Chapter 2: The Opera Singer

A/N: Welcome back to my fanfic (most likely this will be in seven chapters about the love affair between an opera singer and a journalist. I concede that Sei x Shizuka is a relatively rare pairing. Shizuka has barely any relationship to any other of the girls except Sei and Shimako, and as such will inevitably always be a supporting character. Even in my own past stories, I've used Shizuka as a plot device for Sei's relationship with other characters: it's hard to describe the mechanism by which Shizuka plays a supporting role: she is often set up as the woman who "fails" to win Sei's heart (or ends up being a lower priority), so that some other pairing for Sei can be justified, such as with Shimako. This plot device is not always a bad thing, and I'd be a hypocrite to criticise it too much since I've used it in several of my past stories, too.

But this time, it's different.

In this story, Shizuka won't play second fiddle. She will be at the centre. At Sei's centre...

A journalist's persistence is like a suitor's romantic overtures. Open that miser's hand and get the damned gold, the editor insists to her reporter, and don't come back until you have a quote, a confession, anything. A seductress is somewhat similar. She will not rest until the beloved, already hoping for an excuse to succumb, is given a reason to let go of her old life. Tonight, Sei wanted to combine both wills to power, that of the journalist and the suitor's, to her advantage.

The outside of Rome's premier opera house was swamped with the city's "chatterati." From insulated politicians to high-powered lawyers to the bored wives of Italian shipping magnates and property tycoons, there was something unique and decadent for every segment of this nourished class. But there was another subset within this coterie present tonight, and that was the well-connected journalists who melded and gossiped effortlessly with everyone. Editors of the national newspapers and respected magazines, high-ranking correspondents, columnists, and senior commentators bore the privilege of access to the wealthy as a God-given right: sometimes because they themselves (especially newspaper executives) might have been filthy rich and holding land off one of the Mediterranean islands, but mostly because being a writer of import demanded a certain sense of entitlement: that your opinion on whatever issue you covered mattered, and it had damn better be read by people that matter. It was an arrogance that the rich and powerful respected.

Sei was one of these notorious figures. Resplendent in a white suit with a silver vest and a pearly, shimmering tie, presented her card to the doorman, and he took it with a pearly-white gloved hand. "Miss Satou Sei, The Dawn," he read. He peered at her. "You are a gem in the crown of our city's social and cultural life. The work you do for this unique paper and the local community can't be overstated."

"Molte grazie. Oh, and here's my invitation card," she said, smiling as she reached into her blazer's pocket and handed her invitation to him.

"Thank you, Miss Satou. Please, enjoy yourself tonight." The doorman stepped back and gestured for Sei to walk in. Sei adjusted her collar and strode past the grand wooden doors, which had been thrown open for the gathering. She strode into a venerable hallway that had played host to a pointless mass of important people. The place was packed with men in impeccable, mostly dark suits and women with all manner of different hairstyles and colourful evening gowns. They glided across the cold marble floor, some couples having linked arms, others huddled together and chattering about the latest happenings of the world of elites. Rome was so popular with Europe's hoity-toity, as well as guests from the Middle East and East Asia, that you couldn't predict who you might meet.

Usually, Sei liked to go where she willed, moving from social circle to social circle. She did a little bit of that now. She clasped the arm of a businesswoman, kissing her cheeks, before immediately turning and tapping a middle-aged man in a blue suit on the shoulder. He turned around, and, recognising her as a rival journalist, gave a smirk. Sei returned the sneer and waved at a man who had just caught her eye: the minister of the ministry of Rome's cultural heritage and tourism. Then she offered her hand to the balding, jovial man in front of her: the Duke of Carcaci, an old Sicilian line descended from the kings of Aragon in Spain. A brief exchange filled with empty greetings and superficial updates was all that she needed to maintain her connection to him. In fact, it was all that she needed to maintain her good relations with pretty much everyone. You had to choose carefully what to gossip about: you could complain to your friends that your son had eloped with a shipping family's heiress, or that a certain divorce's costs were spiralling into the millions of Euros. But never share your woes about cancer or psychological issues. There was no prestige or curiosity to be gleaned from such talk of actual problems that needed human warmth and compassion.

