Alaina stood at the mirror, fluffing her hair. She’d already changed into her glaring monstrosity and the sequins almost blinded Carly as she turned toward her.
Alaina caught her eye in her reflection. ‘Quite a nice place. But I don’t have to convince you now, do I?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come now, we both know you went for Michelangelo because of his winery.’
Carly’s mouth dropped open. Panic rose up until she saw a smile creep into Alaina’s mouth.
‘I’m only joking.’ Alaina clicked the cap back on her red lipstick. ‘I hope you two are happy, even if you stole him.’
Carly shrugged, feeling as though she toyed with a prize she couldn’t claim—a prize Alaina would die for. ‘I haven’t even figured out what I want. Congratulations are a little premature.’
‘Well, if it’s with him or someone else, I hope you do find love.’ Alaina’s tone had become surprisingly serious, making Carly glance up and meet her gaze.
The diva gave her a solemn nod, then went back to applying her mascara. Warmth spread through Carly. Maybe they had finally reached a good place together.
She hoped so, for her and the sake of the aria. ‘I hope you find someone one of these days.’ Carly pulled her dress over her head.
‘Oh he’s out there somewhere.’ Alaina mused, looking out the window across the vineyards. ‘But, for now, I have to focus on this aria. I have the famous, or should I say infamous, Christian Delacanto coming from the Gazzetta di Milan. He’s come exclusively to critique our aria, per my request.’
Meaning, she’d paid him big bucks just to show up. Carly gulped, trying to convince herself they had a chance. ‘Why did you choose him?’
‘Because his opinion matters, and with our ratings so far, we need a gem of a quote to salvage anything at all from this entire tour.’
They had their work cut out for them, but Carly wasn’t going to give up. She’d give Alaina the best accompaniment she could muster. For the first time, she thought Alaina deserved it.
‘Let’s give him something to talk about.’ Carly zipped up the back of her dress and headed for the door.
A lot of the audience lingered on stage, gathering around the silent auction items. Ms. Maxhammer clapped her hands, signaling the end of intermission, and the concert-goers trickled off the stage back to their seats.
A surreal sense of displacement came over Carly, as though she was standing outside herself looking at a crucial moment in her own life. One blink and she saw herself running with Michelangelo’s kids—her kids—down the rows of vines. The next blink, she was back in Boston, fighting the congestion to get to her gig on time.
A long note rang out, bringing her back to reality. The second oboe tuned the orchestra.
‘Well, here goes nothing.’ Alaina stood beside her, smoothing her dress down the front. Then, she reached over and touched Carly’s arm gently. ‘Two women singing about love—and neither of us can seem to get it right. What’s that say about us, eh?’
For the first time, Alaina’s wide eyes shone with vulnerability as she scanned the crowd.
Carly’s confidence wasn’t the only one shaken by the tour. For the first time, she felt bad for the diva. Not only did the woman think she’d stolen Michelangelo, but she’d also bombed on her big investment to push her career. She wasn’t so different from Carly—sweating through the gigs, always looking for the next step up the ladder. If she had to pay to have her own solo, then she wasn’t as established as she liked people to think. Carly’s determination hardened. ‘Let’s show them we know what we’re talking about.’
Maestro Braun invited them on stage, and the audience politely applauded as they walked in front of the orchestra. Scanning the audience, she saw Michelangelo sitting in the front row besides his mother, holding her hand. Signora Ricci smiled at Carly. The old woman narrowed her eyes and nodded reassuringly, as if she knew Carly could do it.
If that wasn’t enough of a cue, then Carly didn’t know what was. She brought her oboe to her lips, took a deep breath, and began the aria.
Only this time it didn’t sound as though she was playing the same notes. Her music danced, freed of the constraints of the bar lines. Pure joy welled up within her, echoing the moment she had played with Michelangelo last night. That was love, and she finally could express it through her oboe. Bach had it right all along.
