Chapter Text
A pit grew in your stomach as you dug through the cluttered drawer. The envelope was gone. The remaining money Caleb had left to you, enough to cover your remaining studio tuition plus the room and board not covered by your measly stipend, was gone with it. You sat back on your heels, staring blankly at the mound of socks and rumpled clothes before you. Leaving that much money in an unlocked dresser was, in retrospect, probably one of your stupider ideas. But Verona's Royal Opera House chorus dorms didn't afford much privacy and you figured nobody would think to look for valuables there. Apparently not.
Your ears roared with the sound of your pounding pulse as your situation began to sink in. Living abroad, practically penniless, with no family left to fall back on. What the fuck were you going to do? You didn't even have the money to get a plane ticket back to Linkon City, much less the wherewithal to figure out where you'd be living or what you'd be doing when you got there. Tears you'd been holding back for weeks now threatened to spill over. You were so, so alone.
"My dear girl, whatever has you so upset?"
You startled back at the sound, turning towards the open doorway. Talia, the company's lead soprano and your voice teacher, smiled softly back at you, her grey eyes tinged with concern.
"When you didn't show for your private lesson after lunch," she continued, "something told me to come down and look for you during riposo, that perhaps you needed someone. It appears my intuition was correct. May I come in?"
You nodded, wiping your face with the back of your hand and hoping your mascara hadn't run too badly. "Of course. Sorry, my room is a bit of a mess."
Talia raised a perfectly-manicured eyebrow as she sidled into the room and perched on the edge of the desk chair, avoiding the pile of dirty sweatshirts that had accumulated across its back. "I can see that, yes. You've really turned the place upside down. Anything in particular you've been searching for?"
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you pushed yourself up to a standing position, then crossed to sit on the least-unmade corner of your bed. "Well, yeah. My tuition for the upcoming term is… gone. I can't find the envelope anywhere, and it's due tomorrow."
"Oh dear," Talia gasped, her delicate hand clutching her heart in a somewhat melodramatic fashion. "That is quite concerning, my darling. Are you certain it's gone?"
"Yes. I've looked everywhere. There's nowhere else it could be." A passing chorus girl made eye contact with you from the hall before scuttling away. You lowered your voice, trying to keep the conversation as private as possible. "Signora Talia, I don't have anywhere else to go. I am… I just… this is my only option. I don't know what I'm going to do."
Talia narrowed her eyes in thought for a moment, then nodded. She reached out to grab your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I know this may seem sudden, but you should come to dinner this evening at my place. I've been intending to introduce you to someone who may be able to assist in your little predicament."
Your brow crinkled in confusion. "How so?"
"You'll see," Talia responded cryptically. "Get yourself cleaned up and put on something nice. My car will be waiting for us out front in half an hour." She rose from her chair, adjusted her shoulder bag decisively, and strode towards the door, only pausing for a brief moment to glance back at you over her shoulder. "And don't be late, dear. He's even less patient than I am."
Which is how you somehow found yourself riding alongside your voice teacher in the back of her Porsche, watching the river meander through the sprawling countryside. Talia chattered away with the driver in rapid Italian, a language you hadn't quite mastered despite your past 4 months living and training in Verona. You caught occasional tidbits of the conversation as you stared out the window. Apparently the driver's wife was either pregnant with or had recently given birth to a baby girl, and Talia had many opinions on how they should decorate the nursery.
While the pair prattled on about plushies and pastels, your mind drifted to Talia's mysterious guest. Who could she possibly have in mind? A benefactor of some kind? A wealthy older family member who sought a new amusement to sponsor? You pursed your lips and glanced back over to Talia, still elegant even in her casual rehearsal attire. She didn't seem the type to try to set you up with a sugar daddy or anything, but she certainly was a trophy wife. You'd seen her arm-in-arm with her fashion designer husband at company dinners and cast parties. Perhaps he had a friend in search of his own muse? With a sigh, you slumped down into your seat. Whomever it was, you hoped they could at least hold a slightly more substantive conversation than debating which pattern of lace would best suit the nursery curtains.
