Amid all the welcoming applause, Tomas quickly leans in to whisper something to me. “I forgot to tell you something, Luciana.”
“What?”
“You’re beautiful.”
A wave of warmth envelops me as Tomas swiftly runs his lips over my cheek. Electric sparks ignite every nerve ending in my body, and my core clenches at his gentle caress, giving me just a hint of what I hope will eventually happen between us—his chiseled lips over mine finally giving me the kiss I’ve been waiting for. The anticipation slays me when I think about it, but I can wait. I’ve waited this long to meet someone like him, so I’ll remain patient. I give him a wide smile, then walk the few steps to the front of the room, joining Allegra at the other microphone.
We begin to sing, and I notice some faces registering an “Oh, that song” look because they remember it from that old British Airways commercial.
Allegra and I are both in the zone, totally in sync with each other. But then I notice something on the screen behind her shoulder that’s not displaying the Gotham Conservatory logo anymore like it was before. Instead, it’s showing old photos of a mother and her child, and then old newspaper clippings, and then…
Oh fuck.
It’s the picture of Allegra as a five-year-old being carried to safety by a police officer from the NYPD after they’d found her. She’d been hiding for days after seeing her mother murdered in front of her. I’m the only person besides her father who knows who Allegra is. She changed her name after the event and has never told anyone what happened to her.
Allegra notices the distress on my face. She turns around and I know she can now see what’s showing on the screen. Before I can stop her, she rushes out of the room. My mouth drops just as Tomas runs up to me.
“What can I do?” he asks breathlessly.
“Sing. Now,” I hiss under my breath.
He nods and I haul myself from the front of the room to find Allegra as the opening notes of ‘La donna è mobile’ waft behind me.
Just as I head for the room where we had rehearsed before the benefit, I see Allegra lying facedown on the staircase, Davison hovering over her.
My skin grows cold and I start to feel ill at the sight of my best friend. “Oh my God!”
Whatever happened, I know Davison is the cause of it.
“Get away from her!” I snap at him. “Can you move, Alli?”
Slowly, she begins to turn herself around using her elbows. Then Money Boy, as I prefer to call Davison, proceeds to take it upon himself to announce that he’s taking her to the hospital.
Like hell he is. “I’m going with her,” I inform him.
Then I can hear Allegra whisper, “Lucy, get me out of here. Please.”
Done.
“You heard her, Davison,” I bark at him.
He replies with typical arrogance, “I don’t care,” and picks up Allegra in his arms.
Fuck that.
I run upstairs to grab my purse and hurry back down, following Davison outside to his waiting limo and helping myself into the front seat before anyone can stop me.
* * * Tomas
I look out toward the open door through which Luciana has just disappeared. I rush to Derek, our accompanist, and whisper “La donna è mobile” to him. Once I take my place at the microphone, I nod to him and he begins to play. I sing it as best I can, trying to keep my mind focused despite my thoughts wandering to Luciana and hoping all is well with Allegra.
I finish and take a bow, watching as some guests begin to leave. I look over at Mrs. Berkeley, who waves her hand at me to sing something more. I think I need to sing something uplifting.
I instantly think of the perfect aria and quickly walk over to Derek again, leaning in to his ear. “Do you know ‘Ah! Mes Amis’ from Donizetti’s La fille du régiment?”
Derek snorts at me in reply, waving his hand dismissively. “Oh, please. Give me a break. Get back to the mic, young man.”
I assume that means he knows it. I’m still learning all these American idioms and expressions, which can be so confusing. Someone once said to me, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” What could that possibly mean?
Once again at the microphone, I inhabit the role of Tonio, a young Swiss Tyrolean who has just joined a regiment of soldiers in his village during the Napoleonic Wars. This particular aria is very difficult with nine high Cs for the tenor to reach. But I seem to do all right judging by the audience’s enthusiastic reaction.
I bow to the guests as Mrs. Berkeley rises from her chair in the front row and comes toward me. She gives me a peck on the cheek and steps up to the microphone.
“My friends, ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming this evening and for your generous donations to the Gotham Conservatory. Please make sure to collect a gift bag on your way out. Get home safely. Good night and thank you again.”
I watch the audience begin to leave when Mrs. Berkeley takes my arm and gives me a quick embrace.
“Thank you so much, Tomas. You truly saved the evening for me.”
“It was my pleasure, madam. I only hope Allegra is all right.”
She nods, a look of concern crossing her face. “Knowing my son, I’m sure she is. As well as Luciana. She went with her when Davison took her to New York-Presbyterian.”
“What is that?”
“It’s a hospital not too far from here, just up York Avenue…”
My blood begins to pump faster, my fists clenching.
What? Hospital?
“…would you excuse me? I have a few things to attend to.”
I realize Mrs. Berkeley was still speaking to me. I nod my head absently. “Certainly.”
A wave of emotion overwhelms me, my heart racing, my mind conjuring so many different images, and before I can comprehend what’s happening, my feet carry me out of the ballroom and down the stairs. I rush for the street and hail a cab.
“New York-Presbyterian Hospital on York Avenue,” I order the cab driver, just as Mrs. Berkeley told me.
He nods and begins driving north. I watch the traffic lights, willing each one to turn green as we make our way up the wide street. I grab the edge of the plastic seat cushion under me with my fists, frustration and impatience coursing through me.
Finally, I see signs for the hospital as the taxi comes to a sharp stop in front of the imposing limestone building. I pay the driver and get out, coming face to face with Luciana as she grabs the handle of the door.
Her beautiful blue eyes open widely at the sight of me, mirroring my exact reaction upon seeing her. We both freeze in place.
“Tomas? What are you doing here?”
“Mrs. Berkeley told me you were here with Allegra. Is she all right?”
A rough voice yells from the driver’s seat. “Hey, you two coming or going?”
Luciana pushes me back into the car. “Come on. I need to go back to the house to get my stuff. I’ll explain on the way.”
I do as I’m told, because the frightened look in her eyes unnerves me, and all I want to do now is comfort her.
“Back to Sutton Square, please. The end of East Fifty-eighth Street,” she tells the driver.
The cabbie turns left and begins his way back southbound to the house. Luciana leans back on the seat and lets out a deep breath.
I take her hand in mine and gently press it. “What happened to Allegra?”
“As far as I could tell, Allegra was trying to leave and Davison wouldn’t let her, she tried to pull away from him, and then fell down the stairs.”
A disturbing thought grips me. “He didn’t push her, did he?”