Alaina’s eyebrow rose as she listened to the final bars of the prelude and took her breath to come in. Carly’s joy was contagious, because Alaina’s voice danced, light and buoyant on top of Carly’s sound. Every beat fitted into place, and they swelled together in a lovely climax. The orchestra accompanied them in perfect harmony. Carly ended the solo, and her last note resonated over the vineyard, followed by the chirps of finches.
Applause erupted twice as loud as when they were introduced. The first row stood without Michelangelo’s cue, and the second row, and the third. Alaina gestured to Carly, and they bowed together. The applause continued when they walked offstage, inviting them back for a second bow. The applause surged as Alaina came back on after Carly. The opera diva beamed as she waved to the crowd.
Carly looked for the critic and found him clapping wholeheartedly. Was that a smile that spread through his lips? But, she only truly cared about Michelangelo and his mother’s reaction. They stood, smiling and clapping together, and she could almost picture them fifteen years younger, watching a concert together when his mother had taken care of him and not the opposite. She breathed with relief. Mission accomplished.
Ms. Maxhammer came onstage with two bouquets of wild flowers. ‘Courtesy of Michelangelo. These are from his fields.’
Carly’s throat tightened as Ms. Maxhammer handed her the first bouquet. Maybe not the best idea in the world. If Michelangelo had wanted to make amends with the soprano, he should have given her at least a few more days to cool off. Carly’s heart sank as reality hit her. He didn’t have a few days. They were getting on a plane tomorrow.
Alaina eyed the bouquet with skepticism. Would the diva make a scene and throw them on the stage?
‘For me?’ Alaina turned to Ms. Maxhammer.
‘Yes, he specifically said to give you one, too.’ Ms. Maxhammer gave her an encouraging nod. ‘One of the reasons why he planned this concert was to make it up to you.’
Alaina gracefully accepted the bouquet with a poker face. She sniffed the flowers, then turned to Michelangelo in the audience.
Carly’s fingers tightened over her bouquet, crushing the stems. Here we go again.
Alaina simply nodded, smiled at the audience, then walked off stage.
What? No temper tantrum, no finger-pointing? Carly followed her, baffled. As they walked back to their dressing room, Carly couldn’t help but ask. ‘You accepted his flowers?’
Alaina picked up the hem of her dress so the fabric wouldn’t touch the grass. ‘Why wouldn’t I? Our aria was phenomenal. He gave us a chance to perform again, and we succeeded. You’ve already won him over. What else can I expect?’
‘I just thought you’d…’
‘Make a scene?’ She waved her hand. ‘I know when to throw in the towel—or in this case, the sour grapes. Besides, wouldn’t want to leave a bad taste in Signore Delacanto’s mouth after that beautiful performance now, would I?’
Carly almost choked with surprise. Even if Alaina had been gracious in order to impress the critic, her unexpected composure still impressed her. Maybe the diva could be reasonable after all.
Carly stopped in her tracks and turned toward her. ‘I can’t see why he’d have anything but praise. You really did sound like an angel.’
‘That’s because you played like one. Even if your dress was only half as beautiful as mine.’
Alaina gave Carly a half-smile that hinted she was only joking, and Carly laughed despite herself. ‘I’ll have to get an electric cord and a power source if I’m going to compete with that.’
Too bad the tour was ov
er and they were no longer roommates. Carly was starting to like her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Final Count
Michelangelo had squeezed his mother’s hand as the final notes of the concert rang out. Even if they’d have to sell the vineyard, at least they’d have this night to remember. All of the commotion, the crowd and the music had awoken a part of his mother he hadn’t seen in a long time. Even if she didn’t understand exactly why they were there, she was at peace. The music distracted her, keeping the constant confusion of her degenerating disease at bay.
Not only was he enjoying himself with his mother, but Carly played as though she was on fire. She swayed to the music with her oboe, creating a synergy with Alaina that grew with every note they played together. It was impressive to watch and Michelangelo was proud of her.
If only he knew what went on in her heart.
