An American Girl in Italy: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance. Aubrie Dionne

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      Carly felt like a bird trapped in a tiny cage. If she gave Alaina any reason to complain, it could cost her points with Wolf, and Ms. Maxhammer. She knew the gig business enough to play the game. Never burn bridges. Contacts were the most important tool you could have. ‘Okay, I’ll try it on.’

      ‘Wonderful!’ Alaina clapped her hands. ‘But only after we rehearse.’

      Carly gave her phone one last longing glance. ‘Right now?’

      Alaina gave her a blank-eyed stare. ‘Our first concert is tomorrow—the Coliseum, remember?’

      The itinerary flashed through Carly’s mind. She had only briefly peeked at it before the trip, but she did remember something about performing in the Coliseum. Funny how the last thing she wanted to play right now was an aria about a wedding. ‘Oh, all right.’

      Alaina warmed up with an ascending five-note pattern while Carly soaked her reed in her I-love-NY shot glass. She reminded herself to get one for her collection while in Italy.

      They set up as though they were in concert, looking out the window at the darkening sky as the sun set over Rome. Carly started with the cheery oboe interlude of Bach’s typical running eighth and sixteenth notes.

      Alaina took a deep breath and came in right on cue.

       Sich üben im Lieben,

       In Scherzen sich herzen

       Ist besser als Florens vergängliche Lust.

      As Carly played, she thought of the translation, memorized long ago for a music history exam of the Baroque Period. For the first time since she’d practiced the aria all the way back in her New England Conservatory days, the meaning came through:

      To become adept in love,

      to jest and caress

      is better than Flora's passing pleasure.

      Yeah right. She took a deep breath and played through the next interlude before Alaina came back in. To become adept in love would give you one thing: distraction along with a big dose of heartbreak. It was so much more useful to put your time into something tangible that yielded better results, like classical music and her career. Bach had gotten the sentiment all wrong. Love was a passing pleasure, just like spring.

      Alaina stopped singing and Carly realized the song had ended.

      ‘Carly, what’s wrong?’ Alaina’s face fell in true concern, which didn’t happen very often.

      Carly shrugged. She didn’t want to put down Alaina’s aria, but the soprano had asked for the truth. ‘This is the silliest, most superficial song I’ve ever heard. I don’t get the words. Adept in love? What does that mean, really?’

      Instead of flaring up with anger, Alaina simply waved it off. ‘It’s just a song. He probably wrote it for some big commission. It doesn’t matter what it means, it matters how you play it.’ She took a sip of water and cleared her throat. ‘It needs a little more energy, more mischievousness. One more time?’

      Carly sighed, feeling like she’d hit her head against the wall. They could practice the aria as many times as Alaina wanted, but Carly couldn’t play it wholeheartedly if she didn’t believe what it said. She could pretend, but the best of the best would sense her reserve.

      ‘Sure.’ She felt like a broken record playing the song that never ended. Second verse, same as the first…

      

      

      Chapter Four

       Wandering Eyes

      Sunlight streamed through the crack in the curtains, warming the back of Carly’s hand. She rubbed her eyes, half stuck in her dream surrounded by jesting and caressing lovers while she lectured Bach on the finer points of writing song lyrics. In German.

      Carly propped her head on her elbow. I don’t speak German.

      She reached out and pulled the curtains back, expecting her view of Boston’s Back Bay. Instead, the bustling streets of Italy sprawled before her, interspersed with red-orange roofs and ancient stone. The tour. Michelangelo.

       Dammit.

      She checked her phone. Seven forty-five. They were supposed to be on the bus by eight for the soundcheck at the Coliseum.

      Hadn’t she set the alarm?

      ‘Alaina.’ She called over to the sleeping beauty in the bed beside her. ‘Alaina wake up.’

      Alaina turned on to her other side, exposing the lacy back of her silk nightgown and grumbled under her breath. ‘More sleep.’

      Carly sprang out of bed. ‘We have to be at the bus in ten minutes.’

      Alaina waved her off. ‘They’ll wait for us.’

      Carly picked up her toiletries and stumbled to the shower. Wolf had hired a crew to film this concert for the local TV stations. There was no way she was going with dirty hair. ‘I know I set my alarm.’

      ‘I shut it off.’ Alaina buried her head in her pillow.

      ‘You what?’ Carly stuck her head out from the bathroom door as the shower warmed up.

      ‘I shut it off. Who wants to get up at seven a.m.?’

      Note to self: next time, lock your phone. ‘I do. That’s when I play my long tones.’ Even now she worried about how she’d reach high A without warming up.

      Alaina held up a finger, the nail bright red. ‘Precisely why I shut it off.’

      Carly couldn’t decide whether to jump in the shower or strangle the diva. Ultimately, clean hair was better than revenge. She tore off her pajamas and chose the shower.

      Twenty minutes later, they approached the bus dragging Alaina’s garment bag with the two matching dresses behind them. Orchestra members filled the seats. Every face stared at them from the windows as they approached. Some of them already wore their concert black, making Carly feel as though such a slouch in her Women Reeds t-shirt and skinny jeans.

      ‘What happened to your limo?’ Shame-faced and frazzled—which seemed to be the theme of this trip—Carly shielded her eyes from the bus. She hoped Michelangelo was not there to witness this next great embarrassing moment in her life.

      ‘I fired him.’ Alaina strutted in her fuchsia heels as thought she was walking the runway in her metallic miniskirt and halter top. She gestured toward the bus. ‘See, I told you they’d wait for us.’

      The doors to the bus unfolded.

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