After a few more minutes, the driver pulled off the main road and began making his way down a winding cobblestone driveway into a shady copse of nettle trees. The late-afternoon light dappled the stone path. As the car rounded the corner, you gasped as the vista opened up to overlook a picturesque villa—a few groves of olive and fruit trees, several outbuildings, and the stately main house surrounded by a lush garden. Talia chuckled to herself at your reaction.
"It is lovely, isn't it?" she said, returning to your native tongue.
"Yes, signora. It's breathtaking," you replied.
"Oh, enough with the 'signora', my darling. It's just Talia. We aren't in the studio. You're among friends." She lowered her voice for effect. "Besides, such titles make one feel particularly matronly, and you wouldn't want to do that to a lady in her own home, would you?"
Talia, matronly? You weren't sure of her age, but the thought seemed particularly absurd. You laughed despite yourself, any prior tension melting away. "Of course not, Talia."
She smiled back at you—a warm, genuine smile, a sight rarely seen at the studio. "Thank you. Now, I have a few things to attend to when we arrive, but I shan't leave you unattended for long. Just wait in the parlor while I get everything settled."
"Will do, signo—I mean, Talia." You grimaced slightly at your slip-up, but Talia graciously ignored it as the driver pulled up to the entryway.
"Here we are!" Talia said as several staff materialized to open doors. "Let's head inside."
Slightly dumbfounded, you followed her up the grand staircase, through the portico, and into the airy foyer. You allowed yourself to be steered into an adjacent room and seated on a sprawling lounge, the plush velvet soft under your touch. The elegance of your surroundings washed over you. Suddenly, your simple cotton sundress felt rather plebeian. You smoothed your rumpled skirt anxiously while Talia finished speaking with one of the staff members in hushed Italian. He gestured toward an archway on the wall to your left before giving a small bow and disappearing through a side door. Talia turned toward the archway and narrowed her eyes, displeasure radiating off of her in waves.
"My apologies," she said, keeping her eyes trained on the adjoining room. "I'll return in just a few minutes."
She strode across the room and disappeared through the archway, leaving you alone in the cavernous space. You heard Talia's heels click across the tile, the slam of a door, and then nothing. You crossed and uncrossed your legs several times, unable to get settled despite the luxurious couch. Each passing moment made you more and more acutely aware of how uncomfortable you felt, which was only exacerbated by your slightly-too-small heels pinching your toes and your bra's underwire stabbing into your armpit. Just when you were about to say "fuck it" and kick off the offending footwear, you heard muffled arguing. It was faint, but you could just barely make out most of the conversation.
"—el, if you won't come to dinner you should at least come see her," a woman's voice, seemingly Talia's, said.
"For the last time, no, Talia. I'm not interested," replied an unfamiliar voice. While calm, you could hear tension simmering under the surface.
"She isn't some random girl, you know."
"Of course she isn't," the mystery voice scoffed. "That's what you said about the last three giddy chorus girls you dragged home to meet me."
You felt like the breath had been kicked out of you. The last thing you wanted was to be the next in a parade of coquettish ingénues. You stood and turned toward the entry hall, ready to find the nearest staff member and beg for a ride home.
"This time is different." You could feel Talia's irritation, even from several rooms away. "I haven't brought you some distraction. We both know you're too damned stubborn to accept fleeting happiness, as much as I've wished you would. I'm telling you, it's her."
A mirthless laugh rang through the house, the oppressive reverberation hanging in the suddenly stale air. You froze. "I doubt it," the voice said after a few moments. It continued speaking, but you could no longer understand; the sounds were clear, but the words they formed were altogether unintelligible. At first you thought you might be mishearing them, that the walls and echos were distorting the sounds, until Talia replied in the same unfamiliar language. They continued this back and forth for another minute or so before the other voice gave an exasperated sigh.