He’d told himself he’d deal with the aftermath, but Carly’s plane ride tomorrow already loomed over him, creeping in like a dark cloud whenever he let it. He couldn’t make her stay. He’d never be able to live with himself if she gave up everything she’d built for herself back in Boston and was unhappy at the vineyard. He extended the invitation, and he showed her how he felt about her. He’d done all he could do. Staying with him was a choice only she could make.
Besides, there might not be a vineyard when it came down to it. What was he thinking? He had nothing to offer her anyway. He and his mother might be homeless in the near future, and he should be planning to relocate. Michelangelo patted his mother’s hand and swallowed his rising anxieties. They had this lovely moment and he wasn’t about to waste it.
Maestro Braun thanked the audience and invited Ms. Maxhammer to the stage. The older woman shrugged off help and ascended the steps with her cane. She made her way to center stage and took the microphone.
‘Let us first thank Maestro Braun and his talented orchestra for a truly lovely concert.’
The audience applauded as she shook the Maestro’s hand.
‘And next, Michelangelo Ricci, for allowing us to use this scenic place for our last performance.’
Michelangelo stood and Ms. Maxhammer gestured toward him. He wasn’t sure she’d had time to tally the ticket sales, but from the size of the audience, it would only buy him a month or two at best.
As if reading his mind, Ms. Maxhammer added, ‘May this gorgeous vineyard stand here for all time.’
She waited patiently as light applause welled up, then settled down. Michelangelo’s heart rate increased. He should have had a bottle of his own wine.
‘You—’ she pointed to the audience as a spark lit her eyes. ‘Have helped us with that task.’
Michelangelo sat on the edge of his seat. Was she going to announce how much they’d raised?
Ms. Maxhammer pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it. ‘According to initial reports, through ticket sales, the silent auction, and generous donations, we’ve managed to raise twenty thousand euros toward the preservation of this vineyard.’
Twenty thousand euros. Michelangelo tried to wrap his mind around the large sum as the audience applauded. He was forever indebted to these Americans—the same people he’d once thought were lazy, selfish idiots. Their generosity humbled him. He couldn’t have been more wrong about them. He didn’t want their efforts to go in vain. Twenty thousand euros would certainly help. But would the offer be enough to beat Herb Ranger’s?
Ms. Maxhammer pulled another piece of paper from her pocket. ‘But we all know that won’t be enough.’
Silence settled over the audience as she ripped open an envelope and pulled out what looked like a fancy check. ‘So, I’d like to add another zero to that number.’
Two hundred thousand euros! Michelangelo’s heart stopped. Struck by shock, he held onto both arms of his chair. He reclaimed some of his composure and raised his hand to get her attention. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘I assure you I can, and I will.’ Ms. Maxhammer answered him from the stage. Her shrewd business sense crept into her face as she narrowed her eyes. ‘On the assumption this orchestra is welcome here each summer to play a concert.’
Michelangelo nodded slowly, then more empathetically. ‘Of course they are.’
‘Then, Mr. Ricci, come up to the stage and claim your check.’
He stood, incredulous. Was she really serious? Was his vineyard truly saved? Gazing down at his mother’s happy face, he fought tears. She’d spend the rest of her years with some moments of peace and precious memories.
Mrs. Ricci pushed him toward the stage. ‘Go on, you deserve it.’
Michelangelo stepped forward, feeling as though he was walking in a dream. Applause encouraged him all the way up to the stage. He gave Ms. Maxhammer a hug, whispering in her ear. ‘I don’t know how to repay you.’
She patted his back. ‘You remind me of when I fell in love. You’ve brought this whole orchestra on a wonderful journey. Believe me, you already have.’
*****
Carly wanted to break through the orchestra and celebrate with Michelangelo on stage. But too many obstacles stood in the way, and she wasn’t even thinking about Bertha and the army of violins. The concert was over, the tour had ended, and Michelangelo had his winery. Now, she had to decide. If she got back on that plane, she’d have too many gigs waiting for her to stop and think about this again. If she didn’t take the step now, she wouldn’t do it all the way from Boston. Her obsessive musical life would give her no time to reflect, no time to look back.
