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Epilogue

Six Months Later Anthony

Anthony took a deep breath as he watched the opera from the wings, waiting for his entrance. Enzo, the hilarious bass playing Don Magnifico in this production of La Cenerentola, was hamming it up big time, waltzing around the set in bright red bloomers, taunting the two singers who were portraying his daughters. The audience was eating it up.

Across the expanse of the set, in the stage right wings, a woman in a flowered corset and a simple white skirt smiled and waved at him. It was Lena. Anthony had made sure she was playing the lead for this production. She’d been a good friend to him, and she deserved all the success in the world. Of course she was his Cinderella.

Anthony was making his Manhattan Lyric debut. This milestone, something that he hadn’t thought would happen for a decade, if ever, was waiting steps in front of him. He was a few bars of music away from singing the first notes.

In some ways, it wasn’t as big of a deal now. So much had changed. He no longer had the desperation of the ticking clock on his career. He didn’t have to kill himself to make his debut at every major opera house. He had time.

He also had perspective. He could enjoy this profession, but eventually people would notice that he wasn’t aging. When that happened, he would need to do something else, to become someone else. As he looked at the long years stretching out ahead, the details of his job no longer seemed all that important.

He could just savor this moment, the music, and his mate beside him.

He smiled at Freddie, who stood in the darkness to Anthony’s right. There was no real reason for him to be backstage. They were in charge of the New York coven now, and no one was trying to kidnap or kill him. They hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Gabriela de Aragon.

But it felt like a corrective to have Freddie here, watching from the wings.

Freddie smiled back, his face beaming with pride, his fangs flashing white in the backstage shadows.

The coven was a work in progress, and there’d been some growing pains, certainly. But one thing had remained steady: Freddie’s support and love for him. Everything they’d accomplished, they’d done together.

Like they were together right now.

“Are you ready for your debut, Antonio Bianchi?” Freddie smiled, and Anthony’s heart sang. Those smiles would always only be for him.

“Not Antonio.” Anthony leaned into him. “Not anymore. I’m happy to just be Anthony. That’s enough.”

Freddie’s arms wrapped around him, and he could feel so much through their bond: respect, admiration, devotion.

“Break a leg, my love.” Freddie’s whisper brushed against his ear.

Out there, the house was filled with opening night patrons, critics, and friends. Uncle Daniel and Oliver sat front row center, waiting to see him make his entrance. But right here, with Freddie, everything was perfect.

The music swelled, and the magic of the stage called to Anthony. He had so much magic now. “It’s time.”

Squeezing Freddie’s hand once, Anthony let go, stepped out, and began to sing.