.”

  “God, that sounds horrible.”

  “It was. Davison felt so miserable afterward.”

  “For what?”

  “It doesn’t really matter. His dad said a few things—”

  “Like what?”

  “Nothing. But then his mother really surprised me. She wants to have a benefit for the conservatory at her house.”

  Lucy’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding! Any reason why she wants to do this?”

  “She said she loves opera, especially the Italian ones. She asked me to find students who would want to participate, and I was hoping you’d do it with me.”

  “Of course. Any chance to perform in front of a live crowd.”

  I smile. “Thanks. I was thinking I could sing some Puccini and maybe we could duet on Delibes’s ‘Flower Duet.’ I think the crowd would like that since everyone knows it from that British Airways commercial.”

  “Good idea. The more popular arias will probably bring in more money. We don’t want to sing something obscure. We need to get a tenor too, you know. Someone who could do a great ‘O sole mio’ and ‘Nessun dorma.’”

  I point to the tall blond man sitting at a corner table eating a sandwich and reading a Milan Kundera novel. “And I know the perfect tenor to complete our trio.”

  Lucy glances over her shoulder and shakes her head. “No! Allegra, no!”

  I ignore Lucy’s protests as I rise from my chair and make my way over to Tomas Novotny. He’s Czech, with blue eyes, broad chest and shoulders, and a mad crush on Lucy.

  He looks up at me from his paperback. “Hallo, Allegra. How are you?”

  “Very well, thank you. And you?”

  “Good. Why didn’t Luciana come with you?” he asks, casting an eye over at our table.

  I don’t understand why Lucy wouldn’t give Tomas a chance. The way her name rolls off his tongue is very seductive.

  “She’s shy.”

  He laughs out loud. “That is something Luciana definitely is not. Was there something you needed?”

  “Actually, yes. My boyfriend’s mother wants to have a benefit for the school at her house, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in performing. Definitely ‘Nessun dorma,’ and maybe something from Pagliacci?”

  “Is Luciana going to sing?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, she is.”

  “Then how do you say, count me out?”

  I cringe, hoping I’m right. “Do you mean ‘Count me in’?”

  He nods. “Yes, that’s it. Count me in.”

  “Excellent. Thank you so much. I’ll be in touch with the details.”

  As I get up, Tomas adds, with a glint in his eye, “Please tell Luciana she doesn’t have to be shy with me.”

  The second I return to Lucy, she starts peppering me with questions. “What did he say? He didn’t ask about me, did he? Oh God, I hope not.”

  “Wow. For someone who doesn’t seem to be interested in him, you sure aren’t acting like it. Yes, he said he’d do it. And yes, he asked about you. Furthermore, he told me to tell you that you don’t need to be shy with him.”

  Her eyebrows furrow. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Guess you’ll just have to ask him.” I smirk.

  She goes silent for a minute.

  “Are you figuring out what to say to him?”

  Lucy shakes her head at me. “No. I was just wondering about something. Did Davison’s mother come up with the idea for the benefit after his dad made those comments that you won’t tell me about?”

  “No. Why?”

  “It’s just…”

  “What?”

  “I just hope she’s doing this for the right reasons, that’s all. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Why would she want to do that? Believe me, if Davison thought she was plotting something against me, he would totally call her on it. He would protect me.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  “Positive.”

  Lucy looks at her watch. “We’d better get to class.”

  Halfway through Signora Pavoni’s lecture on the popularity of Puccini’s operas, a thought strikes me. I told Tomas that Davison is my boyfriend. And I didn’t hesitate when I said it either. It came naturally to me.

  For the rest of the class period, I can’t wipe the smile off my face.

  * * *

  The next morning, I’m at my kitchen table, enjoying a cappuccino and buttered toast when my father’s voice rings out.

  “Who is that beautiful young woman sitting at my kitchen table? It couldn’t possibly be my daughter, Allegra Orsini, because I don’t think she lives here anymore.”

  He bends over to place a kiss on the top of my head.

  “Ha. Very funny. Sarcasm does not become you, Papa.”

  He sits down across from me, a small porcelain espresso cup in his hand. “It does when it’s true. I never see you anymore. You’re always with your ragazzo.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Mi dispiace. But I promise we’ll do something this weekend.”

  He takes a sip of his coffee. “Ben
e. I feel better.”

  I take another bite of my toast as I watch a concerned look cross his face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Have you received any more of those letters?”

