The Baritone’s Rival (The Vampire Impresario #2)

1. Trent

Chapter 1

Trent

T he opera gods were not smiling on Trent today.

Bella siccome un angelo

in terra pellegrino.

Fresca siccome il giglio

che s’apre in sul mattino.

Trent’s throat tightened as he sang, his vocal cords constricting as his frustration built. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy that was practically a cliché: the more he worried, the tenser he got, and the tenser he got, the more he worried.

“Let’s stop there.” Mr. Bianchi held up his hand to the accompanist, a slender young woman wearing her thick brown hair in a high ponytail. She lifted her fingers off the keys and rolled her eyes. Trent loved working with Julie. She was one of his few friends in New York City, but she couldn’t keep her opinions to herself. Her face was far too expressive for that.

“Sorry, Mr. Bianchi.” Trent flushed with self-judgement, his eyes flitting away to avoid the disapproval he imagined was coming his way.

Mr. Bianchi had managed to make his utilitarian voice studio somehow cozy. Given a room that was essentially a cold white box by the university, he’d added several upholstered chairs and a throw rug. The subtle scent of a vanilla candle wafted through the air. The walls were plastered with colorful posters of the operas he’d been in, framed in dark stained wood. Trent stared at a particularly busy one for La Fille Du Régiment as he avoided eye contact with his teacher.

“I told you, Trent. Call me Anthony. I’m far too young for ‘Mr. Bianchi.’”

There was a smile in Anthony’s voice. Trent forced his gaze back.

Anthony was a good-looking man with olive skin and Italian features. He had an outsize presence that filled every room he entered. He was well on his way to becoming an international superstar tenor, and Trent knew he was lucky to be his voice student. That didn’t stop him from being jealous of Anthony’s career, especially considering that he was all of twenty-nine.

“I don’t know why I’m struggling today.”

“You know this aria,” Anthony said, kindness in his eyes. “It’s not even close to the top of your range.”

Trent squeezed his lips together. He had been stalled out for months. Hell, sometimes it felt like he was going backwards.

Anthony walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Trent, I’m sure you don’t want to hear this, but you need an outlet that isn’t music. The whole laid-back corn-fed midwestern football player thing may fool some folks, but I know you, and I know how hard you are on yourself. To be an artist, you need input and you need to experience life. If you spend all your time in a practice room punishing yourself, it’s going to take you three times as long to push past this plateau.”

Trent let out a ragged breath.Anthony was right about one thing. With his linebacker’s build and his shaggy blonde mop, everyone assumed he was chill. The trace of a Wisconsin accent didn’t help, either.

He liked that, though. It made him anxious when people worried about him. If they did, they’d offer to help, and that was always uncomfortable. Like it was right now.

“I do experience life?—”

Julie coughed from the piano. Trent shot her a look. She shrugged.

“What? I try to get you to come out with my friends, but you turn me down every time.”

“That’s not?—”

“It so is,” Julie interrupted. “I asked you out for drinks last Monday.”

“I—”

“And to a movie last Thursday.”

“But—”

“And to drink at the movies on Saturday.”

“Julie!”

“What? What’s better than getting high and watching witches fly?”

“Trent.” Shit. Anthony was about to give a lecture. That wasn’t good.

“You’re a good student,” Anthony continued, resting his hands on his hips. “And you’re an excellent singer. You wouldn’t be at the Brooklyn Institute of Music if that weren’t true. But I see how hard you push yourself. If you don’t find a way to loosen up, your journey will be so much harder than it needs to be.”

Trent shook his head and gripped the black metal music stand in front of him. He’d heard this before, from his teachers, from his parents. What good had that done them ?

“It took a lot to get me here,” Trent rebutted. “I can’t waste my chance.”

Anthony tapped at Trent’s musical score with his pencil eraser. “Go out for a drink. Go to the movies. This will still be here when you get back.”

Trent sighed. Anthony didn’t understand. No one did. Most of the students in his master’s program had rich families. They’d been in voice lessons since they were kids. They couldn’t relate to a poor kid who’d muscled his way into one of the country’s best vocal performance programs.

Trent’s throat tightened again, this time with unshed tears. There wasn’t a backup plan. Singing was what he knew how to do. With his mother gone?—

Nope. Not going to let that old monster back in. He pushed aside memories of warm gardenia-perfumed hugs and forced himself to return to the present.

“This is all I have.” Trent fought through the flash of grief. “If I don’t succeed...”

Anthony put his elbow on the smooth, shiny piano top and rested the side of his head against his hand. “You’ve already succeeded, Trent. You’re here.”

Trent’s jaw clenched. “I have to do better. The auditions for the Manhattan Lyric Young Artists Program are in a month. They’re only taking one guy, and we both know that means they probably want a tenor. If I’m going to get in as a baritone, my audition has to be perfect.”

“There are other programs.”

“It’s the best one.” Trent’s hands formed into fists as he spoke. “The best chance to have the career I want. To be singing lead roles for major houses in the next ten years.”

Anthony crossed his arms. “You can’t?—”

“I have to.” Trent was speaking louder now, but he couldn’t help himself. “Maybe you’ve forgotten how much this business sucks, but most of us don’t get lucky and blow up in their twenties like you did. But the one thing that I can do, the one thing that I’m good at, is outworking everyone else!”

No one spoke for a long moment. Anthony stared at Trent as if he were evaluating him. Julie sat at the piano with her head down, picking at her fingernails.

“You are good at many things,” Anthony said, breaking the silence with his quiet words. “And your fellow students are your colleagues, not your competition.” He sighed. “I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t. No one should be.” Trent glanced up at the clock and gathered up his sheet music. “I’ve gone over time.”

“Just by a couple of minutes.”

