Authors: Suzette Hollingsworth
Nothing is hidden from us,
All the happenings of the future
We can reveal to you
—
Giuseppe Verdi,
La Traviata
The night had finally arrived
. Alejandro chided himself for his apprehension as he paced the foyer of his private rooms. He slowed his pace to glance out the floor-to-ceiling window when his eye caught the moon illuminating the Eiffel Tower.
He had always faced every situation in his life with courage, even when his heart was breaking. So why was he filled with uneasiness in anticipating a small private concert?
Because he sensed that this would be an experience like no other, that he would never again be the same after tonight.
And that it would be intensely and painfully difficult.
But the difficulty was nothing to that which he most dreaded: that he had imagined this dream, that it wasn’t going to happen tonight—and that it never would.
Closing his eyes momentarily, he resolved to control himself. Try as he might to keep himself from overshooting his expectations, he could not help but feel he had been waiting for this night all of his life.
He knew the sensation that was creeping into his consciousness.
I fear success at the same time I dread a world without dreams.
Alejandro shook his head in self-reprimand. He had allowed himself to place too many hopes on this one night. If some benefit was derived, good and well. But if not, his life would go on much as it had been.
That is precisely what terrifies me
.
He turned to survey the room. All was in order. To be sure, it looked almost magical, as if to match his expectations. The champagne was chilling, and every manner of hors d’oeuvres and chocolates were laid out. White roses were everywhere, along with glittering crystals hanging from the ceiling in the form of chandeliers and crystal ornaments. The candles were lit, and it mimicked a winter wonderland although it was the middle of summer.
His staff had done a superb job. He had commanded that they keep to their rooms for the evening upon threat of dismissal. He and Nicolette must be completely alone. A bodyguard would be stationed at the front door, but he had insisted upon complete privacy. She would fulfill her part of the bargain and come alone; he must set the stage.
He heard the doorbell chime and moved to stand in the center of the room. His bodyguard opened the door, and Lady Nicolette walked into the Belle Etoile Royal Suite on the seventh floor of Le Meurice without speaking carrying a large, beaded white bag. Alejandro released his breath slowly.
Oh, she is gorgeous
. Nicolette made the
elaborate Charles X décor
with its heavy drapery, intricate wood paneling with gilt edges, chandeliers, and murals look gaudy by comparison. Next to her, the elegant decor was like an overdressed, overly made-up lady of the night attempting to hide a lack of beauty with ornamentation.
“Would you care for champagne, Señorita Nicolette?” He asked softly, attempting to force those thoughts out of his mind. He must not let his desire ruin this beautiful moment for him. “Or a small refreshment?”
She stood at the entryway and looked about her, a spiral staircase straight ahead, an art gallery to her left, and the living area to her right, connected by French doors to the patio, the Eiffel Tower visible in the night sky.
“Is all this for us?” She giggled. She looked around the room at the assortment of cheeses, fruits, meats, pastries, and breads. Her hand reached out and caressed the petals of a white rose.
As he studied her with appreciation, he suddenly realized that something was very wrong. He clenched his fists, held stiffly at his side.
She stood against the olive, light-blue, and cream tapestries and silks. White-and-black marble, white roses, and crystals surrounded her.
Strikingly displayed against this setting, s
he wore a high-necked white silk wrapper and was angelic in appearance, her black hair and startling turquoise eyes adding to the illusion rather than detracting from it. Her hair was pulled back neatly into an elongated bun at the nape of her neck, and white rosebuds were in her hair along with strategically placed diamonds
.
Not the Carmen he wanted to see
. Everything must be exactly as it was. The only remnants from that performance were the gold bangles at her ears, which only served to mock him.
“You are not dressed to perform
Carmen
, Señorita Nicolette. I was very precise regarding our arrangement.”
He had never truly expected this dream to be realized. She had determined to undermine him. He wondered what revenge she had planned. He felt a deep disappointment, more than he wished to admit, in considering that she did not intend to fulfill her part of the bargain.
“Indeed you were, Your Highness. And you will not be dissatisfied. I know how to give the audience even what they do not know they require.” She smiled, and her eyes sparkled with promise. “Trust me on this.”
He forced himself to nod. His hope returned in small measure. Nicolette had certain disreputable qualities, but she was, he reminded himself, a performer above all else.
Damnation
. What was wrong with him? His emotions were escalating up and down in a deplorable fashion. He was not accustomed to feeling anything, much less this ridiculous carnival ride. He was acting like a fool.
“I apologize, Señorita Nicolette. It was ungentlemanly of me to say so.” He was not entirely convinced that she would fulfill her promise, but it was inelegant to say so. Even if one’s life depended on it.
He started to reach for her hand but thought the better of it and simply bowed. “Where would you like to perform?” he asked stiffly.
