by Sofia Tate
I reach over carefully for some water, but my cup is empty, as is the pitcher. I press the call button for the nurse and wait. And wait.
After ten minutes, I can’t take it anymore. My throat is parched. I slowly slide out of bed, rolling my IV stand with me to the door. I turn left to head for the nurses’ station when two voices stop me. The male voices belong to Dr. Mason and another man in a white coat, who I assume is also a doctor. They’re standing outside the room next door to mine, their backs to me. I know I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but as soon as Dr. Mason says the word “singer,” I freeze.
“Too much scarring. It was worse than I thought it would be,” Dr. Mason tells the other man.
“Poor thing. So young. I’ve seen it happen with rock singers too. Opera is so tough, though. Do you think she’ll ever sing again?”
Dr. Mason pauses. “Not professionally, no. Allegra is so talented. I just don’t know how I’ll break it to her.”
You just did, asshole.
I start to tremble as I ease backward into the room. I can hear someone howling in the distance, and I realize it’s me.
I collapse to the ground, gulping oxygen by the lungful. I press my hand over my mouth, as if that will stop my screaming.
No! That fucker said he would fix me!
No! No! No!
A rush of heat blazes through me. Rage. I want to rage.
“NO! NO! NO!” I shout, my throat in flames, pain shooting down my neck into my lower body.
I get up from the floor and kick my IV stand to the floor, completely impervious to the pain as the fall snatches out the needle from my arm, blood spattering all over the pristine floor. My larynx is on fire as I knock over the chairs, screaming at the top of my lungs.
I won’t be singing professionally anymore, so who gives a fuck if I mess up my throat? I sure don’t give a shit.
I hurl my pillow across the room, bringing down the wall clock. I throw one of the bouquets against the door, petals and water covering the floor.
I rage. I rage. I rage. And it feels fucking amazing.
I rage against the strong arms holding me back. I rage like a trapped animal as someone shouts, “Allegra! Stop! Calm down!” Writhing and kicking with every limb on my body as a needle is shoved into my arm, I hear Davison’s voice shouting above everyone else’s, “Let me hold her! I’m her fucking husband!”
Then my world turns liquid and quiet as Davison lifts me into his arms and places me on the bed, whispering, “I’m here, baby. I’m here. I love you so much. I’ll never leave you again.”
I float away on his words into sleep, my body boneless and free of pain.
* * *
I’m never leaving this bed. Ever.
From my bedroom window, I watch day turn into night, and night turn into day.
There’s no point in rising from this bed. I will never sing again. I am useless. I have nothing to give to anyone. Davison will no doubt see what kind of loser of a woman he married and leave me. Can’t say I would blame him. I’d leave me too.
I don’t understand why he keeps leaving me food. The tea eventually goes cold. The meat in the sandwiches spoils. Such a waste, just like me.
Papa comes by every day. “Cara,” he whispers, smoothing my hair back from my face. He says things like “Please get up,” “Please eat something,” “Please say something.”
Please. Please. Please. Please, fucking please.
Then Lucy visits me. She tries to make me laugh, telling me stories about Tomas, her parents, even the latest Hollywood gossip. She doesn’t get it either. I could care less.
But Davison… Davison is the worst because it hurts the most. It’s his pity. He emits it through his words, everything that comes from his mouth. It permeates my pores when he touches me. I shiver from the feel of his fingers on my flesh. But when he kisses me… I want to slap him.
Don’t! Just fucking don’t! I know you hate me. I know you think I’m a complete loser. Go back to Ashton. Or find another WASP princess who will do you proud. I’m not worth it.
I wait for the day when he’ll present me with divorce papers. I will snatch the pen from his hands and scratch out my signature at those yellow tabs that say SIGN HERE and SIGN HERE and SIGN HERE—I’ll sign wherever you fucking want me to sign.
