Forever with Him

by Sofia Tate

  “They’re a Czech tradition,” Tomas announces proudly. “You coat them in sugar, then you eat them.”

  “And this is also a tradition!” Luciana shouts, shoving her left hand in front of my face, her ring finger adorned by a sparkling solitaire diamond ring.

  My eyes widen and my mouth drops at the sight. “Congratulations!” I kiss her on the cheek and shake Tomas’s hand. “When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday, and there’s something else we haven’t told you yet,” Lucy hints cryptically. She looks at Allegra. “We’re having twins, Alli!”

  Allegra screeches in shock. “Oh my God! That is amazing!” The two best friends embrace as I pat Tomas’s shoulder. “Well done.”

  He grins knowingly at my meaning. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Davison, please,” I correct him, and he nods in return.

  “I think it’s time for some champagne,” I announce, heading out to the bar to pop open a bottle. On the way there, I turn on the CD player. Bruce Springsteen singing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” begins to blare over the speakers.

  Everyone gathers in the living room, with Allegra bringing in hors d’oeuvres on a silver tray, placing them on the coffee table. I pour a flute of champagne for everyone, and some club soda for Luciana.

  “To my best friend and her fiancé and their impending arrivals!” Allegra toasts as we lift our glasses. “Cheers!”

  Just as we take sips of the bubbly liquid, a ping emits from the elevator.

  “Must be Derek and Aaron,” Allegra guesses.

  The doors open, and Ian steps out, with Ashton holding his hand.

  Silence permeates the room.

  Ian clears his throat nervously. “We were invited, weren’t we?”

  Allegra and I exchange looks. I take her hand, making our way over to them in the foyer. “Yes, you were invited,” I reassure him. I look at them together. “So you were with him in Hong Kong?”

  “She was,” Ian confirms. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

  “Not at all.” I turn to Ashton. “Christoph raved about you when I spoke to him. I guess this makes it official.”

  “It does,” Ashton replies in a strong, steady voice. “I hope you’ll be happy for Ian and me.”

  An arm encircles my waist, a hand gripping my side. “We are, Ashton. I’m glad for the both of you,” Allegra replies for the both of us.

  “As am I,” I join in. “Please come in.”

  Ashton hands a cake box to Allegra, who takes it from her and heads for the kitchen. Ian and Ashton follow me into the living room, where pleasantries are exchanged, though side eyes roam over the new couple from the rest of our guests, which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. I change the CD to Elvis Presley to lighten the mood in the room.

  As I begin to head back to the kitchen to check on Allegra, Derek and Aaron arrive, with Derek declaring, “Let’s get this party started!” as his husband rolls his eyes. I greet them as Derek looks into the living room.

  “Davison, has the world ended or is that Ashton standing in your apartment?”

  “That is her.” I sigh. “Who would ever have imagined that?”

  “Not me, that’s for damn sure,” Allegra declares, joining us from the kitchen. She pecks Derek and Aaron on their cheeks, then sniffs the air. She looks down at the casserole dish that Derek is holding. “That smells incredible.”

  “It’s my grand-mère’s crawfish étouffée,” Derek proudly informs us. “Now, Davison, lead the way to the bar, because I must imbibe tout de suite.”

  I laugh as they follow me to the living room, handing them each a glass of champagne. Lucy sits down at the piano and starts to play “Winter Wonderland,” encouraging everyone to join in. Her attitude is infectious, and our guests surround her to sing with her, some in tune, other proudly off-key.

  I glance over at the kitchen. Allegra stares out at us wistfully, then returns to doing something on the counter.

  I slip away from our friends and family to see what’s going on with my wife. I find her putting serving forks and spoons into the potluck dishes.

  “I think we’re about ready to eat,” she whispers.

  I take two steps to her, turning her away from the food to face me. “You okay, baby?”

  Her eyes sear into mine as she nods. “I’m fine. I’m just…”

  “What?” I ask gently.

  Her eyes lock on mine. “Thank you for never giving up on me.”