“I will stand in the middle of the room, in front of this beautiful marble fireplace. You will sit over there.” She pointed to a large comfortable chair some eight feet from her designated stage. She motioned to her bag, which she let fall to the ground. “And I will change when the time comes.”
“Change? Where?”
“I shall manage it.” Following the line of her own lovely hand, one of Degrain’s paintings caught her attention, and she moved toward it with interest, moving into the art gallery a few steps away. “Ah, Don Quixote?” Her eyes sparkled as she asked the question.
“Yes,” he replied gruffly, moving to stand beside her. “Sancho and Don Quixote discussing their windmill adventure on a lonely stretch of road, it appears.”
“Still hopeful,” she murmured.
“Not knowing at this point that their dreams will never be fulfilled,” he added softly as he studied the painting.
“Prince Alejandro…” She turned to face him. Her voice was gentle, and her persona was transformed in an instant. Her eyes opened wide, sparkling, and capturing his heart within their jeweled green depths. Alejandro felt his heart beating more quickly and stepped back.
“Yes, Señorita Nicolette?”
“There is something I wish you to contemplate before I begin my performance.”
“For one night. Just one.” He let his breath out slowly. “I beg you will address me by my name.” He didn’t know where that had come from, but he watched her closely, anxious for her response, his eyes taking in porcelain skin that framed red, full lips.
“And I have a wish as well, Alejandro.” She nodded in agreement.
“Anything,” he murmured.
“I wish you to open your heart to…
yourself
.”
“Señorita Nicolette, may I offer you champagne?” He moved to the table containing the beverages and chilling champagne, glad for the distance between them. “A cordial? Strawberries dipped in chocolate? I seem to recall that you were partial to petit fours.”
“Most certainly you may after my musical rendition. For now, I wish you to focus on your needs. This is your time,
Alejandro
. It is only for
you
. Please, pour yourself a cognac and be seated. You must relax in order to receive the full benefit.”
“Ah, you desire that I should be selfish, Señorita.” He followed her edict and poured himself a cognac and seated himself, but he set it down on the table beside his chair after only one swallow.
“How can you experience insight or God or love or anything of importance until you first have access to the
instrument
?” She touched his hand, which resulted in an instantaneous surge through his body. “In my profession, my body is truly my instrument, so I am very aware of this fact. I do not play a flute or a piano, I do not carry a sword, everything I utilize—
everything
—is within myself.”
Damnation
, he wished those beautiful red lips would cease forming words without vocals.
“My dreams have come true, Alejandro. I sing in the opera. Everyone told me this was an impossibility. How did all the people come into my life to make this a reality? The roll of the dice?”
“You did it all, as you will inform me, Nicolette.”
“I pray,” she replied simply.
“Nicolette, are you telling me…” A wave of shock washed over him. The diva
prayed
? He was truly astonished, and he had to fight the curiosity that began to infiltrate his thought processes. He dared not encourage her, or she would never cease talking. But he had to know. “…that you bend on your knees and bow down to Someone?”
Other than your own reflection
, he wished to say but bit his lip.
“I will never pray, ‘God, give me…’ because it removes me from the equation. I pray, ‘Creator God, please
change me
however I need to be changed.’ It opens me up to receive from the most powerful energy in the universe and strengthens that connection with my Creator.”
That didn’t surprise him. She positively required to be center stage. “Ah, so I should pray, ‘Mother Mary, please change me however I need to be changed so that my people are no longer starving, so that the literacy rate will rise, so that industry is introduced into España, so that my country will no longer suffer from the aftermath of the war with America, so that the extreme political factions of the left and right will stop fighting each other and destroying my country.’”
“I notice that none of the concerns of your heart are for you, Alejandro. All are for your country.”
“Ah, let me try again, then. ‘Mother Mary, please change me however I need to be changed so that Nicolette will begin to sing.’”
She frowned, but he observed resolve in her eyes. Praise the heavens.
Lowering her head, she motioned to him to be silent, a command he obeyed with both relief and apprehension. He closed his eyes momentarily.
Nothing happened.
He heard no sound. Slowly he opened his eyes, and he saw her staring through the French doors onto the terrace.
“Señorita Nicolette?”
“I am thinking.”
“Ah.”
“There is so much moonlight, the night sky is lit, and it is a warm night. Shall I sing on the terrace?”
He glanced onto the terrace, the Eiffel Tower in full view, the evening glorious. Candles strategically placed added to the effect. In truth, the terrace was completely private, and no one could see them as they were on the top floor. Her voice might be heard, of course, but it would not detract from his experience.
He nodded his agreement, and they moved through the door. She placed her bag behind a wooden screen on the terrace. She moved into full view, lit by the moonlight, luminescent, the Eiffel Tower behind her. Her white silk jacket billowed about her, almost blindingly bright against the darkness. The diamonds she wore in her hair sparkled like stars. She looked somehow wilder, even with her prim hairstyle.