"Fine," it conceded sharply. "You win. I'll see her."
The creak of the door opening and closing made your blood run cold. Your mind raced as you heard the click-click-click of the now-pair of footsteps crossing to the archway. If you were going to make a run for it, it had to be now.
"Darling," Talia called from behind you, "where are you going? There's someone I'd like you to meet."
You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned back to face her. "I was just looking for a restroom to freshen up," you lied, forcing a smile. "Wanted to check my makeup. Nothing major."
"You look fine, dear. Here." Talia crossed over to you, tucked a stray bit of your hair back into place, and guided you by the elbow towards the arch. With a sigh, she addressed the person in the other room. "You can come out now. No use hiding behind the wall."
A tall, slender figure stepped into the archway: a man, presumably about your age, dressed simply in a white poet shirt and perfectly tailored black slacks. Dusty violet hair framed his face in effortlessly tousled waves. His most striking feature, however, was his eyes—a vibrant pink intermixed with deep blue, like the sunset reflected on the ocean. You'd have thought them to be the most beautiful eyes you'd ever seen, if their accompanying expression held any life whatsoever.
The man regarded you from the arch with a look of blithe detachment, as if you were so beneath notice that even his derision would be wasted. He wouldn't even look at your face. It made your skin crawl, made every fiber of your being scream in protest of being greeted in such an ignoble manner. This couldn't possibly be the man Talia wanted you to meet, could it?
"Alright then, dear. This is my nephew, Ra—"
"It's Mo," the man said, cutting her off abruptly. He dispassionately examined his immaculate nail beds as he continued. "You may call me Signor Mo."
How the lovely Talia, as vapid as she may sometimes be, could possibly be related to this insolent rake was beyond you. Maybe he was related by marriage? It would explain how someone as seemingly young as she had a whole adult nephew.
Your musing was interrupted by a cough. As you came back to yourself, you realized that Mo had crossed to you and extended his hand—less like a handshake, more like he intended you to kiss it, as if he were some kind of ancient nobleman. You plastered a wider smile across your face and met his gaze with your own acrid glower. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Signor Mo," you said, taking his hand a touch too firmly.
The moment your eyes met, something in Mo's expression shifted. A flicker of something that seemed almost like recognition crossed his face as his gaze sharpened from one of apathy to mild intrigue. If you were disquieted before, you were downright flustered now.
Mo dipped his head in a shockingly courteous gesture and flipped your hand in his grasp. "The pleasure is all mine, cutie," he said, bringing your hand to his lips. A whisper of a kiss grazed your knuckles as you felt a flush rush to your cheeks. From his expression, you couldn't tell if he was being totally genuine or simply mocking you. What the hell was this guy's problem?
Talia laughed and clapped her hands together, the warm sound filling the room and bringing the flush all the way up to the tips of your ears. "I knew you two would get along if he just gave you the chance. Now, I must change and get the last few things settled before dinner. Mo, darling," she said, turning to her nephew, "perhaps you'd be interested in giving her a tour of the gardens? I'll have Dario ring the bell to call you in."
"Of course, Talia," Mo replied, seamlessly slipping into place beside you and guiding you through another side door. "The garden is this way. Let's go for a stroll, shall we?"
You nodded, still a bit dazed from the emotional about-face a few moments earlier. Mo silently escorted you out onto a smaller side portico and down the stairs. As you neared the bottom, he finally spoke. "So, how long has my aunt been badgering you?" he asked.
You grasped his arm a bit tighter in an attempt not to stumble on the ancient stone steps. His lip curled in your peripheral vision—clearly pleased with himself. "I wouldn't exactly call it badgering," you replied, steadying yourself. Once you had your balance again, you let go of his arm. "She's my voice tutor. We normally just talk about my lessons. I didn't even know she had a nephew before today."
Mo's expression turned inscrutable for a brief moment, but it wasn't long before he plastered that insufferable smirk back on his face, bounded down the last few stairs, and turned back to offer you a hand as you joined him on the garden's main path.
