Chapter 1
The thunder of applause drew Meg to the head of the head of the stage. The smiles and calls of appreciation from every seat were like the warm embrace of a long absent friend. Staring out at the faces in the crowd, she knew that she had been gone far too long. As she took her bow, her eyes trailed up to the top most box. She couldn't see Erik, but she knew he was there watching her. For a moment, she gave him a silent acknowledgement, her hand set lightly on her heart. Turning her radiant smile back to the crowd, she quickly backed away with the rest of the corps. Roses and bouquets hit the boards at her feet until the curtain dropped. Accepting embraces from everyone around her, she found herself staring longingly at the heavy curtain. She wanted to do it all over again. It was the happiest she had been since_.
Pushing her sadness back, she continued accepting the kindness and kisses on her cheek as she made her way off the stage. Madame Giry and Labreau were waiting.
"Perfection ma chere." Labreau bent down to give her their customary kiss on both cheeks.
"That final pirouette was sloppy," Madame Giry said, handing her a cloth.
Meg smiled dryly. "Thank you Mama."
Labreau towered over Madame Giry. "As the Director of this opéra house I_."
"Interim director," she reminded him, handing Meg a glass of water.
"Interim or not. I am Director," he countered. "I found nothing at all wrong with her performance. Sometimes I think you should have been one of those nasty critics in the newspapers who hate everything."
Laughing, Meg and began her escape. "I'll remove myself from the crossfire. Excuse me." Leaving them to continue their personal brand of foreplay, she hurried to shut the door to her dressing room. After wiping her face clean, she rushed to unlace her slippers. In the quiet of her dressing room, she was able to fully sink into the pleasure of the night. Almost year had passed since her last performance. It was hard to believe she had staid away for that long. As that thought passed, her mind went dark again. She let the satin laces of her slippers drop from her fingers. Tears stung her eyes as her mind left the theater, for the oak lined cemetery, and the small grave guarded by a stone angel.
Shaking her head, she whispered to herself, "No. Not tonight." Tonight was too good. Too joyous to allow her grief to overtake her again. She had promised herself that night would be a new beginning for her. For she and Erik, and for Lucia. She turned to the small silver framed picture of their 8 year old daughter. She was very much her doppelganger; blonde, wide set green eyes, little mouth shaped like cupid's bow. The sadness that had come for her slowly retreated at the sight of Lucia's smile. Her heart filled up again.
The door shot open, as loud talk and laughter poured in from outside as Madame Giry entered. Her slender arms were weighted down by a heavy bouquet of velvety red roses, elegantly bound together by a black satin ribbon. She didn't need to ask who sent them. She took them from Madame Giry and inhaled the gorgeous scent, before setting them aside.
"He's still waiting in the box," she asked, hurrying to wipe the rest of her make up away.
"As usual," Madame Giry sighed taking the pins out of her hair. "Have you spoken to him yet about the invitation?"
The invitation. Meg's smile withered. "Yes. And he doesn't want to go."
"Did you tell him that you already accepted it?"
"Yes. He wasn't happy, of course."
Madame Giry scoffed. "Did you explain to him that it came directly from the wife of the President of Mexico?"
Meg rolled her eyes. "You know that titles mean nothing to Erik. She might as well have been the wife of some poor fisherman. I told him that I would only be in Mexico City two weeks."
"And he wasn't satisfied?"
"No. It will be the first time we've been apart since before we were married. He worries it will upset Lucia."
"Lucia is like us. She will be fine," Madame Giry assured her in her warmest maternal tone. "Think of what a great opportunity this will be for you."
"And a chance for you to travel." Meg raised a brow, handing her the heavy gold handled brush.
Madame Giry's smile declared her guilt as she brushed out the buttery curls. "Who wouldn't want to travel to Mexico City as a guest of the president? To be wined and celebrated all over?"
Meg raised her shoulders. "Perhaps."
Madame Giry let out an irritated sigh. "It's time for you to be happy. Eventually, Erik will understand how good this will be for you."
Meg sighed, as she glanced over at the crimson blooms. "I hope so."
From their box, Erik watched the last of the crowd exit from opéra. It was part of he and Meg's routine. Labreau would reserve the box for him, and he would arrive quietly after the rest of the audience was seated. That didn't always keep him from coming face to face with other patrons. They would look at him, not with fear or confusion, but with curious admiration. He would incline his head and quickly make his way upstairs. As he went he would hear their whispers behind him.
"That's Monsieur De Laval. Meg Giry's husband."
"The one who saved her from that fire?"
