Page 13 of Thorns of Desire

Or needed something from me.

With a heavy heart, I nodded and she pressed a kiss on my forehead. “Thank you.”

With a quick mic test and a terse nod, she left me in the corner of the stage, right behind the curtain, and rushed out.

I held my breath, waiting for the welcoming applause to die down. She loved the opera, but she loved the attention even more. She lived for it. I loved to sing, that feeling of being carried away and the world ceasing to exist, but I hated the spotlight. It’s why I knew I’d never follow in my mother’s footsteps, no matter how much she insisted.

The first notes traveled through the air and that same floating feeling took hold of me.

I sang for Mom, who was always here. For Father, who never was.

I closed my eyes, my lungs full as I sang a high C, drawing notes and emotions from somewhere deep, somewhere I rarely went. I gave it my all, pulling from my diaphragm. The words squeezed my lungs.

As the last note vibrated through the space, a silence followed.

Soft. Nostalgic. Dark.

I stood frozen as the last note left my lips and the sad, Italian words rattled my bones. My eyes burned behind my closed lids, so many emotions bouncing around my chest.

It was wrong that Mom and I were cheating. It was wrong that I was singing, but I wanted to go back to America. We’d been on the road far too long, and I missed the smell of burgers, steamed crabs, and the bay.

I missed it all.

Silence descended over the grand opera house, and I was reminded—not for the first time—of how the stage beneath my feet had stood for centuries. I felt privileged to be here but wished it were under less deceitful circumstances. Almost as if the universe had been listening, my eyes fluttered open and I found a shape towering over me, the stage lights too dim to make it out. I squinted, letting my eyes adjust, and was met with a furious gaze.

I gasped audibly. We were caught.

I tried to bolt, but I stumbled and collided with a hard body.

My head shot up, my cheeks flaming.

It hit me then who I had collided with… My mother’s date. The only reason I recognized him was because I spied on him through the curtains of our temporary apartment as my mom would go out to meet him. I thought he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen.

Manuel Marchetti.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I blurted, looking frantically for my mom—anyone—to save me.

Then, resigned to being caught, I swallowed a lump in my throat and met those eyes, only to do something stupid.

Curling my hands into fists, I pounded on his stomach, hoping he’d fall over and give Mom and me a window to escape. It didn’t. Instead, he froze, grabbed my shoulders, and pulled me away. His dark eyes met mine, my heart thundering partly in disbelief of what I’d done and partly in fear, but before he could take us to the opera manager and end Mom’s career, I kicked his shin and bolted.

That wasn’t my first encounter with violence, and unfortunately not the last either.

For many years after, I’d wondered about this man, but over the years, I remembered less and less of his features. And the horrible event that had followed a few days later made that whole incident fade into the corners of my memory.

Although, now that I thought back, I remembered fantasizing for several days about wedding bells and the white dress I’d wear when I married him. Because much to my delight, he broke up with Mama that same day. He was the first man to do so, and much to my relief, she never learned that he’d found out about our little scheme.

Never in a million years did I imagine I’d end up having a one-night stand with him.

“Small world,” I muttered softly to myself.Too small.

The City of Light’s paved sidewalks welcomed the clacking of my Louboutins. I cursed the Athena of yesterday who’d insisted on wearing sky-high heels that made me look just a bit like a hooker—a tired, famished hooker.

The streets were lined with cafés preparing to open, but none of it would help my hunger now. I sighed exhaustedly just as a set of hands wrapped around me.

“Fuck,” I hissed, whirling around and bringing a hand to my racing heart. “You scared me, Raven.”

She looked at me with a playful expression. “Maybe you should be scared. I’ve been stalking you for the past five minutes and you didn’t notice me.”