CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
M usic Icon Aria’s soulful soprano vibrated through Wembley Stadium, belting Candi Staton’s infectious hit, “Young Hearts Run Free.” My voice joined the thousands singing along, shaking my hips to the beat with Rocco pressed snugly against my back. The stadium was a whimsical Mid-Summer Night’s party, with strobing lights and thousands of neon sparklers joining the glow of the festive light show as screens above the sandstone stage backdrop played clips from Shakespeare’s plays and films. The crowd had also invested in the theme, some wearing traditional Elizabethan tight bodices and robes. At the same time, others stood out as the phenomenal white-wigged Mercurio in silver dresses and platform heels.
Rocco lifted my arms to outstretch them before me, and I stared at the illuminated angel wings drawn on my arms. His arms next to it were muscular, tan, and bare. He was a 90s Capulet gangster Tybalt in a fitted shirt and painted-on pants. And I was his Juliet in a white gown. His hands trailed down my arms and chest as he kissed my neck, moving his mouth close to my ear.
“I want to fuck you here.” He emphasized that by pressing his hard erection against my ass.
I drew in a fast breath as I rocked my hips, pushing back on it. If I could get away with it, I’d have to bend over to get more friction. And I wished the dress was shorter so he could discreetly put his hands underneath.
Rocco groaned. “Hot damn, I didn’t know you could dance.”
“I’m full of surprises, Mr. Marini.”
“Mmm. Give me more.” He rolled his hips, his hands cupping my breasts as he sucked on my neck.
“Rocco?” A woman’s voice screamed close by, and it worked as cold water, dousing the fire burning between us. The lights were fuller as the staff moved to reset the stage. He tensed behind me, and I didn’t have to look back to know who it was.
Marjorie Storm came into view, waving her arms wide. She was the ethereal Queen of the fairies, Titania, with her beautiful blonde hair tangled in gold strings, a lace bodice, and a silk strip skirt.
“Marjorie,” Rocco said flatly, keeping his hands on my hips.
Her eyes fixed on Rocco as she held her hand to me. “Hey, you two. Isn’t this the concert of the year?”
I chafed at her cool indifference but took it as her celebrity ego. With that in mind, I casually clasped it quickly and let go.
Morgan stepped up behind her, a beefy bare-chested Puck with horns and low-hanging leathers. He extended his fist, his smile broad. “Hey man, don’t leave me hanging.”
Rocco sighed and gave his fist a tap.
Morgan winced as if Rocco had hurt him. “Still mad, I see. Come on. Let’s bury the hatchet, okay? I made a loser newbie mistake at Cannes. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s about right,” Rocco said coolly, and they both laughed a little.
“The Oscar buzz is back. We’re killing it in the theaters,” Morgan trilled, extending his hand again. “So, truce?”
Rocco gave his hand a shake. “I’m fine, Morgan. Let’s move on and enjoy the concert.”
Morgan’s gaze slid over me, giving me a mischievous grin. “Hello, Rocco’s beautiful wife. I mean, damn, she’s stunning. Have you considered acting?”
“That’s enough, Morgan,” Rocco said in a curt tone. His hands tightened on my hips.
Morgan smirked, then gave me a wave. “I guess we can’t shake hands, Adelina.”
I waved back. Don’t care.
Marjorie touched Morgan’s arm. “Hey, what about me? Aren’t I beautiful, too?”
“You know you’re scorching hot, Midge.” He pulled Marjorie in for a kiss as she batted him playfully on the back, laughing. I wondered if it was real or if she was putting on a show for Rocco. After all, Marjorie was his ex-girlfriend. She could get anyone. Why his friend? And why someone who’s married? Does she have no moral compass? I could only be glad that Rocco was truly not interested in her. Something about that made me feel more relaxed. I can trust him, I know this now.
A person sang into the microphones to test them. Marjorie touched Rocco’s arm as if she wanted his attention, though we were still looking at her and Morgan. “There’s no lawsuit—”
“I’m not discussing it,” Rocco cut her off and cuddled me closer.
“I just want to make it clear—”
“Talk to Gunnar, Marjorie. Glad you’re having fun.” Rocco pointed up at a screen behind us. It was the Don John meeting scene from the 1990s movie Much Ado About Nothing.
“ Oh, I love this scene,” I enthused.
Rocco leaned over my ear. “Great. Let’s turn away to look at it.”
“Enjoy the concert,” Rocco called to them, and I echoed him.
Marjorie’s smile wilted, but before we turned, I leaned back against Rocco’s chest and rubbed the stubble on his jaw. It was possessive, but I didn’t care. He’s mine.
Rocco laughed and held me tighter, then returned to kissing my neck.
To our delight, the following performers to take the stage were Paul and Nadia. We joined the audience, cheering and clapping as Paul rose from a platform seated in front of a baby grand piano with a backup string quartet around him. The lights lowered as he went seamlessly into Mozart’s Symphony No. 25. From the start, Paul captivated us as he took us back in time. We were in an imperial court in Vienna, and we were seeing a legend. His fingers moved across the piano keys in a flawless waltz of unrestrained passion.
We clapped enthusiastically, but Paul and the orchestra hadn’t stopped but transitioned into Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5. I didn’t know it, but the names were on the screen. The pace was fast without pause, but Paul played it without breaking a sweat. My heart hammered in time at the feverish battle on the instruments. It was as if I was running along with him to keep his pace, and I was invigorated by the last note.
I glanced back at Rocco; his admiration for his friend was evident on his face. He loved him. He rubbed my arms to get my focus as we all exploded into enthusiastic claps when Paul finished the piece.
Paul rose from his seat and extended his arm towards the orchestra so we could also sing their praises. The room quieted down, and Paul retook his seat. A movie screen lowered behind him, and I felt Rocco’s heart beating faster on my back. I pulled his arms tighter around me and took a deep breath, and I felt him do the same, but it was clear something was making him anxious. And he’s never nervous. What’s going on?