What if she couldn’t drum up the same gig balance she had in Boston? What if her relationship with Michelangelo fizzled out? She’d been a realist her whole life, and posing such questions only kept her true to herself.
Maybe that’s the way it should be.
Her phone vibrated in her purse under her feet—another gig request or student already waiting for her response. The cord that tied her to her home was wound tightly, and she couldn’t tell if it was a noose or a lifeline. Sometimes it felt like both.
‘Aren’t you happy for him?’ Melody leaned over from the principal flautist’s seat. ‘He’s done so much for us.’
‘Of course I am.’ Carly ran her cleaning cloth over her oboe.
‘I thought you two had something going on there for a while.’ Melody closed her music folder. It was the last time the Easthampton Civic Symphony would play that particular set.
Carly shrugged, feeling way too melancholy. ‘All good things must come to an end.’
‘Like this tour.’ Melody gazed out over the vineyard and sighed. ‘I’m going to miss Italy. Wolf and I made some great memories.’ She turned back to Carly. ‘But I’m sure you’re eager to leave and get back to your gigs.’
Carly picked up her purse, afraid to check her phone. When the plane had landed in Italy all she had wanted to do was get to her messages and get back on another plane to Boston. Now she didn’t know what she wanted.
‘Carly?’
‘Hmm?’
Melody’s gaze bored into her as if her friend could see her soul. ‘Is there something wrong?’
Carly glanced at the window of the room where she’d stayed with Michelangelo. The curtains wafted through the opening into the night breeze as if seeking her return. She tore her gaze away and turned back to her friend. ‘I’m not sure.’
Melody scrunched her pretty nose. ‘What do you mean you’re not sure?’
Carly reached out and picked up Melody’s hand. Her friend’s engagement ring caught the light of the moon, shining like a star on her finger. Carly wondered if the rock ever weighed down Melody’s hand. ‘It’s easy for you. You have nothing to lose.’
Melody nodded solemnly as if she knew now what this really was about. ‘I should have told you more about my own struggles. At the time, I didn’t think you’d understand.’
‘Understand what?’
‘Why I risked everything for Wolf.’
Risk? How could Melody ever know
anything about risk? She had the best of both worlds. ‘You didn’t risk anything. You’re both still in the orchestra, you have your gigs and he’s here with you now.’
‘Yes, it turned out very well for us both. But when we first got together, the board had a policy against him dating anyone in the orchestra. And if anyone found me with the conductor, they’d think I was trying to secure my own job by sleeping my way to the top. They would have kicked us both out.’
Carly shook her head. ‘I had no idea you were going through so much.’
Melody patted the back of her hand. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It would have brought you right into the mess along with us, and I didn’t want your position questioned. I didn’t want you keeping secrets for me.’
Carly sighed, wondering when they’d stopped being so close. ‘I would have.’
‘I know you would. But that’s not why I wanted to bring this up.’ Melody gazed out into the audience. Carly could have sworn she was watching Michelangelo help his mother up from her seat. ‘Sometimes love means taking risks.’
‘Right.’ Carly already knew that. The question was: was she willing to take the risk? Was she really in love? Melody couldn’t answer that question for her. Carly had to figure it out herself.
Carly stood, ready to confront Michelangelo. It may be the last time she’d see him until the orchestra played there next year. She couldn’t imagine coming back a year later and seeing again what she had passed up. Would Michelangelo have another girlfriend on his arm? ‘Thanks for the advice.’
‘Anytime.’ Melody snapped her flute case shut and slipped her instrument into her bag. ‘Guess I’ll see you tomorrow on the plane?’
Carly’s stomach tightened. Did she really want to go through with it and leave? It seemed as though the tide flowed against her will, and she could do nothing to stop it. ‘Guess so.’
Now she had to tell Michelangelo.
Carly marched across the orchestra to where she’d last seen Michelangelo with his mother. The chairs were empty, so she followed the cobblestone path to the office. The door lay open. That had been her and Alaina’s dressing room, so she didn’t feel too weird going in. She heard voices from the corridor leading into the house. He was probably putting his mother to bed.
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