  I cup her face, shocked at her admission. “I would never give up on you. That thought would never even cross my mind because I love you so fucking much. I will never leave you, Allegra. You’re my wife. For better, for worse, and all that crap that comes with it.”

  Allegra laughs. “And thank you for always making me feel better when I need it most.”

  I kiss the tip of her nose. “You’re welcome. Oh, by the way, your father agreed to let me help him with the shop and his apartment. We’re going to discuss it more after the New Year.”

  A huge smile lights up her face as she grabs me in her arms. “Oh, Davison, thank you so much! I know he can be a stubborn ass sometimes—”

  “Like father, like daughter,” I mutter.

  She shrugs her shoulders playfully in my embrace. “I know. I can’t help myself.”

  I pull back so I can give her a quick kiss on the lips. “It’s okay, Venus. I love you anyway.”

  She pokes me in the ribs. “Ha-ha. Funny husband. Seriously, though, thank you.”

  “Anything for you, wife.” I look out into the living room. “I think we should serve dinner before Luciana and Tomas break into a rendition of ‘I Got You, Babe.’”

  Allegra sighs. “Knowing them, I think ‘Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off’ would be more like it.”

  Sharing a knowing laugh, I pick up one of the serving dishes from the counter, turning for the dining room.

  “Hey, Harvard,” my wife calls out to me.

  I look back into her warm brown eyes. “Yeah, baby?”

  She gives me a quiet smile. “Love you too.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Allegra

  One year later…

  The young female voice of a twenty-two-year-old opera student fills the cavernous room, doing its best to attempt what was once known as my signature aria, “Sì, mi chiamano Mimi” from La Bohème.

  Except she’s doing it all wrong.

  “Claudia, stop,” I demand of my student.

  Five pairs of eyes focus on me, including Claudia’s, whose eyes are more nervous than the others, as they rightfully should be.

  “You’re not understanding the tone of the aria. She’s not going through a laundry list of her likes and dislikes. This isn’t a first date. Mimi is poor, starving, and suffering from tuberculosis, and she is just moved that someone like Rodolfo is interested in her, not from a romantic standpoint but a human one. They’re making a connection, and she is blooming because of it, like the flowers she is singing about, because they bring her such joy.”

  Claudia nods as I go on.

  “You must feel the words. Place yourself in her shoes. Imagine if you were starving, you had barely any strength, but with one simple question from another person about your name, you open up—that spark of life is still inside you. Someone genuinely wants to know you. How would that make you feel?”

  Claudia pauses a moment, then smiles to herself. “Pretty freaking happy.”

  I laugh in response, as does the rest of the class. “Exactly. Now try it again.”

  She clears her throat, closes her eyes, then begins again.

  As her voice carries, this time much more slowly and with deeper emotion as I instructed, I close my eyes. Thanks to Signora Pavoni, I’m now working as an adjunct professor of voice at my alma mater, the Gotham Conservatory. I was grateful to her for thinking of me because I knew I needed something to occupy my time, and teaching has certainly filled the void of not being able to sing professionally. I do know that it’s been
a boost to the school, being able to boast of having a famous name on their staff, as famous as I was—that is, for a fleeting month. Others may have found that offensive, but I don’t mind it because that’s not my life anymore, and sometimes, I’m grateful for it.

  A flutter of pain suddenly moves within me, my heart swelling at the memory of me singing this on the stage of the Met all those months ago, my dream coming true. But then I open my eyes and look down at the rings on my fingers, the ones that mark me as Mrs. Davison Berkeley, and I know that this is where I’m meant to be, helping others achieve their dreams of their own debuts at the Met.

  Just as Claudia comes to a finish, I sense his presence. It is something my body is now attuned to, knowing when he is near me. I glance over at the door, and sure enough, Davison is standing outside, his emerald eyes blazing at me from behind the sliver of glass. His face softens when I see him, his entire face enveloped by an enormous grin. I nod, holding up a single finger to indicate class is almost over.

  I applaud Claudia’s performance, as does the rest of the class. “Brava, Claudia. Much better. Did you feel the difference?”

  Slight tears escape the edges of her eyes. “I did. I really did.”

