She watched them, and I watched her.
“Love.”
“Shh,” she hissed at me, not even bothering to look up. “Contarino is offering his daughter, Bianca, in marriage to Capellio, who is from a rival family in hopes to end years of feuding between their houses.”
“It sounds like us.”
That caught her attention. She glanced up at me, her delicate little brown eyebrow raised.
“Not exactly. Listen to her.” She took my hand, leaning against the red chaise lounge in which we both sat up.
Breathing in deeply, I listened to the sorrow in her voice as she wept at her fate. It seemed as though she was begging the audience for help. However, my Italian was not fluent enough to understand a word she was saying.
“Why’s she so sad?” I whispered.
“She’s in love with Falliero, a military hero. Her song is called Della Rosa Il Bel Vermiglio,” she replied.
I wasn’t sure why she loved this so much. Part of me wondered if she had once loved someone else and was unhappy that she had to marry me.
“Liam, my hand.”
I hadn’t realized I was squeezing. “Shit, I’m sorry. Are you alright?”
“You think I like this because I can relate to it?” She shook her head. It was odd how she could read my mind.
“No,” I lied.
Thank God we had a private booth.
Or else we would actually have to see all the dirty looks I know were directed at us.
“This was one the first plays my father took me to,” she said. “I hated it up until he told me this was my, Aviela’s, and his story. He told me he was Falliero, the lengths he had to go through to stop my mother from marrying the wrong man. Ever since then, every time I went to see it, I imaged them on stage acting out their lives.”
“Do you want to leave?”
She didn’t answer; her brown eyes widened as she stared down at the singers on stage.
“Mel? Love, what is it?”
She shook her head and pointed to the red curtain on the side of the stage. She shifted forward in her seat to get a better look. I followed her gaze, watching the small Italian actress dance around the two men pursuing her, but no one was there. Looking over to Mel, she sat back, her eyes void and completely glazed over.
“Mel…”
“I thought I saw her—Aviela—standing in the corner. She was in white and then she was gone. It happened so quickly.”
Again I looked, and again I saw nothing. Luckily for us, the lights slowly brightened as we reached intermission and the curtain fell.
“You’re leaving.” I rose, pulling out my phone. She was here. I would find her, but I couldn’t do that with Melody so close to danger.
She rolled her pretty brown eyes at me. “Liam, I’m not even sure I saw her.”
“When have you ever doubted your senses? If you saw her, she’s here. I trust you.”
“Or it could be baby brain. I swear some of my senses have been totally…”
Her phone vibrated loudly in her in purse, cutting off the rest of her sentence. We both looked at each other before she pulled it out and of course the caller’s ID was blocked. I reached for it but she simply pushed my hand away, answering herself.
“Mother dearest, was that you hiding behind the curtain?”
“You’ve made my job so much harder, Mel bear,” Aviela’s fake sweetened voice travelled through the phone. “You are not going to be safe anywhere.”
“You would know, seeing as you’re the one apparently stalking my every move.” Mel replied.
“Enough of these games Aviela,” I hissed into the phone. “Show me your face so I can bash it in.” I wanted to do more than make her unidentifiable, but unfortunately, she was still my wife’s mother.
“Correte lungo piccolo bastardino irlandese. Le donne stanno parlando.” And with that, she was gone.
Run along, little Irish mutt. The women are speaking.
The fact that I knew what she said proved my Italian knowledge was increasing, and so was my temper.
Mel’s jaw tightened as the lights dimmed and the voices that carried through the opera house drifted off into gentle whispers and then disappeared altogether. Scanning the seats below the stage, I searched for her phantom of a mother who came with no other purpose than to make our lives hell.
“Damn her for ruining this too,” Mel whispered, rising from her seat and grabbing her coat. I held open the mahogany door to find both Antonio and Monte, dressed like they were part of the secret service, waiting on us.
“Ma’am, sir, is everything alright?” they asked, already reaching into their coats.
“Get the car, we’re leaving. Be on guard, Aviela is somewhere nearby,” Mel commanded before I could even get a word out. Even pregnant, she still demanded respect and radiated authority.