I will go back and live with Papa. I know Davison will take back the money he promised him, so I don’t know where we’ll end up. Maybe we’ll go back to Italy and live there. I’ll find a job, maybe teach English. Papa will find us a small apartment to live in for him and his divorcée daughter, but we wouldn’t tell anyone I’m divorced, since divorce is frowned upon there. A widow. Yes, that would work better. I wouldn’t want to bring any more shame to him than I already have.
Suddenly, Davison walks into the bedroom. My body locks, afraid of his touch, not wanting to feel his hands on me. I don’t want to feel anything. Not a damn thing.
He shoves the handheld phone in front of my face. “It’s Saxon, baby. He insists on speaking with you. I keep trying to put him off, but being the bastard he is, he won’t take no for an answer.”
Davison holds the phone up to my ear, thank God. I couldn’t bear it if his fingers brushed mine when he handed it to me.
“Allegra?” Jared’s rough voice shouts over the line.
“Yes,” I manage, barely above a whisper.
He sighs audibly. “Look, I hate to do this, but I have no choice.”
Christ, just get to the damn point already.
“Allegra, I have to drop you as a client. With your doctor’s diagnosis, I don’t see the point of keeping you on. And I know I’ve been an asshole at times with you, but please believe me when I tell you this is without a doubt the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. I had such dreams for you…”
Join the fucking club.
“… and now, it just breaks my fucking heart.”
He pauses, and I start to think he actually means what he’s saying, but it really doesn’t matter now.
“I’ll have to send you an official letter as per your contract.”
“Fine,” I reply.
“I’m so sorry, Allegra,” he rushes. “I truly am. Be well. Good-bye.”
He hangs up, thank God. I turn onto my other side, away from Davison’s hand holding the phone.
“Bastard!” Davison growls under his breath. Then I feel his warm hand on my shoulder. “Allegra, please. Talk to me.”
I shut my eyes tightly, wrapping my arms around me, shrinking away from his touch and burrowing farther under the covers.
I hear him sigh in frustration. “Just remember I love you, baby, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Retreating footsteps echo through the bedroom, followed by the sound of a closing door.
Leave me alone. Just leave me alone! I don’t want your pity or your love. Stop hovering! And stop playing this game, pretending you care about me! Just come in and tell me it’s over. Clean and swift. Then I can move on and forget you ever came into my life.
And after he does that, I can finally leave everything behind—this bed, this life, and everything Davison Cabot Berkeley ever meant to me.
Chapter Sixteen
Davison
One month later…
Staring out the living room window in our apartment that looks out onto the Hudson River, I watch the various forms of water traffic sailing up and down it. Sheets of rain pound against the glass, the sky gray and overcast, all of which perfectly matches my mood. I wouldn’t have been able to stand it if the sky had been a brilliant blue, cloudless, with the sun beaming down on me.
I turn and step to the piano, running a finger across the ebony wood. I check the tip of it, now covered entirely in dust. I can’t remember the last time I heard someone playing it, the someone being my beautiful wife. I wouldn’t care if she played something sad and haunting; I just need her to do something, to show some sign of life.
My phone buzzes from the coffee table. Christoph’s name is o
n the screen.
“Hi, Christoph,” I manage to muster.
“Hey, man. How are you? How is Allegra?”
I swallow deeply in my throat before answering. “She’s doing fine. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got something I want to check out in Dubai. Any chance you can come out?”
I take a deep breath before answering. “I’m afraid not. I really need to stay with Allegra. I’ll send Ian, if that’s all right with you. He’s basically running the company now for me while I tend to her.”
“No problem. I like Ian. We had the best time in Hong Kong. And that girl of his, Ashton… How do you Americans say? A total pistol.”
My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Wait. Ashton who? She was with Ian?”
“Oh shit, man!” Christoph interrupts. “My plane’s boarding, Davison. We’ll talk soon, yeah?”
He hangs up before he can give me an answer to my question. It couldn’t be…
Before I can process this information, the house phone rings. “Sir, Ashton Canterbury is downstairs. She’d like to see you and Mrs. Berkeley,” our doorman informs me.