  “And that is exactly how I felt when the same thing happened to me. I just knew it. And it felt wonderful.” I clap my hands together and rise to my feet. “Well done, class. Thank you, and I’ll see you next week.”

  My students shuffle out of the room, with Davison holding the door open for them, ever the gentleman that he is, with a few female students giving him a breathless “Thank you” as they leave. I can’t really blame them, because my husband is hot, but that’s what I love most, the fact that he is my husband.

  With the students gone, Davison shuts the door and strides straight to me, like a lion about to devour its prey. “Professor Berkeley, may I carry your books home?” His voice rumbles in that way that makes my toes curl and my core wet.

  I take him into my arms as he folds me into his embrace. “Absolutely. And if you’re good at it, we could make it a permanent thing.”

  His soft lips cover mine with a slow, deep kiss. “We already have, Venus.”

  “Just want to be sure you’re up to the task, Harvard. Carrying a girl’s books home is a big fucking deal.”

  “Mmmm,” he purrs. “Love that smart mouth of yours.”

  He leans in to kiss me one more time before I break away from him. “I do have an office, you know.”

  “Lead the way, baby.”

  I gather my things, shove them into my tote bag, which Davison promptly takes from me, and lead him out the door. We walk hand in hand to the office I share with Signora Pavoni, my name, Allegra Orsini Berkeley, written on a piece of masking tape attached to the brass nameplate just beneath hers as a temporary fixture.

  Once inside, I sit down on her leather couch, kicking off my pumps and stretching out my legs. Davison settles himself at the other end, taking my stocking-clad feet into his hands as he starts to rub them.

  “God, that feels amazing, baby,” I moan in relief. “You know what this reminds me of, of course?”

  “As if I’d ever forget, Venus. Those long rides home in the Maybach after your shifts at Le Bistro, me taking care of you, something I look forward to doing for the rest of my life.”

  “You still won’t tell me where you learned to do that so well, though.”

  “What can I say? I possess many talents. Besides, I think I like this look on you.”

  “Which would be?”

  He looks at me, his eyes roaming over my body. “The sexy schoolteacher thing you’ve got going on. Your hair pulled back in a low ponytail, the black dress, stockings, the black patent pumps. It’s hot, baby. I can just imagine loosening your hair as it falls down your shoulders, then fucking you bent over that desk, then—”

  I hold up my hand to him, palm facing out. “Whoa! Hang on, there, Harvard. First of all, that’s Signora Pavoni’s desk, so that would just be wrong on all levels. And second, I probably won’t be able to fit into this dress for much longer. In fact, you’ll need to take me clothes shopping in a few months.”

  Davison’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “You’ve lost me, Allegra. You’re not into all that, the shopping thing. That’s not you.”

  I smile, my heart racing with excitement. “I know it’s not, and you never have to worry about that. But I won’t have a choice thanks to our baby growing inside me. The only things I’ll be able to fit into are your Harvard sweats.”

  His eyes pop open, his jaw locking in shock. “What did you just say?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

  I sit up, taking his hands and placing them on my belly. “I’m pregnant, Davison. We’re going to have a baby,” I announce in a calm, strong voice.

  He clamps his lips together, trying to keep himself in check, but as tears start to fall from his eyes, his emotions overwhelm him. He leaps up and hauls me to my feet, twirling me around and around as he whoops and shouts in pure joy. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  I laugh, but I start to feel queasy. “Baby, I’m getting nauseous.”

  He instantly puts me down, grabbing me by my upper arms. “Fuck! I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you? Do you need anything?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I assure him.

  “How far along are you?”

  “Just two weeks. I wanted to wait until I was sure before telling you because I didn’t want to get our hopes up. I’m going to start researching ob-gyns.”

  Davison starts shaking his head. “Not without me, you’re not. Your doctor is going to be Harvard-trained, both undergrad and med school, residency at Mass General or the Brigham in Boston, or Mount Sinai, Lenox Hill—”

  I roll my eyes and clamp my hand over his mouth. “Okay, baby. We’ll do it together. Team Berkeley.”