  “You mean the pictures.”

  He nods.

  “No. Thank God.”

  My father exhales. “That’s good. And no more bad dreams?”

  I shake my head. Even though it technically wasn’t a bad dream, I decide not to tell him about my episode at Davison’s after the paparazzi incident.

  He puts his hand over mine. “I just worry about you so much, cara. If anything ever happened to you…”

  “I know. Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to me, especially with you to protect me, sì?”

  I rise from my chair to embrace my father, who now has tears in his eyes. “Sì. Sì, Allegra mia.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The night I arrive with Davison for the benefit at his parents’ house, the end of East Fifty-Eighth Street is lined with luxury cars, from town cars to BMWs, even a Bentley convertible.

  Davison keeps a firm grip on my left hand, while I can’t resist touching the necklace that hangs around my neck. It’s his Christmas gift to me. I melted when he presented it to me, pulling out the robin’s-egg-blue Tiffany box that he had been hiding in the breast pocket of his jacket. It’s a small diamond pendant of a hummingbird on a silver chain. It took my breath away, a reminder of what I was doing when we first met: humming an aria while I was working. He remembered. The smile on his face when he saw my reaction made my cry, and he took his time putting it on me as I held up my hair, making sure none of it got caught, stroking my neck and shoulders when he’d finished, then directing me to the mirror so we could both share the look of it around my neck. The kiss I gave him in gratitude led us to his bedroom within a matter of seconds.

  In return, I gave him an iPod with my favorite opera recordings, ranging from Maria Callas to Luciano Pavarotti. I made it a point to include the arias that were going to be sung tonight. Listening to him sing along when he plugged in his earbuds was an experience. Even though I cringed when he did it, I couldn’t help but laugh when he added dramatic gestures while he sang, his arms flailing in the air. This was a side of Davison Berkeley only I got to see, and I treasured it.

  His hand squeezes mine. “Christ, Allegra, will you please stop fidgeting with your necklace? You’re going to be amazing. Don’t be nervous.”

  “So speaks the man who doesn’t have to sing in front of a group of strangers! I’m singing in front of my boyfriend’s parents!”

  Suddenly, he takes my face in his hands and kisses me full on the mouth.

  “Not that I’m complaining, Harvard,” I remark when he pulls away, “but what was that for?”

  “You know why.” He smirks.

  “To calm me down?”

  “And because I love it when I hear you call me your boyfriend.” He grins at me from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling.

  In his tuxedo and with his hair slicked back, he tempts me to climb into his lap and kiss him senseless, but with the car coming to a stop in the driveway, I have to settle for giving him a smile. As is now his custom, I wait until Davison comes around to my end to open the door for me.

  I look down at my dress to make sure it hasn’t wrinkled too much from the car ride. I’m wearing a strapless royal-blue silk A-line gown and kitten heels on my feet, since I’ll be standing most of the night. With my tote bag that holds my makeup, I walk into the Berkeley home.

  The noise of the party guests echoes throughout the house. Servers go back and forth holding trays of glasses and canapés in their hands. Davison’s parents are standing in the foyer, welcoming the guests with the president of the conservatory, Carter Morgan.

  The face of Davison’s mother lights up when she sees us. “Finally! The stars have arrived!”

  I can feel myself turn red as she leans in to hug me after embracing her son. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Berkeley.”

  Davison’s father grunts, “I need a drink,” and walks away.

  His mother turns to President Morgan. “Carter, this is my son, Davison, and, of course, you know Allegra.”

  My boyfriend and my school president exchange handshakes, then Morgan addresses me. “Allegra, a pleasure to see you, as always. I know you’ll do the conservatory proud.”

  Davison brings his arm around my waist. “Of course she will, sir.”

  Mrs. Berkeley says to Davison, “Darling, Luciana and Tomas are in the upstairs living room getting ready. Could you show her the way?”

  “I’d love to.”

  With my hand in his, he leads me up one of the staircases to the second floor. He heads straight across to the double doors, where we find Lucy and Tomas standing close together with their backs to us looking out the window, his lips whispering something into her ear.

  I clear my throat to announce our presence. “Ahem.”

  They pivot in our direction, guilty looks plastered on their faces.

  “Are we interrupting?” Davison wonders aloud.

  “Ne…no,” Tomas stutters. “You have a lovely home, Mr. Berkeley.”