"Thank you, signor." You took his hand and nodded courteously before looking out at the garden before you. A multi-tiered fountain stood in the middle of an elaborately manicured rectangular courtyard, topiaries of various sea creatures lining the walkways. As you walked closer to the fountain, arm-in-arm with Mo, you began to make out details of the statue at its center. A life-sized marble mermaid with feathered wings sat on the edge of the second tier, hair cascading down her back in pearl-embellished waves. A crown of coral rested on her brow. She was crying, or appeared to be, anyway. Her raised hands obscured part of her face, as if she didn't want to be seen weeping in public.
You turned towards Mo to ask him about the statue. Before you could speak, you noticed him staring intently at it. His posture had stiffened, jaw clenched ever so slightly. Those gorgeous sunset-on-ocean eyes searched the mermaid's face like he was looking for an answer to a question both he and the mermaid had long-since forgotten. You weren't sure why, but this seemed like the wrong time to ask about this particular statue.
"She's beautiful," you said instead, voice more fragile than you intended it to be.
"Yeah," he replied softly. Mo studied the statue's face a bit longer before meeting your gaze. He raised an eyebrow at you and gestured to the fountain's wide edge. "Would you like to sit? You're shifting your weight around like those shoes are pinching your feet." The semi-detached, flippant edge had returned to his tone, much to your annoyance.
"Yes, that would be nice." You sat down on the fountain's edge and began fiddling with the straps on your shoes again. Mo joined you, seeming slightly bemused by your attempts to detach the buckle. He didn't offer to help, though. He simply sat back while you wrestled with the thing for what must have been a few seconds but felt like an eternity, condescending gaze boring a hole in your soul. When you finally managed to remove the shoes, you collected them (and what little dignity you had remaining) and set them down beside you.
"So," you asked, "what brings you to Verona?"
"Why do you say that?" he said, maintaining his unsettling stare and infuriating smirk.
"Your accent certainly isn't from anywhere around here, and I know Sign— Talia isn't originally from Verona, either."
"I could ask the same of you," he said. You didn't miss his attempt to dodge the question.
"Well, I'm from Linkon City. Came here a few months ago to study opera, got accepted into the studio, and you already know that Talia is my voice teacher. Now, what about you?"
Mo's lip quirked a bit. "I'm a performer, same as Talia. A composer and a painter, too. You could say that the arts… run in our family. I'll be singing in the next several productions this season at the opera house, as a guest artist."
"So you're staying with your aunt in the meantime?"
He laughed, that same, chilling laugh from before. "Gods, no. I had quite enough of that as a teenager. I'm just here for dinner. My studio in town has an attached flat." He shifted in his seat and began to examine his nail beds again.
You chewed on your lip, wanting to keep the conversation going. After all, Signora Talia seemed pretty convinced that her nephew could help you with your own problem, but as things currently stood, you weren't exactly making a great first impression. "Talia raised you, then?"
Mo glanced back to you, eyes widening slightly. "Now, aren't you the inquisitive one, cutie? Can't give away all my secrets just yet." He opened his mouth to say more, but was interrupted by the sound of a bell ringing out from somewhere inside the house. "And that would be Dario." He stood, hooked his fingers through the straps of your shoes, and began walking back across the stone path towards the staircase.
You remained seated on the edge of the fountain, barefoot and dumbfounded at what surely was his petty idea of a game.
"I'd hurry it up if I were you," he blithely called over his shoulder as he rounded the top of the stairs. "The soup course tends to get cold quickly." And with that, he disappeared inside the villa.
That bastard. As much as he pissed you off, though, you were still Talia's guest and didn't want to cause trouble. She had gone out of her way to bring you out here and seemed so excited to introduce you to Mo. The least you could do was tolerate his presence for one dinner. Besides, he certainly wasn't planning on coming back out to return your shoes. You grit your teeth, swallowed your pride, and scampered across the rough stone to follow him back inside the house.