I sigh. “Fine, send her up.”
What now?
I tilt my head in curiosity when Ashton steps out of the elevator, not just because she’s carrying a large shopping bag from Dean & Deluca, but also because she’s not the Ashton I remember. She’s wearing a black silk wrap dress, tall stiletto boots, and a red belted raincoat.
“Ashton,” I greet her coolly. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard about Allegra, and—”
I don’t like this, not one bit. “What did you hear exactly?” I demand of her before she can say another word.
She pauses before answering. “I heard that she lost her voice and can’t sing professionally anymore.”
“From who?”
“People talk, okay? Especially in our circles. Look, it doesn’t matter—”
I take a step toward her as a warning. “It matters to me, because I will not allow you to come near Allegra if your intention is to hurt her!”
Her jaw clenches. “Did Allegra tell you that I saw her before the wedding?”
This news sends me reeling. “No. Where?”
“She’d just had her dress fitting at Maggie’s. I ran into her on the street outside. I told her that I’m sorry you were shot, that I was sorry for all of the trouble I caused her, and I wished you both well.”
“If you don’t mind, Ashton, I think I’ll ask Allegra about that just to confirm it’s true.”
“Look, Davison, I’m not the same person anymore.” She huffs. “I know you may find that difficult to believe, but it’s true. I’ve met someone who’s changed me for the better, and I’m much happier now.”
I give her a once-over, silently admitting to myself that she’s not lying. “You’ve definitely changed. I think your mother will freak out seeing you in red and black with no pearls in sight.”
“Actually, she did,” she replies, now beaming with pride, “and I told her she’d just have to accept me for who I am.” She offers the shopping bag to me. “This is for you and Allegra. I thought flowers would be too depressing, so I brought you some things from Dean and Deluca that I remembered you liked and other stuff that I hope is to Allegra’s taste.”
I take the bag from her, looking down at it, weighing it in my hand as well as what my response should be to this random act of kindness. “I guess you have changed, because I don’t think the Ashton I knew would’ve done something like this, at least not the version when we were engaged. You’re different, almost like the girl I first met—funny and kind, before we grew up and became such…”
“Narcissistic, self-absorbed, materialistic assholes?”
I let out a big laugh. “Yeah, that. Allegra has changed me for the better.”
“So has my new man. Just call me Ashton 2.0,” she jokes. “Look, I’d better go. Please give Allegra my best. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that this happened to her. Truly I am.”
I nod. “Thank you, Ashton. And I believe you.”
I give her a quick hug before she presses for the elevator. Once Ashton is gone, I rush to the bedroom to share everything that’s just happened with Allegra. But when I reach her, she’s asleep, and the joy I felt looking forward to sharing this piece of gossip with her dissipates into thin air.
She has taken up permanent residence in the bedroom. She hardly ever leaves it. Whenever I check on her, she is either sleeping or awake staring into space. Her appetite is nonexistent; the food she takes in, if she eats at all, could barely feed a baby bird.
I come around to her side of the bed where a letter lies on the ground, torn in half. I know what it said before she ripped it up.
Dear Allegra,
As per our conversation, our professional relationship is hereby terminated according to section 5, paragraph 3 in your contract.
Sincerely,
Jared Saxon
President
Saxon Management
The bastard dropped her, and he didn’t even do it in person. He did it over the fucking phone. I wanted to kill him, just like I did after I found out she’d heard about her damaged larynx thanks to that fucking Dr. Mason’s tactlessness. I wanted to rip his own larynx out because his big mouth caused Allegra’s meltdown, the one where I had to restrain her so a nurse could inject her with a drug that would knock her out. I’d never seen her like that before. I hated myself for leaving her, even just for a second. I just slipped out for a minute to collect some things from Charles that I’d asked him to bring over from home, and, not wanting him to have to park the car, I met him outside the hospital. When I came back and was walking down the corridor, I heard these raw screams coming from Allegra’s room, and when I came in, I found her tearing up the room and all of its contents. I yelled for help, and finally a nurse appeared with a needle in her hand, ready to jab Allegra with it. She slept soundly for hours after that, and I never left her side again.