  “Thank you, Tomas.” Davison looks over at me. “I’m going to go. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. I need to warm up with them, if you don’t mind.”

  He smiles and kisses me softly on the lips. “Of course not. I’ll see you soon.” He brushes his fingers across my cheek, closing the door behind him when he leaves.

  “Alli, let me tell you, if your boyfriend weren’t taken…”

  I glance over at Tomas, who suddenly finds something of interest on the floor.

  Damn it, Lucy.

  I need to quickly shift the vibe in the room. Thankfully, a face familiar to the three of us walks in.

  “Who’s ready to rock the house?”

  The three of us laugh. It’s Derek Fisher, our favorite accompanist, who has been practicing with us for tonight, a tall, older gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes practically pop out of his head at the sight of the Steinway in the corner.

  “God, I love people with beaucoup bucks,” he declares as he saunters over to the piano, running his fingers over the polished ebony wood. “There’s a matching one in the ballroom that I just tried out. Perfectly tuned, of course. All right, kids. Let’s play some scales.”

  We warm up our voices, then take our turns with the arias we’re going to be performing.

  A knock at the door interrupts us. Mrs. Berkeley pokes her head in. “Twenty minutes, everyone. If you need the restroom, there’s one right next door.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Lucy replies. “We’ll be ready.”

  I grab my bag and head for the bathroom. I apply another coat of mascara and lip gloss, then check my hair, pulled back in a low chignon at the nape of my neck. Thankfully, it has held, but I put on a layer of hairspray just to be sure.

  When I come out of the bathroom, I see the entrance to a large room to the right of me. I take a few steps to peek in.

  The ballroom is spectacular, the crystals of the chandeliers bouncing light off the mirrored side walls and waxed floor. Gilt party chairs form two sections, with a piano in the far corner and a microphone in the center at the front of the room. I can see the lights from the street coming in through the windows. A huge screen is set up just to the side by the piano, the logo of the Gotham Conservatory already projecting from it.

  I jump when a set of arms comes around my waist.

  “I can’t wait to hear you sing for me,” Davison rasps in my ear.

  “You and what looks like the entire community of Sutton Place,” I reply nervously.

  “As far as I’m concerned, I’m the only one you’re singing to.”

  I exhale, turning around to face him. “Just sit as close to the front as you can, okay?”

  He leans in and gently kisses my lips. “Front row center, baby. Always.”

  I smile, wiping a smudge of lip gloss fro
m his mouth before I leave him to return to the living room. “Gotta go.”

  “Break a leg, Venus,” he shouts after me.

  * * *

  Lucy, Tomas, and I stand to the right of Mrs. Berkeley in front of the ballroom, which is filled to capacity.

  In a deep purple gown, diamonds sparkling from her ears and wrists, she clears her throat and tries to speak, but the audience doesn’t stop talking. Thankfully, Derek helps her out by pounding out the opening notes of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5.

  Dun, dun, dun, dun…

  Everyone laughs as Mrs. Berkeley turns to Derek and nods in gratitude.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My friends, Hartwell and I have invited you here this evening for a wonderful cause. All of you know how much I love the opera. I recently realized how vital it is not only to support the great houses like the Met, but also the schools that bring us the new talent in the opera world. One of those schools is the Gotham Conservatory, and I’m pleased to introduce its president, Carter Morgan. Mr. Morgan, if you would…”

  As Mr. Morgan addresses the crowd, I glance over to see Davison in the front row. His eyes sear into mine, then he winks at me and smiles, which instantly dismisses the butterflies in my stomach.

  Davison’s mother returns to the microphone. “Tonight, we have the honor of hearing three wonderful voices who are now in their final year at the conservatory. Our first performer is Miss Allegra Orsini, who will be singing ‘Sì, mi chiamano Mimi’ from La Bohème. Please welcome her to the microphone.”

  I step forward, bowing my head to acknowledge the applause. I look back at Derek, giving him the signal that I’m ready. I dare myself to look at Davison quickly, who’s beaming from his chair front and center, just like he promised.

  I take a breath and enter my world—the world that has provided me comfort and solace since I lost my mother so many years ago. I become Mimi, a seamstress living in 1830s Paris, introducing herself to Rodolfo, a poet, for the first time. Yes, they call me Mimi, I sing to them in Italian, the title of the aria.

  When I finish, I shut my eyes and smile, opening them to see a standing ovation, led by Davison yelling the traditional “Brava!” I bow humbly, my hand over my heart.