  “Team Orsini-Berkeley,” he corrects me. My tears now fall more freely down my face from his correction.

  “I love that, Harvard. Now you really do have a reason to carry my books home.”

  He wipes my tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “It seems I do.” Davison pauses, staring into my eyes so reverently, holding my face in his hands. “I love you so much, Allegra.”

  “I love you more, Davison. Now take me home, because we have a Google search to do and a nursery to design.”

  Epilogue

  Davison

  Lake Como, Italy

  August

  Five years later…

  Loud voices and laughter fill the wide backyard of our villa. Lucy and Tomas are engaged in a not-so-friendly soccer game with their five-year-old twins, Mimi (named after her godmother, Allegra’s, signature role) and Marika (named for Tomas’s mother). Each child has blonde pigtails flying behind them as they fight for the ball. Mimi and Lucy are exactly alike—feisty and sassy, while Marika is more like her father, quiet and introspective. Tomas has built himself an amazing career in opera, with quite the following. His good looks have made him the object of affection of loads of female fans, but Lucy is always there to ensure that they know that Tomas Novotny is off the market, sometimes reminding them in ways that one wouldn’t describe as ladylike, but then, that’s always been a part of Lucy’s charm.

  With August being the summer month when all of Europe officially goes on vacation, the Novotny family has taken up residence with us in our villa for two weeks before they head to the Czech Republic to spend time with Tomas’s family. They now divide their time between New York and Switzerland, with Lucy more than happy to stay at home with the girls while helping to comanage Tomas’s career.

  A pair of tiny hands slaps my face, requesting my attention return back to him. My nine-month-old son, Jack, officially named James Davison Orsini Berkeley, is bouncing on my lap, wearing the FUTURE HARVARD GRADUATE onesie that his mother put on him this morning. Named for his grandfather Giacomo, whose name translates into James in English, Jack was a pleasant surprise when Allegra told me she was pregnant for the second time eighteen months ago
. That was when Lucy educated me about the purpose of a “push present,” something I had no idea about when Allegra gave birth the first time around. Apparently, a push present is something the husband is supposed to give to his wife as a token of gratitude for giving birth. I wish I’d known about this when Allegra had our first baby, because it had been a tough labor for her. It lasted twenty-four hours, and when the baby went into fetal distress, her doctor immediately performed a C-section to get the baby out, but Serena Concetta Orsini Berkeley arrived in this world screaming and perfect, her tiny head covered in dark hair. Now every time I make love to my wife, I kiss her C-section scar in awe and worship.

  So, after our son was born, I inquired about the villa, this amazing place where Allegra and I had spent an idyllic holiday when she was training under the tutelage of La Diva all those years ago. It wasn’t officially for sale, but for the right price, the owner was willing to give it up for me. I wanted this place for Allegra, no matter what it cost. It had been that way for me ever since I met her. I would do anything to make my love, my Venus, happy. After I bought it, I had the real estate agent who coordinated the sale send me the keys so that I could present them to Allegra, along with a picture of the villa. The day after Jack was born, I gave her both in a small box tied with blue ribbon, which caused her to cry buckets and buckets of tears, no doubt helped by her raging hormones, but I didn’t care. She was happy, and that’s all that mattered.

  “Ow! Mommy! You’re pulling too hard!”

  “Well, that wouldn’t happen if you would just stand still!”

  I glance over at my wife and firstborn child from the lawn sofa where I’m sitting with Jack. Allegra is trying to fix our daughter’s ponytail, which is now completely loosened thanks to her vigorous display of athleticism on the soccer field with her best friends, Mimi and Marika.

  With her dark brown hair and round face, Serena is the spitting image of her mother, both physically and emotionally. But her name does not match her personality, because she is as far from serene as she could possibly be. She has a mind of her own and is just as stubborn as her mother. Jack, however, is more quiet, but still aware of what is going on around him. He takes things in slowly, while Serena is quicker to react. Serena is much more of a daddy’s girl, because she knows she has me wrapped around her finger, as does her mother. The only part of me that Serena has inherited is my green eyes, while Jack has the deep brown ones of his mother.