Allegra wanted to put everything behind her, and I was fine with that. She calls the shots now. Whatever she wants to do, I’ll abide by her decision one hundred percent.
My beautiful, talented wife will never sing again on the stage of the Met, or ever at La Scala and Covent Garden, as she once told me she’d dreamed of doing one day. Her larynx is scarred beyond repair, and there is nothing modern medicine or prolonged voice rest can do. Allegra is shattered, a shell of her former self. My Allegra, with the smart mouth, the smile that always made my heart stop when I saw it across her gorgeous face, the infectious laugh that inevitably made me lose it when I heard it: they’re all gone, and I have no fucking clue how to get them back.
I hear the ding of the elevator. I wander over to the foyer, finding Lucy taking off her coat, holding her soaked umbrella carefully so as not to damage the wood.
“Hey, Lucy,” I whisper.
She gives me a quick hug. “How is she?”
“The same. How are you feeling?”
She rubs her belly. “We’re good. Finally. That’s what I’ve come to tell Allegra.”
“You know where to find her,” I murmur. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
Without warning, Lucy takes my hand. “It’s okay, Davison. You should hear this as well.”
I dump her wet umbrella in the kitchen sink and follow her to the bedroom.
“Hey, Alli,” she greets her, barely above a whisper. Lucy sits down at the edge of the bed, nudging Allegra’s feet to make room for herself. I lean against the door frame, my heart pounding, to see how Allegra reacts.
Allegra’s eyes shift over to Lucy, blank and lifeless. “Hi.”
I envy Lucy. I can barely get a greeting out of my wife, but at least she acknowledged her best friend.
“I have some good news,” Lucy begins carefully. “Tomas came back from his trip, and I told him about the baby.”
“Good,” Allegra replies, her voice monotone as she looks out the window.
“He finally opened up to me, and you won’t believe what he’s been keeping from me.”
Lucy pauses before continuing. With no reaction from Allegra, she continues.
“He told me he was once married before. It was his childhood sweetheart and they had a baby together who died soon after childbirth. He was devastated. They decided to get divorced, and that’s when he left the Czech Republic and came to America to start over. He’s excited about the baby but nervous that something might go wrong. Can’t blame him for that. But we’re doing much better. We talked everything out, and we’ve never been happier. Just thought you’d want to know that.”
Allegra doesn’t move. She remains fixed on the outside view, as if something far more important is happening outside than hearing good news from her best friend. I clench my fists to stop myself from going over to my wife, throwing back the sheets, and pulling her upright to shake her until she shows any sign of life.
“Oh, and I told him that Ian was just a friend,” she continues. “But I also admitted that I may have been subconsciously using him as a way to get a rise out of Tomas so he would talk to me, and I apologized for doing that to him. Tomas is a better person than me, thank God, because he forgave me. Bet you’d never see the day I’d do something like that, right? Admit it when I’m wrong?”
She lets out a quick self-deprecating laugh to lighten the mood. But, again, no reaction from my wife.
Lucy rises from the bed and steps over closer to Allegra, kneeling down to eye level with her.
“Okay, Allegra, it’s time for some tough love,” she declares, her voice strong and determined. “I know you need time to heal, but this is getting ridiculous. I’m your best friend, and you know I don’t sugarcoat anything. So here it is. Life really sucks sometimes, and what happened to you is just beyond unfair. It’s not fucking right. After everything that you’ve done, all of it has gone to shit, and except for you, nobody is more pissed than me, because I always knew you were meant to go far with that voice. But now you can’t, and you’re coming to terms with that. And that’s fine. You just have to remember that you have people in your life who love you unconditionally and will always be there for you no matter what. They’re hurting too, because you are, and they just want you to let them in.”