Page 23 of Sapphire Storm

“Thanks, Dad.”

Under Ethan’s pointed look, the guy lowered his eyes andstarted for the breakfast table.

“Sorry, that was kind of creepy, I guess.”

“How about a Dr Pepper?” Ethan asked.

Roman spun so fast his shoes squeaked on the floor. “Wait,what?Ilike Dr Pepper,” Roman barked angrily.

“And you’re apparently the only one who’s allowed to?” Ethanasked quietly.

“You like Dr Pepper?” Roman said accusingly.

“No, I keep it in the fridge for Santa. Of course I like it.Why do you think I’d have a case?”

“Well, it’s like a niche drink. It’s not very common.”

“That’s not true. It’s actually quite common and quite good.And I love it and have it for a treat every now and then.”

Glowering at the table, Roman sank down into one of thechairs. “I just think it’s weird that we both like Dr Pepper.”

“With all due respect, weird is a pretty stiff competitionthis evening, and I’m not sure that lands at the top.” Ethan moved toward thefridge. “Now, should I offer you something youdon’tlike? Somestanding water out of the sink, perhaps?”

“I’ll take a Dr Pepper,” Roman muttered.

Ethan thought about refusing on the grounds that furthercaffeine consumption might cause Roman to tear his arm off if he enjoyeddinner. But he surrendered and handed the young man a frosty purple can. “MarioLanza,” he finally said. “That’s probably the opera singer you’re thinking of.He was very famous and did a lot of movies in the forties and fifties.”

“Right. And there was one where he went to Mexico and gotinto all this trouble with women.”

“Serenade.It’s actually based on an old James M.Cain novel that had all sorts of gay stuff in it they took out for the movie.”

Roman sipped. “Assholes,” he muttered.

“I don’t know. The book was written in the thirties by astraight man, so the representation wasn’t all that great, to be frank. Theymight have done us a service. I think the gay character decides he was justconfused in the end. Love of a good woman and all that.”

“But in the movie there’s that big song he sings. I’ve heardit a bunch of places.” Roman sat up erect, spreading his arms out. He mimed hisbest cartoonish imitation of an opera singer’s face and emitted a warblingversion of the tune in question, only without any lyrics and a strained parodyof its melody.

“‘Nessun Dorma,’” Ethan answered, laughing.

“What’s so funny? You don’t like my opera?”

“Sounds like your talents lie in other areas.”

Roman shot him the bird, but he was smiling. This smile,Ethan could tell, was real. Big and goofy and devoid of self-consciousness andpoise.

“It’s originally from an opera calledTurandot.”Ethan unwrapped the veal. “I saw a production in Florence years ago.”

“Oh, well. Smell you, fancy pants. Driving the Alps, operasin Florence. Sapphire Cove’s a step down for you, it sounds like.”

“Au contraire.It’s the gig I’ve always wanted, andI love my coworkers.”

The secret to Ethan’s veal piccata was the sage and garlicpowder he added to the flour, and luckily, he had plenty of both. For thesauce, he could use some of the wine he’d just denied Roman. And one of hisnonstick pans was clean, which meant he could ensure he had plenty of remnantsto enrich the sauce with.

Within a few seconds, he was in the zone.

“It was funny,” Roman said after a while. “She never gave ashit about opera when we lived in New York. She never gave a shit about beingItalianwhen we lived in New York. But when we moved in with Grandma Nina, everythingchanged. It was like she took all that stuff back. Which was kind of crazy ’causeNew York’s a way more fun place to be a proud Italian than Victorville, butafter a year or two, she put up a bunch of posters of Rome and Florence andstuff and started up the opera thing.”

“Is that why you changed your name to Roman?” Ethan asked.

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