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Chapter 12

Freddie

Anthony was upset. Freddie understood why. But joining him in bed would be a mistake. He’d had just a taste of Anthony, and he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back. Not again.

His job was protecting Anthony. That was why he was there. Everything else was secondary. He was desperate to have Anthony’s skin against his, Anthony’s weight wrapped around him, but he wasn’t willing to risk letting down his guard.

They were so different. Anthony ran through men like tissues. Freddie hadn’t had a lover in decades. Plus, he was a vampire. How would he build a relationship with that secret looming over them?

But it was more than just that. It was the monster inside of him. He had done things, unspeakable things, and stood witness to others even more horrible. He would not tie down someone he cared for to a beast.

But that justification didn’t temper the confusion and shame radiating off of Anthony. They unsettled Freddie. He only relaxed when he heard Anthony’s breath slow to a gentle, consistent rhythm. He hoped the singer would be refreshed when he woke up, and maybe less angry.

The next morning, Anthony didn’t speak to him. He readied himself for the day in silence. It hurt, but Freddie took it as a sign that he’d made the right decision. If he was already so thrown by Anthony’s frustration, he couldn’t allow himself to be sucked in deeper. He had a job to do.

From the corner of the rehearsal room, he watched Anthony continue to butt heads with the conductor, who was intent on tearing Anthony down. It impressed Freddie that he kept his cool — he really must have wanted to make a good impression — but it stoked an unreasonable rage in him. He spent the morning visualizing himself performing various violent acts on Maestro Alamilla.

The afternoon was a staging rehearsal. It was a disaster. Unlike the conductor, the stage director spoke only Spanish, and that meant that the mezzo-soprano, Adrijana, required every direction go through two levels of translation: into English so that her interpreter could understand, and then into Croatian so that she could understand.

Several times, Freddie saw Anthony roll his eyes at how ridiculous the process was, and he didn’t disagree. By the time it was over, everyone’s nerves were frayed. The rehearsal didn’t end so much as it unraveled. At some point, Adrijana left, and someone stood in and took down her staging.

People started drifting out, and Freddie got up to stand by Anthony. Anthony wouldn’t look at him.

Anthony was packing up his notes when a woman wearing an apron full of sewing supplies approached. In her thirties, her long, glossy brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore heavy black eyeliner.

“Signor Bianchi?”

“Sí, cara?”

“I’ll be your dresser. My name’s Gabriela.”

“Wonderful!” Anthony grabbed her by the shoulders. “You will be my best friend, and we’ll survive this travesty together, yes?”

Her eyes darted around skittishly, and she half-nodded.

“Perfect,” Anthony said, winking. “Do me a favor and always have a bottle of water on you.”

“Uh, of course, Signor Bianchi.”

“And a handkerchief. I do sweat. Speaking of which, be careful to douse my costumes with the vodka spray after every show. You’d be surprised at how much moisture one man can produce. And dear god, no Febreze. I’m allergic.”

At some point, Gabriela stopped talking and was scribbling down extensive notes. When Anthony finished listing his demands, she smiled and scurried away.

The room was now empty, and the silence was back. The lack of communication made his stomach squirm. Freddie couldn’t help himself.

“Would you join me?”

Anthony’s head snapped to Freddie, suspicion flaring in his eyes.

“For what?”

Freddie saw the hurt underneath Anthony’s bitter response, and regret shot through him. He had been the cause. He’d tried so hard to put the job first, but he was also at the mercy of feelings that he hadn’t experienced in decades.

“A walk. Then dinner?”

Anthony’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but there was still an edge to his voice.

“Okay. Fine.”