It was non-stop socialising for Sei, and she mastered this art of hypocrisy and mutual back-patting to perfection.

"May I have your attention please!" came the MC's voice through a mic. Then came her English translation. It continued thus for the next few lines: Italian first, then English. The waiters and attendants snaked through the crowd, handing out glasses of red and white wine and offering gourmet finger food like cheese, crackers, and steak bites. "Please, I know you're having lovely time, but there will be no boring speech tonight. We have something you most definitely want to listen to." Sei and most of the people around her turned to face a dais that had been put in the middle of the hall, and Sei shifted behind two brunette heads, peering at the temporary podium through the space between them.

"Most esteemed delegates, ladies and gentlemen, tonight's guest needs no introduction, and indeed most of you have come just to see her up close and personal. She is the phenomenal, the delightful, the relentlessly mesmerising - soprano sensation Kanina Shizuka!"

Out of nowhere, the Japanese star emerged from the crowd, as if she had been there all along. Shielded by two assistants, who gently nudged aside people standing in her way, she ascended the podium, and everyone around her erupted in welcoming applause. She was in a delightful pink dress that accentuated her lithe but curvaceous figure, perfectly rounded, bare shoulders that allowed the imagination to linger on the form shamelessly. She wore long white gloves, and her smile was mild but radiant. Even among the beautiful women in this crowd, and there were many, she was a goddess.

Sei stroked her chin thoughtfully. She was surprised by how quickly everyone in Rome's circles had gotten wind of Shizuka's visit. And despite her popularity with her readers, they were mostly Japanese expats and she didn't know so many Italians loved Shizuka, musical genius though she might be. Shizuka stepped on to the dais and gave a bow deeper than what most Italian stars would offer. Even this simple gesture, which came so naturally to a young Japanese woman, earned her a round of applause. But she was not all looks and show. She spread her arms, raising them to shoulder level. Looking grand already, she opened her mouth. And then, to Sei and the rest of the audience's astonishment, a choir of angels came forth from her throat and lips.

Puccini's O Mio Babbino Caro. Magnificent. The crowd was spellbound even though she had barely started, her eyes closed in blissful concentration as she shut out the noise, her voice still soaring over the whoops and cheers. The men either were struck dumb in awed silence or hungrily capturing Shizuka's moment on their phones, whilst the women fared little better. Some sighed loudly, while others gasped at just how haunting Shizuka's effortless voice was. She didn't sing for more than a couple of minutes; it was only a teaser, so to speak, for her debut performance next week. But by the time she lowered her arms and bowed, it was as if the whole hall had been clapping for more than an hour. "Encore," came the collective, hysterical cries, "encore!" But Shizuka knew how to tantalize her fans, and she simply smiled enigmatically as her two assistants quickly flanked her and escorted her away, pushing firmly anyone who tried to get close to her. She glanced around, shooting as many teasing, modest glances as she could at the shouting, pushing crowd. Naturally, cries of frustration and annoyance began to break out, even as the insistent, futile cries for another rendition continued to thunder throughout the opera house.

Sei suddenly let out a sharp breath. She realized she hadn't been even breathing for a few moments, enraptured as she had been like the rest. She looked around, and it was chaos. Shizuka, this young Japanese lady, had reduced a full house of nobles, cultural and business leaders, and tycoons to a posse of adoring, giggling, shrieking boys and girls. Sei usually would laugh, partly in scorn, at the mindlessness of these people. But this time round, she couldn't do so without feeling like a complete hypocrite. She adjusted her tie as she slunk away from the rabble. She was rapidly losing the mood to mingle and party with each passing moment. She had even lost her winning smile, which she usually put on just as a mask to stay on top of settings like this. She actually felt annoyed. She wasn't used to not being at the centre of attention. She wasn't used to being relegated to a bystander, at the same cheap level as all the idle rick folk around here.

And most of all, she wasn't used to being caught off her guard by a fellow woman. Usually, she was the one doing the disrupting of emotions, leading the dance of hearts and memories. But Kanina Shizuka was more glorious than even the princesses Sei had held in her arms. And that somehow nagged at her.