Thanks to Labreau's assumptions about his mask's origin, he was no longer a freak, but a local legend. A hero, and not a villain. Madame Giry also did her part to help spread Labreau's assumptions about how Erik heroically rescued Meg from the fire set by a crazed former suitor. No one knew what really happened that night, and that Meg was the one who saved him, and herself. Yes, his new back story was a fiction, but a necessary one. It had been nine years since the fire happened. Eight years since Lucia was born. And almost a year since they lost Angelique. A sudden flashback of that horrible night came too fast for him to stop it; Him sitting beside Meg as Lysette, carried her little body away in a white linen sheet.
Forcing himself back into the present, his mind went to Lucia. Yes, Lucia was his tiny star. She never failed to make him smile or to feel like his heart would burst from pride. When she arrived, it was clear who she favored. She was Meg reborn. Like the other Giry women, she had a natural moxie and confidence. Nothing and no one seemed to intimidate her. Not the dark. Not strangers. Nothing. For a time, he wondered if there was anything of him inside her. When she was four, their connection finally revealed itself. Madame Giry decided that her granddaughter would follow in their footsteps. She would be a world class ballerina! Both she and Meg brought her along to rehearsals, trying to get Lucia to dance. But, Lucia would have none of it. One day, she abandoned her tiny white satin ballet shoes, and went her own way, straight to the opéra cast. As their soprano Mariela Di Santo hit a high note, she thought she heard an echo. When their bass baritone found the source of her "echo" everyone was amazed. To Madame Giry's bitter disappointment, Lucia didn't care about dancing. All she wanted to do was sing. He quietly, and with some degree of smugness, took full credit for that. Having sung to her every night since she was born, she was his most devoted audience. Now, at eight years old, she was already a natural born diva. A diva who would one day take on the Carlotta Giudicelli's of the world, and win. He couldn't have been prouder.
The sound of Meg's footsteps on the stairs brought him back to the present. He couldn't ignore the anxious fluttering of his heart as he watched the door. There was an argument between them on the carriage ride there. One he hoped was already behind them, and wouldn't need to be revisited. The door opened, and he rose to meet her. The smile she brought into the box gave him some ease.
"A triumph," he said, reaching for her hand to kiss it. "I am so proud of you."
She took him by the hand and led him back to their seat. "I'm glad. Mama had a critique. of course."
"Of course," he laughed. "Antoinette is never fully satisfied, as you well know."
Tucking her feet under her grey velvet gown, she turned serious. "Mama will be accompanying me to Mexico City."
He nodded, his smile tight. "Good. I'm glad she is able to go with you."
She squeezed his hand. "I really wish you would reconsider coming with me."
"There is no need to keep discussing this," he sighed.
Her mask of gentleness cracked as her anger leaked through. "I don't understand why you refuse to consider it. Your life in Paris is far behind you. Everything is different. You are finally living out in the open. You_."
"And it took a very long time for me to get there. Yes, I'm comfortable here in New Orleans now. But, Mexico City is another world."
"I'm not asking you to come out and dance with me," Meg groaned. "All I want is to share this experience with you!"
"What use is it for me to be there if all I do is stay closed up in a suite?" Another argument was on the cusp of her lips, but he put a finger to them to silence her. "As I said before, I'm not ready. Perhaps, I will be in the future. But, not right now. Besides, Lucia needs one of us here."
Meg turned her head away, lips pursed. "Of course. I understand. I'll just have to work on accepting it."
He refused to let their talk end that way. Leaning in, he stroked the back of her neck in a particular spot that he knew would coax a smile. "Do you know what I'm reminded of every time I step into this box?"
A smile tweaked the corner of her mouth. "That night you first came here to watch me dance." She turned her head to look at him again. "It ended with me in nothing but my dancing slippers."
The memory drew them closer together. It was when everything was still so new and all they wanted was to be close to each other. The sound of foot steps and Madame Giry's voice blew out the flame that was slowly growing between them.
"Meg!"
"What does she want now," Meg hurried up from her seat as Erik grabbed hold of her hand.
He whispered in a voice thick with passion, "Get rid of her."
Meg went to the door in time to keep Madame Giry from letting herself in. "What is it?"
"There is an important guest waiting to meet you backstage. Labreau promised him an introduction." Meg looked over her shoulder at Erik, and then back at her mother's determined face.
"Come quickly," Madame Giry ordered, before hurrying back down the narrow staircase.
Meg slammed the door shut, giving Erik a look of apology. "I'm sorry mon amour. I have to go and do my duty."
Erik rose from his seat and gathered up his cloak, his face taut with frustration. "Of course. I'll be waiting downstairs with Henri."
"I'll try to get away as quickly is I can." Then she was gone.
Erik looked around the small space as he slipped on his cloak. As he did he began thinking that he would have done anything to return them to their first night in that space. It was a moment in their love when they both decided that they wouldn't allow anything to get between them. But, at that moment, it seemed that life was determined to do just that.
