It was easy to imagine patrons dressed in finery sitting in their private boxes, peering down onto the stage through opera glasses.
She was still admiring her surroundings when Roberto interrupted her thoughts. “Ms. Jones, may I present Dominic Corelli.”
Dominic Corelli turned around and Elle forgot to breathe. He had to be the most attractive male she’d ever seen. The son of an African-American opera singer and an Italian clothing manufacturer, he’d inherited the best traits of both races. His skin was a dark golden-brown and he had a day’s growth of beard on his square-chinned face. Dark brown, wavy hair was cut close to his scalp and tapered at the back of his neck.
When he smiled at her, dimples appeared in both cheeks and straight white teeth gleamed in his dark face. She was glad Roberto was still holding on to her arm.
“Please leave us, Roberto,” he said in lightly accented English.
Elle steeled herself for Roberto to let go of her. She did not swoon, but her legs were definitely giving her signals that she should sit down. In parting, Roberto smiled warmly at her, and that helped somewhat to calm her nerves.
Dominic cleared his throat and gestured to one of the red velvet-upholstered golden chairs. “Buon giorno. Shall we sit?”
Elle blinked, took a deep breath and then sat down. Dominic sat, too, and stretched his long legs out in front of him. His gaze swept over her face for a few moments that were nervous on Elle’s part. Then he smiled at her. “You have a good voice.”
“Grazie,” Elle managed, although the volume was little more than a whisper. She was being childish. She took a deep breath, sat up straighter on her chair and looked him squarely in the eyes.
“Where did you study?” he asked, thick brows rising in interest.
“Juilliard,” she said confidently. “I graduated nearly four years ago. I was hired by the Metropolitan Opera and have been in the chorus ever since. I’ve also been the understudy to Denyce Graves, among others.”
“How did you like being an understudy?”
“I’m grateful to those who’ve allowed me to learn from them,” Elle said with sincerity. “They were all gracious ladies.”
Dominic fell silent for a few moments, as if he were contemplating what she had said. Elle thought she might melt under his intense scrutiny. Those smoldering, dark eyes seemed to expose every one of her vulnerabilities. She felt naked.
Suddenly, he gave her a warm smile. “As I’m sure you will be to your understudy,” he said. “You’re going to make a wonderful Adama.”
He rose and Elle followed suit, unaware of what was proper to do next: shake his hand or hug him? He bent and kissed her on both cheeks. Elle breathed in the male scent of him. He smelled so good, she wanted to lean in and sniff him like a hound dog on a foxhunt. She resisted. Instead, in her excitement, she thanked him profusely: “Oh, God, thank you. All of those more seasoned singers, I didn’t think I had a chance! I can never thank you enough for giving me the opportunity.”
Dominic felt her body tremble a bit as he let go of her shoulders and peered into her eyes. His lips curved in a smile. He was plainly amused by her outburst. “You may not be thanking me a few weeks from now. I’m told I’m the devil to work for.”
Elle grinned up at him. “I’m sure we’ll work well together.” She had heard rumors that he was a bear to work for, but she chose not to believe them. In the world of opera he was considered a genius. Dominic Corelli’s shows sold out in a matter of hours after the tickets went on sale. Also, opera critics, who were notoriously elitist, raved about his productions. If she kept her wits about her and worked hard, this role could make her a star.
Remembering her promise to phone Patrice and Belana as soon as she knew the results of the audition, she pulled off her backpack purse. Looking at Dominic questioningly, she said, “I have people waiting to hear how the audition went. Is it okay with you if I quickly phone them? When do rehearsals start?”
“Of course, and in two weeks,” Dominic answered, smiling. He watched as she rummaged in the purse and retrieved a cell phone. “First things first,” he added. “I’ll need the number of your agent so that a contract can be negotiated.”
Elle stared up at him with wide eyes. “My agent?” she croaked.
“You do have an agent?”
“No, I negotiated my own contract. I got the maximum for a member of the chorus.”
Dominic grimaced. Could she possibly be as naive as she appeared to be? Talented, but entirely too trusting. A less scrupulous person would exploit this opportunity to take advantage of her.
He cleared his throat as he glared down at her. “Then who’s been looking out for your best interests?”
Elle blushed. “I have.”
Dominic laughed. “Then you have a law degree as well as a degree in—what is it you earned a degree in at Juilliard?”
“Music,” Elle said irritably.
“Music,” he calmly repeated. “That’s such a broad subject.”
“Voice,” Elle provided, eyes narrowed. “I’m also a classically trained pianist.”
To this, Dominic smiled. He liked the idea of his lead soprano also being a classically trained pianist. She may have an ear for composition. He was excited by the possibility that Elle Jones might prove to be stimulating to work with. “Prove it,” he challenged.
Elle had the cell phone open and was about to press a button that would connect her with Belana and Patrice, waiting outside in the Piazza del Duomo.
She closed the phone and with her head held high, said, “Lead the way.”
Dominic gestured for her to precede him out of the room. Once they were in the hallway, he said, “There’s a grand piano downstairs where you auditioned. What will you play for me?”
“One of your compositions,” she told him, surprising him. Elle relished the astonished expression on his handsome face.
She didn’t tell him that she had been the lead soprano in Inferno her senior year at Juilliard and had learned the entire score. That’s how she had chosen to sing the aria from Inferno for him.
Once they reached the auditorium, Elle sat at the piano and Dominic stood beside it, a smirk on his face—or was that a small smile? Elle couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, she intended to wipe it right off his face.
She launched into Burn in Hell. Dominic’s music was modern opera. It was passionate, inducing all sorts of emotions in the listener. It could be gently stirring or chaotic and jarring. It could be rhythmically moving and actually make listeners want to dance. It could make them laugh or make them cry. In some instances it was downright funky. The one thing it wasn’t was forgettable.
Elle recalled every note of Burn in Hell, and she played it beautifully. When she finished and slowly raised her hands from the piano keys, there were tears in her eyes. She brushed them away with the pads of her fingers as she smiled up at him.
Dominic shook his head disbelievingly.
