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Anthony’s instinct was to argue back, but this was his first gig at the house and he wanted to work there again. He sulked over to the row of chairs near the piano and sat, fetching his tablet from his shoulder bag.

“You can introduce yourselves to each other later. We’re starting with the act two quintet.”

Anthony searched through the document for the quintet. He heard the translator whispering to Adrijana, bringing her up to speed. She was barely on her feet when the Maestro raised his baton and gestured to the rehearsal pianist to begin.

The quintet started with each of the five characters entering, and Anthony found it strange to be singing with people whose names he didn’t even know. Adrijana had a rising international career similar to his, but the other three were local artists. He had no idea who they were, although he appreciated their enthusiasm. The maestro’s rigidity didn’t seem to bother them.

About thirty seconds in, the maestro had already stopped them.

“Watch the tempo! All of you are behind. You most of all, Antonio.”

“I don’t think I was—”

“When I say you’re behind, you’re behind. From the top, again.”

Anthony opened his mouth to argue, but the pianist launched back in.

Over and over, the maestro stopped them, beating his baton on the music stand to keep the rhythm. Anthony had dealt with demanding conductors before, but this was the worst he’d encountered.

After they finally got all the way through the piece, the maestro threw his baton across the room. It hit the wall with a thud and slid to the floor. His assistant ran over to fetch it.

“That’s enough. Antonio, ‘Ecco, ridente’ is next. The rest of you are dismissed.”

Anthony swallowed as his stomach churned with anxiety. He didn’t look forward to tackling his first big aria with Maestro Alamilla. If he wasn’t up to snuff, the maestro might throw the baton at him.

In the end, nothing got bruised but his ego. The maestro made him sing the first stanza over and over, not allowing him a word edgewise and refusing to move on until Anthony had mastered it to his satisfaction.

A few times, Anthony glanced over to where Freddie sat on the floor, his back against the large dance mirror. He somehow looked suave in the awkward position. Maybe it was all the heat he generated as he stared daggers at the maestro. At a particularly difficult moment, Anthony saw Freddie visibly restrain his impulse to spring to his feet.

Anthony didn’t actually want Freddie to beat the conductor up, although the thought of it made him smile.

When he was finally dismissed, Anthony’s body sagged with exhaustion. They’d been working for over an hour on one aria, and he was already tired from the trip. He and Freddie walked back to the hotel in silence.

“I could take care of him.”

Anthony looked over at Freddie. His face was set like carved granite stone. He wasn’t kidding.

“What does that mean?”

Freddie shrugged. “Depends on his response. Some men are more stubborn than others.”

“No thank you. I’d like to work here again, and I can’t afford bad publicity in the lead-up to Milan. That’s the big one.”

“Still.”

“Your boss wouldn’t be mad?”

“He’d understand. I’d explain it.”

“Oh. No, I don’t think so.” They passed an adorable gelato shop. It had a cute little walkup window with carved wooden shutters. Anthony was tempted to stop and get a treat. He’d earned it, after all. But room service waited back at the hotel. He should eat a meal before moving on to dessert.

“Why is Milan so important?”

Freddie’s question brought Anthony out of his dreams of ice cream.

“It’s difficult to get booked there. It’s seen as a stepping stone, a big one. Once you’ve done well in Milan, all the important international houses start to take notice.”

“You’re doing well already.” Freddie’s tone was insistent. “You’re busy.”