"Ah! There she is, at last." She noted the slight irritation in Labreau's voice as she approached. Standing beside him was a dark haired gentleman dressed in a long houndstooth coat with a furred collar, a bowler hat in his tanned hands. The eyes that met hers were dark, almost black. He flashed a startlingly white smile as he inclined his head. She tried not to stare.
"Don Antonio Conteras y Castello, this is the incomparable Meg Giry, our principal dancer."
She inclined her head and extended her hand. "Don Antonio. I'm honored to meet you."
"The honor is mine, I assure you Mademoiselle Giry." The dark eyes lingered on her face as he let her hand go. "I have to say that I haven't seen dancing as impressive as yours since my visit to St. Petersburg."
Meg laughed. "I don't think I'm quite at that level. But, thank you all the same."
Madame Giry inserted herself. "I was telling Don Antonio about our upcoming trip to Mexico City. It seems his sister is wife to the Mexican Ambassador."
"Perhaps we will have the chance to meet her when we are there," Meg proposed, her eyes wandering to the exit door nearby.
"She is the reason I came, actually." He smiled somewhat shyly as he looked at her. "Last year, she saw you dance in Coppelia, and she raved about you. I think that was what prompted President Diaz's wife to extend an invitation."
"I will have to thank her when I meet her," Meg said, taking a step back. "It was good to meet you Don Antonio."
"Perhaps, I will see you again when you are in Mexico City," he said.
"Of course. Now, I must be going," she said, turning on her heel. "Good night!"
She knew that she would hear a lecture from her mother about her abrupt exit, but she was ready to leave. Henri was at the exit ready to tip his felt hat and open the carriage door for her. Once she was inside, she sank into the velvet seat behind her, and slipped off the black leather slippers. Erik smiled as he watched her unwind.
"So who was this important guest you had to meet," he asked.
Meg shut her eyes. "Some young Don with far too much money."
She heard Erik grunt in reply as Henri drove them out of the city. Even with her eyes closed she knew where they were. The voices, music and sounds of New Orleans had faded out and were overtaken by the call of some lone bird and the wind. Through her skirts, she felt the heavy warmth of Erik's hand dropping onto her thigh. A silent signal to her that he was ready to resume what had started back in the opéra box. She opened her eyes, at the feeling of his hands moving up to her waist. He pulled her in fast, the space between their bodies disappearing.
She laughed softly as his mouth went to her neck. "We can't."
"Why not," he whispered.
"Henri," she whispered back.
"I'll be quiet," he promised.
"That would be impossible for both of us," she said.
He grazed the delicate flesh of her earlobe with his teeth. "Try me."
She exhaled, feeling that long dormant heat between her thighs. It took her over as she straddled him. Her hands went to the waist of his trousers and he lifted her skirts. They moved quickly, their longing and missing pushing their bodies into one. For so long her body felt dead, and her desire for anything buried. Now, her desire was awakened and taking on a life of its own; crawling and burning its way under every inch of her skin. She ground her hips into him, riding with the rhythm of the carriage as it swayed and bounced down the dark road. He buried his face in her breasts, trying to stifle a deep groan as his body shuddered underneath her. She followed him, her body opening up as the pleasure poured out of her in gasps and moans. Slowly, they both came down together, their bodies tangled together in silence.
"Mon Dieu," she breathed, her head dropping onto his shoulder.
"Do you still want to leave me for two weeks," he whispered.
She lifted her head, and saw that he was smiling. "If you come with me, then we can do nothing, but this for two weeks."
Laughing, he let his hands drop to her hips. "Or you can decline the invitation and we can still do this for two weeks."
Touching her forehead to his, eye to eye, she whispered, "I'm still going."
"Then we will have to make up for lost time when you return." He kissed her gently.
"I won't be leaving for another 3 weeks," she reminded him, pulling up her bodice.
"True," he said, passing a finger from her cheek down to her mouth. "Would you like to embarrass Henri again?'
She eased herself off his lap and onto the seat beside him. "We're almost home. More later."
He took her hand and brushed the soft skin with his lips. "Of course."
Their hands remained locked together, resting in the space between them. Despite their mutual desire to keep their minds on each other and the future, they knew what was coming. As much as they both tried to ignore it, they both saw the spire of the old church, and the cast iron gates that led into the cemetery, to the place where their little girl rested. Angelique never saw either of their faces, or even took a breath outside her mother's body. Rather than lay her in the brass crib in the sunny nursery that overlooked their garden, she was laid in a small white casket in the cold ground. Neither of them could bring themselves to go back there. Only Lucia and Lysette made a weekly vigil to bring her flowers from their garden. As the carriage rolled past, his hold on her hand tightened. Nothing more was said.