Page 84 of Love Lessons
“Crazy, right?” Ian agrees, squeezing my hand.
I’ve never seen anything like it. A portion of the oval structure is taken up by the stage, which is a modern addition. But the rest of the space—the floor and the stonework sides—are given over to row upon row of red velvet seats. It must seat ten thousand people.
Neil leads us straight up the center aisle, all the way up to the third row from the stage.
“Isn’t this fancy,” Ian mutters. “When I fall asleep, the whole cast will notice.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I growl.
His answering smile is cheeky. “I don’t groove on pageantry, contessa. But I’ll try to keep an open mind.”
“That’s okay,” I tell him. “I’m excited enough for both of us.La Traviatais a classic.”
He gives me an indulgent smile. A short time later, the conductor walks out in a white tie and tailcoat. Ten thousand people applaud. And then a hush falls over the crowd as he raises his baton in a gloved hand. When he brings it down again, several dozen violins send their music up into the nighttime sky.
Soon the stage is crowded with cast members dressed in finery. They’re singing so mightily that the hair stands up on my arms. As I watch, Violetta—a courtesan—meets and falls in love with the high-born Alfredo.
I’m transfixed. “It’s so beautiful,” I whisper between scenes.
Ian moves his mouth to my ear. “Yeah, it is, contessa, but I can’t understand a word they’re saying.”
Never missing an opportunity to argue, I lean in and answer, “You don’t need the words. I’ve been to one of your hockey games, and I didn’t understand a thing. But I still knew who won and who lost.”
Ian chuckles as the lights come up again. Then he turns his attention back to the stage.
And he does not fall asleep.
* * *
The tragic ending wrecks me.I’d known what was going to happen, but I still wasn’t prepared to watch Violetta die. When it’s over, I shoot out of my seat for a standing ovation.
Ian is slower to applaud and claps with a grumpy look on his face. “That’s it? Really? He comes back to her, but she justdies?”
“Yep,” I say with a yawn. “If his father had been less of an ass, they could have had more time together.”
“Nobody told me opera was so depressing. I wore a suit for this.”
“And you look very handsome,” I say as we head for the coach.
Ian helps me up into the vehicle, and I take a seat near the window. It’s probably less than ten minutes into the ride when I fall asleep with my head on his shoulder.
I wake up groggy and confused sometime later, with Ian patting my hand. “Come on, contessa. We’re home.”
We’re not, though. This place isn’t home, even if I sometimes wish it were. Sleepily, I get off the coach.
Tomorrow, we go home for real. This is my last night in Italy.
I’m not ready.
* * *
Most of mypacking is already done in preparation for tomorrow’s departure. The open suitcases on the floor ruin the illusion that this room is my pretty space and my pretty life.
Back to Kansas, Dorothy, my inner voice reminds me.
I feel subdued as I get ready for bed. I pull my bathrobe around my body to the sound of Ian brushing his teeth in our bathroom. After the water shuts off, I tap on the door and then try the knob. It opens, so I slip inside to brush my teeth, too.
“Contessa.”