Paul played the beginning notes of Beethoven’s Sonata No. 8, Op. 13 Pathetique, and the crowd applauded like he was Beethoven himself. I also loved the emotions that rose from his approach to the beautiful masterpiece. I first heard it while watching a film, Running on Empty . I related to the family moving around, keeping secrets. It was the first film that ever made me cry. Closing my eyes, I sank into its rich, melancholy exquisiteness. It made me want to fall to my knees and weep.
“Adelina,” Rocco called my name. I opened my eyes as he drew my focus to the screen above. The clip from Shakespeare dissolved, and Jacob appeared. Jacob?
I sucked in breaths and trembled hard, my hands pressed to my lips. My big brother was on the screen in front of thousands, maybe even millions, online.
He was moving his chair around his home studio and signing as he showed off his painting collection of vibrating hearts. Paul signed back, and Jacob’s crooked grin broke out. He looked directly at the screen and waved his finger like when we ended our calls, and I said I loved him. Seeing it poured light into my soul, leaving me wide open and raw. After everything he’d experienced and endured, he still had love for everyone.
My hand rose to cover my mouth as tears spilled down my cheeks. I sucked in the air and pressed backward into Rocco, and he ran his hands down my arms.
“Jacob called this painting a vivid reminder of love’s complexities,” Paul said and signed. “Jacob also has agreed to commission his photo to me for my next cover. More of his work will be coming around the world on a tour. Don’t miss this fantastic, talented artist.”
I turned and wept into Rocco’s chest, and he hugged me. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Jacob wanted to surprise you. We promised to film you and send the video.”
A camera came closer, and I drew on that calm I had used for years to compose myself. I took a deep breath and turned towards the screen. My hands formed a heart, and I signed, “Congratulations. I’m so proud, and I love you, big brother.”
The applause went on for a while, and I kissed and held onto Rocco to calm myself down. Then, Nadia’s voice came over the speaker, and Rocco turned us sideways so he could hold me and make sure I wouldn’t miss it.
She smiled and came close to where we were with her microphone. “In light of the Shakespeare theme of star-crossed lovers, we will sing a special song for my favorite newlyweds, The Platters’, “Only You”.”
As her voice soared, we swayed. I closed my eyes, and even as people filmed us, everything faded to only the two of us. Rocco swept me off my feet from the very start. Even as I fought against it, our souls intertwined felt utterly miraculous. It was as if destiny had conspired to bring us together. And for once, I loved my fate.
The song ended, and we cheered for Nadia and Paul. I faced Rocco, and his thumbs wiped my cheeks, his gaze tender. My heart raced, each beat echoing in my ears. The lights came up, and the staff came to reset the stage.
Thud. Someone pushed us hard, and we stumbled back toward the stage. We turned to Marjorie, who was waving her arms at the crowd and screaming, “Look at the lovebirds.”
Morgan pulled her back, but the moment had gone.
“Leave them alone, Midge; you said you wouldn’t do this.” Morgan took her hips. “Sorry, man.”
Rocco ignored them, took my hand, and pointed to the security area. I remembered Paul had offered us a chance to sit backstage, and I welcomed it.
“Excuse us,” Rocco said to the people in our path.
“You’re not leaving already, Rocco,” Marjorie called behind us, her tone exasperated.
He stopped walking, and I looked back to find that Marjorie had clasped his arm. He could either pull it back and she’d use it to do something silly that would make a scene or wait her out. It was so unfair.
I decided it was my turn to use the crowd to our advantage. Two can play your game.
“Marjorie Storm, everyone,” I shouted in a cheery voice.
The crowd around us turned towards us and started staring. Some took out their phones.
When I had their attention, I said, “That was my big brother on screen. My husband Rocco shared his art with Paul; now he has a cover. Isn’t he the best?” I leaned up and kissed Rocco sweetly and rubbed his chest. Then, I grabbed the arm Marjorie had, and lifted it high in the air, jumping in place.
Strangers all around screamed and cheered for us. Rocco took selfies with some of the people, and a few of them took selfies with me. Crazy.
Zane appeared and stood nearby, waiting for Rocco’s cue. He took a step to leave but stopped and turned to face me. My brows rose imploringly. I hoped he was okay with what I’d done by using the public. It was territorial and cringe-worthy, even to me.
His gaze fused to mine as his hands went to touch my face.
I blinked up at him questioningly, my pulse rushing.
His head lowered, and I anxiously parted my lips, welcoming his kiss, but he said, “I love you, Adelina.”
I swallowed hard, threw my arms around his neck, and pressed my lips to his. I love you too. No one knew that this was his first time saying it, but I knew. And my heart was soaring. Those around us clapped and jumped like we were part of a reality show, but this was my life, and Rocco Marini was my one true love.
My heart leaped with absolute happiness and crushing fear. Does Rocco love me? Or did he say it to get rid of Marjorie?
Zane had moved between her and us, and Rocco didn’t even look at her. He told me he loved me because that was how he felt. I wanted to say it back, but I couldn’t.
It wasn’t that I didn’t love him. I did. But I’d already given him my body, my vow, and every waking thought. But once he knows he has all that I am, he’ll own me forever. It was my greatest fear to give all I am and lose myself.
I kissed him again, our tongues entwining, and in it, I knew I could give him what I was ready to. I poured my emotions and feelings into it, caressing his tongue and holding onto him with all my might.
My kiss was my love professed louder than words. But I knew it wouldn’t end there. Rocco Marini meant what he’d said when I asked him what he wanted from me.
“I want to have all of you.”
He’d only accept nothing short of everything, and we both knew he’d get it.