Trent stuffed his score into his already overfilled backpack, slipped an arm through, and swung it over his right shoulder. It hit the middle of his back with a painful smack. He ignored it. If he hurried, he could get in two hours of practice before the building closed for the day. He started for the door.

“Trent.” He reluctantly turned back to Anthony. “You have a whole studio of classmates that share your ambitions. They could be a support system.”

“I don’t know?—”

“I bet you and Oscar would get along like gangbusters. Why not talk to him?”

Trent froze. God, that’s what Anthony thought of him? That he should spend his few free hours with Oscar Acosta, the biggest partier in the program? Every day, Oscar walked into class, clearly hungover, and somehow managed to sing. He was a brat, and everything about him was annoying. His long brown hair. His tallness. His pretty eyelashes. The last thing Trent wanted to do was waste time on that chaos cauldron.

He reminded Trent a little of a vampire he’d known in his teens…nope. Why did the past keep popping into his head today? He wasn’t part of that world anymore. Humans only, now.

“I’ll think about it.” He forced a smile and got out as quickly as he could. Julie rolled her eyes once more as he slid out the door.

Trent hurried down the hall, hoping that Anthony wouldn’t follow him to continue the conversation. He was over-involved in his students’ lives. Most voice teachers were, but Trent didn’t need the advice.

He could get a sandwich at the bodega and then grab a rehearsal room. He was sure that with a couple hours of practice, he could move past the block that had been plaguing him.

“Trent!”

Trent’s shoulders tensed. Julie. He couldn’t escape. She was a brilliant pianist, but she’d heard everything Anthony had said. She always had opinions.

He turned to see her walking down the long gray hallway, looking chic in a black pencil skirt and silk pussybow blouse. Her heels clicked on the olive-green linoleum floor. In a school full of music nerds, she was a style icon.

“Thanks for playing,” Trent said, wracking his brain for a possible distraction. “How’s the recital coming along?”

Julie flapped her hands, waving away his question. “Who cares? Listen, a couple folks are heading over to Manhattan to hit up a jazz club. Why don’t you go with us? It’ll be a nice change from all the bel canto .”

Trent shook his head. “I’ve got to get a few more hours of practice in.”

“Trent.” Julie reached out, squeezing his forearm. “You heard what Anthony said. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“I really shouldn’t…”

“I know your first class tomorrow isn’t until one. Live a little.”

Maybe she was right. He had been pushing himself hard. That was the way he liked it, but everyone needed a reprieve. He was in rough shape. His shoulders were sore from tension, and the knot in his stomach hadn’t unraveled in days.

“Who else is coming?” Trent asked.

“Well, it’s me, and Farah, and…” Julie trailed off, her eyes moving distractedly to a large student event bulletin board on the wall of the hallway.

“And?” Trent squinted at Julie with suspicion.

“...Oscar.”

“I’m good.” Trent walked away. “Like I said, I have to practice.”

Julia’s heels clicked behind him as she moved to keep up with him.

“He’s a great guy.” Her voice was tinged with frustration. “You’d like him if you gave him a chance. Just because the two of you are like polar opposites…”

Trent slipped his left arm through the empty strap of his backpack and continued on, like a soldier hiking into enemy territory.

“How is he great?”

“Oh.” Julie kept up his pace, biting her lip. “Well, he’s kind, and he’s an intelligent singer. And he’s fun.”

“So we’re polar opposites, huh?”

“If the shoe fits,” Julie said, not bothering to hold back her sarcasm, “might as well walk the damn runway. You could be more fun.”

Trent stopped cold and turned to her. “You know why he’s fun? Because he doesn’t have to worry about buying food or paying back student loans. That’s what happens when you’re a spoiled trust fund kid.”

Julie stepped back with a confused squint. “How do you know he’s a trust fund kid?”

“Please. He doesn’t work. He lives on the Upper West Side. His clothes are absolutely ridiculous.”

An undergrad in pajama pants turned his head and stared as he walked past. Trent must have been getting louder. Why was it so hard to keep his cool today?

Julie grabbed him by his upper arms. “Don’t judge people like that. You can’tmake a bunch of assumptions about someone’s background and then use that as a justification.”

“My assumptions aren’t why I don’t like him. I don’t like him because he never has anything intelligent to say in class. I don’t like him because he’s a classic egotistical tenor. All he has to do is sing a high C and everyone forgets how vapid and obnoxious he is.”

“You’re jealous!” Julie pulled her hands away, her eyes wide in shock. “Did he call you out on your back rolls or something?”

The blood rushed to Trent’s face. It was ridiculous to get angry. Oscar Acosta didn’t matter. He shouldn’t be getting this worked up.

“I’m not jealous. Just because I’m not six foot two with a runner’s build like Oscar doesn’t mean I have back rolls,” he rebutted. “We’re not in the same fach . We don’t even have the same voice type. We’re not competing for the same roles. I have nothing to be jealous of.”

Julie smirked at him. “But you will be competing for that spot in the Manhattan Lyric program, right? And they’re only taking one dude.”

Trent didn’t reply. She wasn’t wrong. Oscar was yet another obstacle in his path.

Julie cocked her head. “And you’re mad because you think it’s easier being a tenor, that he doesn’t have to work as hard.”

“He doesn’t work as hard!”

Trent’s voice echoed off the concrete block walls. Trent took in a deep, calming breath. Julie opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

Trent stalked away, and this time Julie didn’t follow, thank god. The last thing he needed was to spend a night out with Oscar Acosta, with his easy charm and his stupid smirk. Nothing would be more enraging. It was for the best, anyway. No matter what Anthony had said, the most important thing was to practice. He could get a life once his career was further along. Unlike Oscar, he didn’t have anything to fall back on.