She hated herself for it as she brushed by the doorman and stood outside the opera house, breathing slowly as she churned through wild thoughts in her head. She looked up at the crescent moon and the blackness of the night. Shizuka seemed so far away from her - but of course, this was the first time she had seen her and Shizuka hadn't yet noticed Sei - but Sei already felt that itch, that thirst that couldn't be satiated until it was too late and ruin fell upon both parties.

That hunger. The ambition to conquer, to seduce, to capture... and to make someone yours.

"Did you get a chance to talk to her? Kanina Shizuka, I mean?" asked Yumi, as she refilled Sei's cup of tea (for free, notably: usually Italian coffeehouses weren't big on refills, but as usual Yumi opened up early for Sei, and there was no one around. They considered this their regular little indulgence).

Sei stared at her blank notebook, vaguely aware of Yumi's hand tilting the teapot so that it poured the English Breakfast into her mug. She hadn't slept all night, and it felt good to be out and about in the early morning. "No. I was caught off-guard by the beauty of her voice, like everyone else." She rubbed her forehead tiredly. She felt slightly ashamed of the unpleasant feelings that had coiled around her heart that night, and she decided for the moment not to tell Yumi. But she was okay with recounting the events as they happened. "She's the real deal, Yumi-chan. They weren't just talking her up. I've never heard such a lovely, trained voice before."

Yumi smiled, looking quaintly cute in her black apron and white t-shirt and skirt. "If she's so good, then maybe you can take me with you to watch her sing."

Sei blinked, looking up at Yumi. "What a brilliant idea." She took up her mug and drank a few sips. "I could easily ask my editor for another ticket to next week's show. I've never taken you out on one of my work adventures before. I've got a lot of freedom in this job. Next week would be a perfect time to see Rome together." She beamed up at Yumi, who was really showering her with too much attention in this joint. "Bill, thanks."

Yumi stroked back her brown hair with one hand, her other holding a serving tray. Now that she was in university, she had left behind the pigtails long ago (and she wanted to look a bit older and more womanly among her fellow Italian waitresses). Her eyes shone as she shifted to walk to the counter, to get Sei's bill. Her back was turned to Sei when she opened to ask her an unusual question.

"Do you sometimes have lingering feelings for me, Sei?" she asked, pointedly dropping the honorific. She didn't turn to look at Sei's surprised expression.

The journalist smiled. "Don't be angry at me for my answer."

"Never."

"I will always have lingering feelings for you, even if I never get to touch even your hand or shoulder for the rest of my life. It's bull, you know? The idea you can completely forget about someone who never did an iota of wrong, who never really hurt you..." Sei stared wistfully at Yumi's long, flowing hair. "If you and I were just not meant to be, how could I ever have hated or tried to forget you for telling me that?"

Sei's grey eyes shone with kindness and compassion. Wow, she thought to herself. Yumi still thought about her, despite her deep and unsurpassable love for the heiress Sachiko. When did she ever deserve this small, minuscule victory over Sachiko? But this wasn't about winners and losers. This was about how your love for someone shaped you irrevocably into who you are, long after you've left each other. "I'm a sleazebag. You know that. But I will never, ever try to steal you from her. I wouldn't succeed, and I even if I did I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

"You seduce aristocracy and powerful people all the time," protested Yumi quietly.

"Yeah. Human dregs. Not like you or the other Lillian girls."

Yumi shook her head, walking away. "Trying to figure you out makes my brain hurt," she murmured, hugging her tray.

Sei smiled to herself. There was no question about it. She and Yumi still loved each other, in their own weird way. "Make this on the house?"

"Not even for you, Sei-san. Boss will kill me," called Yumi, punching in Sei's bill at the cashier. And with that playful rebuke, the curious moment between the two, like a bubble in time, had popped out of existence, and life returned to its laid-back, easy pace.

The Lady to Mary chapel is a small church on the outskirts of its mother institution, Vatican City. Sei didn't like visiting churches, because they reminded her of how her life was mired in meaningless crap and banality. Italian churches did beauty better than any others, elevating it to a way to reach the divine. It was a sharp contrast from the beauty Sei preferred to seek comfort in: curves, lips, panting breaths, and even sweeter things. The beauty of churches, in contrast, made her feel guilty. Damn Roman Catholics and their Original Sins. It pissed her off, the idea that shame followed you wherever you went. It wasn't so much that it wasn't a wrong idea (Sei knew about the weaknesses of people well enough), but simply that someone was always watching the mischief she got up to. "Screw you, Maria-sama," she muttered, rising out of her car and slamming shut the door. She shrugged to herself. When the person you cared most about was a celibate nun who had devoted her life to the Virgin Mary, you didn't have much choice but to see her on her territory.

