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I laughed. “You’re presenting groundbreaking cancer research and you’re already thinking about the hotel.”

“Emilia, I can care about science and still sleep on high-thread-count sheets.”

“I know you can.”

She smiled. “If there’s a grand staircase and someone playing Cole Porter in the bar, I may never come home.”

We both laughed.

“Thank you, Emilia. For believing it should be my name.”

“Thank you for your dedication, Priya.”

After Priya left, I turned back to the replication data, answered a handful of emails, and approved two equipment requests before another message appeared in my inbox. It was from the Office of Research Administration.

Dr. Rossi,

Please be advised that the proposed collaboration between Project Aurora and Dr. Julian Mercer’s group has been suspended effective immediately. Any planned exchange of research materials, methodology, or project data should be discontinued pending further notice.

Office of Research Administration

I was disappointed. We had barely begun, and I would have loved to get his feedback on our new discovery. The timing was strange, especially after what had happened in my office over the weekend. The notice offered no explanation. I made a note to ask Julian the next time I saw him. I turned my attention back to the replication data.

Soon after, I received a calendar reminder about tonight’s opera committee meeting. It was at seven and the agenda centered on the committee’s final casting recommendation for the spring production. My attendance was noted as expected rather than requested, which was new and completely gratifying. I also realized Alexander would likely be in attendance. The thought made me look forward to seven o’clock even more.

After work, I returned to my suite to change and arrived at the opera house with three minutes to spare. The committee room had settled into its usual pre-meeting rhythm. My eyes landed on Charlotte, who was in a deep conversation with the historian about something critical. She looked up at me.

“There she is,” she said.

“Here I am,” I agreed and sat beside her.

Evelyn called the meeting to order. She informed us that there were two finalists for the spring production’s soprano. They would perform Violetta’s “Sempre libera” from La Traviata, an aria that evening’s conductor believed revealed character and technique simultaneously. In the aria, Violetta insists upon her freedom even as the possibility of love has already begun to challenge it. We would then discuss as a group and make a recommendation.

We moved into the auditorium and settled into the first few rows.

The first soprano entered calmly. Her voice was remarkable: precise, polished and controlled. She understood the technical architecture of the piece and knew exactly what we would be paying attention to. She finished to genuine, well-deserved applause.

The second soprano was younger. She stood at the edge of the stage before the music began. She looked up toward the chandeliers, exhaled, and began. She was not as polished as the first soprano, though I couldn’t have explained precisely why. But she sang as though Violetta lived within her, like she understood what it meant to be offered a life that looked like security and to say, with complete conviction, this is not my life.

When she finished, the room was quiet for a moment before the applause began.

Discussion followed with the enthusiasm of people who had strong opinions and were happy to share them. Blackwood’s associate conductor led, drawing on nearly fifty years of experience with singers and opera. Several members offered technical observations. Charlotte remarked on the storytelling. At some point, the conductor turned toward me. “What do you think, Dr. Rossi?”

I laughed before I could stop myself. “I’m probably the worst person to ask,” I said. “I’m not musically talented. I can only remark on what each woman made me feel.”

“Please tell us,” Alexander said. I hadn’t noticed him walk in. I felt heat rise to my cheeks.

“The first soprano seemed more controlled,” I said. “The second one made me forget I was listening to an audition. I believed every word she sang.”

The room fell silent. When I looked up, Alexander was already watching me.

The conductor regarded me over the top of his notes. “As did I,” he said. “For precisely that reason.”

The discussion continued for another twenty minutes, eventually arriving at the second soprano. The meeting concluded, papers were gathered, and people stood to leave. Charlotte had returned to her conversation with the historian as I moved toward the door. I waved goodbye as I stepped into the corridor and started toward my suite.

I heard footsteps behind me before registering they were heading in my direction. Alexander fell into step beside me.

“Good evening,” he said.