Highly Strung (Food Of Love 1)
“What, like love at first sight?” Liddy’s encouraging smile nerved Julia to unburden some more.
“I don’t believe in that, though. Love at first sight. It’s a silly myth. But for a while there I actually convinced myself that I was Floria Tosca, in love with him. Do you think that’s weird? Am I taking method acting too far?”
“I think you sang a duet in the arms of a very hot, very talented man. That’d turn my head.”
Julia nodded. “Moment of madness, then? Shall I put it down to that? Something in the Roman water?”
“You can talk yourself out of it all you like, girl,” said Liddy. “But I think you and Luca are going to have a very interesting professional relationship.”
* * * *
Heading down the stairs to the exit, Julia felt affronted. She had expected Luca to come to her dressing room, perhaps to confess a towering passion or at the very least ask her out. Perhaps he’s married, she thought. Perhaps he’s gay.
She really needed to get a grip. He had been acting, after all. He just happened to be very, very convincing. Or should she have gone to his dressing room? After all, he was the newbie. Oh God, she should have done, shouldn’t she? Now he was going to think her weird and unfriendly. She had stuffed up the whole thing and, and…
She stepped out of the stage door, blinking into the Roman sunshine, and took her usual right turn. But it was blocked. By Luca.
“Julia,” he said, and his failure to smile both unnerved and excited her. He looked so serious, and so hot, with his linen jacket slung over his shoulder, his hip bumping the corner of the opera house wall.
“Oh…hello.” For somebody whose job was to breathe well, Julia was certainly finding the simple act of respiration a little problematic.
“Julia, I am so sorry,” he said.
“What for?”
“I wanted to come and introduce myself. But you know Gianfranco, I suppose? He will not let me escape! He wants to take me under his wing, as you say. You must know how he is?”
Julia knew how Gianfranco was. He was considered one of the world’s greatest baritones, and he certainly believed his hype. If a six-foot-four heterosexual man with a chest like a beer barrel could be a diva, then Gianfranco was the living definition of a diva.
She regathered her breath and laughed gaily. “Oh yes, I know our Gianfranco all right. But don’t be sorry. I should have come to you.”
“You wanted to?”
That breathing thing again. His eyes, like melted chocolate semifreddo beneath ridiculously long lashes, made the honking Roman traffic and the bustling Roman crowds magically disappear.
“Yes,” she said simply.
“I wanted to. Very much. Julia…” He held out a hand, which she felt compelled to take. “On stage, you were magnificent. You are a wonderful singer and together we had a special something. You have a word for this in English?”
“Chemistry?” hazarded Julia in a whisper.
“Something that feels right. I do not feel this…chemistry…with another soprano. It is, well, I am a little overwhelmed. I think you felt it too. You did, didn’t you?”
Julia had no alternative but to nod, despite the tiny panicky voice in the back of her head asking, Is this a line? Please don’t let this be a line.
“I thought so.” He looked down, smiling, for a moment or two, then suddenly whipped on a pair of expensive sunglasses and looked around, as if the time had come to rejoin the rest of the world. “So, you want me to show you around? Have you seen much of Rome?”
“Mainly the opera house. And my apartment.”
“Come on then. Let’s take a trip.”
Towing Julia by the hand, he ran to the back of the theatre where a motorbike stood waiting.
“Oh, you’re a biker!”
Luca opened a pannier and removed a spare helmet, handing it to her. “Of course,” he said, grinning as he fidgeted with his chinstrap. “What’s that phrase, the misspent youth? I had that.”
“Really?” Julia imagined her picture-perfect Italian slouching on street corners in a leather jacket. “From teen gangster to operatic tenor? What a career curve!”