She was waiting outside the chapel, in her nun's garb. So grim. So joyless, in contrast to her tender, loving, merciful countenance. She looked thinner than before, although it wasn't a kind of thinness one got from eating too little. This was a starvation of the soul, or perhaps the heart. Sei looked around before brisk-walking to the nun and pulling her into a gentle embrace. "Jesus. You're so light," whispered the journalist, nuzzling the side of Shiori's face. "You're so bloody frail."

Shiori's hands clutched Sei's shoulders, sending happy shivers down Sei's spine. "I've wasted away thinking about you. Your face is in my head more than God's voice." She put her head on Sei's chest, savouring the quickening heartbeat so evident underneath Sei's white shirt. "I'm going to hell, and I'm terrified. God's abandonment might be a bit less lonely if you were to suffer with me, though. How horrible am I?"

"It's not such a bad prospect," reassured Sei, kissing Shiori lightly on the lips. "But you're not as bad as you're making yourself out to be." She beamed down at her. "My sweet, angelic Shiori."

The disobedient nun looked up at Sei, smiling. "How has work been?" she asked, and Sei always dreaded that question.

"You don't want know," said Sei, and she meant it. Her smile turned sad. "You know how it's been for the past two years. My work... and your promise to me..."

"Confess, and you shall be forgiven," said Shiori, her hands on Sei's chest. "You know I'd rather know the truth than be lied to."

"It's as bad as you think it is," muttered Sei, suddenly unable to look at her the love of her life. This was why she sometimes hated seeing Shiori: Shiori's loving eyes and forgiving smile made her feel guiltier than anything that the world or God could throw at her, and the fact that Shiori knew that they couldn't share a bed with each other or make love to one another made it worse. The fact that Shiori knew all this and gave her blessing for Sei to sleep with others was a delightful compromise in theory, but actually made Sei feel like trash for accepting it. She felt lower than the dregs she talked so dismissively about to Yumi, the very people she mixed and socialized with every other day. "Shiori, I don't deserve you." Sei cradled Shiori in her arms, with a certain kind of quiet desperation. "Maria-sama has really screwed up to land you with someone like me. Yet we can't stop. We just can't stop."

Shiori closed her eyes. "You're right. So don't be too hard on yourself, my love. I'm sinfully complicit in this, and I can't let you go, no matter how hard I try. So I've locked myself up in this chapel to try and concentrate on serving God, but he allows me this terrible, secret indulgence..." Shiori looked back suddenly. "I must go," she whispered, releasing Sei. She looked at her beloved in fear. "Remember what we promised ourselves. No one will know about us unless we permit them to. And..."

"And I'm not betraying you by being with anyone else," finished Sei, hanging her head. This was why she didn't like coming here. She hated herself every time she did.

Shiori smiled, her hand clasped together in front of her. "I'm so happy you could come here, even for a short while. You must go now. few come around here except on Sundays. Don't lose sleep over us. I love you."

Sei laughed out loud, although it was more like a bark. "It's because you're like this, so damn sweet, that I lose sleep." She forced a smile and waved. "See you later." Shiori nodded and went back inside the chapel, her form disappearing behind the old wooden doors. She probably had vespers or some other event the sisters needed to attend to.

Sei got back in her car and stared at her hands on the steering wheel for several minutes before starting up the engine.

She had never touched Shiori's naked body in her life, yet she already desired so much from so many others.

She drove off, away from that hated chapel, where her beloved dwelled. It was literally a cloistered world in which she should have found forgiveness, and God knows Shiori was all too willing to offer it... yet she couldn't find the heart to accept it.

For now she was throwing herself headlong into the world of Roman decadence once more, into the mysterious eyes of her new target for her newspaper, Kanina Shizuka.

NEXT CHAPTER: SEI AND SHIZUKA: A CLASH OF POWER AND LUST...