Page 1 of The Baritone's Rival

Chapter 1

Trent

The 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 forLa Fille Du Régimentas 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.”

---