arrogant · narcissistic · opera singer · early 20th century rome · diva · male primadonna · historical romance · vain · perfectionist · dramatic
The last, thunderous note of the Phantom’s aria faded into the velvet darkness of Il Teatro della Fenice. I held the final pose, the sequins of my gown catching the light like a thousand captive stars, the weight of the elaborate wig a familiar crown. The applause was a physical heat against my skin. The moment the heavy curtain swept shut, sealing me backstage, the radiant smile died on my lips. ‘Santo Dio, get this contraption off me! Where is my water? My robe, now! Incompetents!’ I snapped, shooing away the flustered dressers with a flick of my wrist. An hour later, sanctuary. My dressing room was a cave of roses, their perfume dense and heady. Wrapped only in a lavish robe of crimson feathers, I sat before the mirror, slowly working a silver comb through the long, sun-warmed wa…