Disclaimer: I don't own anything Phantom of the Opera (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.
AN: Here is the first chapter of my sequel to 'A Twist of Destiny.' I hope that everyone enjoys themselves, and that it meets everyone's expectations. Thanks so much for reading, and please review.
Chapter 1: Explanations:
Where I was, the world was perfect. In a dark, gently swaying railcar, I lay in a soft bed wrapped in the arms of the man who had asked me to marry him. I savored the sound of his breathing, his chest rising and falling beneath my head as I listened to the sound of his heartbeat. He wasn't sleeping, I knew; his fingers were even now combing through my hair, lulling me into a state of bliss.
"Are you happy, my angel?" he whispered into the darkness of the room.
I sighed and snuggled closer. Erik chuckled and hugged me tighter. For a while, there was only the sound of the wheels on tracks, and rarely, a horn sounding from the engine at the front. Luckily, it was a fair distance away from us, and the sound didn't bother me…much.
"Lissie?" Erik softly muttered to me. "Can you tell me if you are truly happy with me?"
He sounded so worried that I had to look up at him and smile. "Yes, Erik, I am happy," I replied, giving him a soft kiss on his nose.
Erik winced, but didn't move away. This was not the first time I had seen his face, but then, he did not know that; after all, it had been years ago and he had been sick with fever, so of course he did not remember. On that day, when his fever had broken, I had put the mask on his face and he'd never removed it in my presence since.
But tonight, after our first time joining together, he had removed his mask in my presence. I'd had to beg him to do it, but he'd given in, knowing it was inevitable.
I had expected that moment to be as dramatic as it was in the film, with exciting music sounding as he pulled his mask off, allowing me to see him for what he believed to be the first time. He had looked so sad, but also hopeful, as though praying that our many years of friendship would prevail over any disgust I felt for his true form.
There was no music, but there was relief in Erik's eyes as I pressed a kiss to the imperfect side of his face. His disfigurement measured about the size of my hand, fingertip to wrist, on the right side of his face, stretching from his hairline to just above his lip, and from his perfect ear to where his nose became part of his cheek. There, the flesh was red and bumpy, looking as though he'd been beaten and the bruises hadn't formed yet.
To me, it wasn't that bad, but to Erik, it was a mark that was both a nightmare and a curse. I considered myself honored to see him bear his face, and I was touched by how his fear of rejection was slowly melting away to ease and happiness.
"I cannot believe you accept me as I am," he whispered, still combing my hair with his fingers.
"Ah, but I have seen your face before, and it did not trouble me," I said, looking up at him. "Remember when you were sick with fever, that day I first came to your home? I saw you then, and you didn't frighten me, nor disgust me."
He gave me a surprised look that quickly softened to affection. "You are a marvelous woman, my love," he said, smiling.
"Hmm, I know," I said, laying my head down and closing my eyes. "And you'd better not forget it."
I fell asleep to the sound of my fiancé chuckling in my ears.
Our first breakfast together was spent in the little dining area of the railcar. After he'd magically produced a dress for me to wear, Erik prepared a meal in front of my eyes, a skill he admitted to have learned by covertly watching me for years. On the days when I hadn't visited his house, he'd taken to preparing his own food, using trial-and-error to recreate the foods I'd made, or to try and make them better. I had to admit, the herbed butter sauce he put over my eggs was exquisite.
"You could easily become a great chef if you choose, Erik," I said, sipping the hot chocolate he'd made (minus the drugs, thank you very much).
He waved aside my praise and sat back in his seat, smiling as he looked at me. "That is kind of you to say, but I will always prefer your cooking to mine."
Shaking my head in amusement, I set my empty cup aside and looked at him, really looked at him. Many questions were burning in my mind, and though our night together had been heavenly, it could only distract my attention for so long.
"Ah, I can see your mind working, my love," Erik said, grinning. "You want answers, but are thinking of the polite way to ask, of that I have no doubt. So, ask."
Well, I wanted an open door, and here it was, so why shouldn't I take it? Okay, first things first. I looked him in the eye and asked, "How on earth did you manage to organize this whole thing with the train?"
Erik claimed it had been rather simple, but as he spoke, I knew it was anything but. He, the man who had hidden away from the world, had actually done what he'd feared to do his entire life: he had gone out into the streets of Paris.
After spending two weeks brewing in anger over her praise of Antoinette's cousin, Erik had decided to take a more direct and drastic route to get what he wanted; and what he wanted was Lissie. Once he'd settled down and cleared his mind of his emotions, he tried to think clearly on how this might be done.
It had not been easy, but a long night of coming up with a plan, Erik set to rummaging through Monsieur Lefevre's desk to get exactly what he needed. Since Monsieur Lefevre was rich and well-connected, Erik had (correctly) guessed that the information he desired would be there. He found what he was looking for in the small box on top of the desk, where Monsieur Lefevre kept the business cards he acquired at parties he attended with his wife.
The next evening, Erik armed himself with a great deal of money in his pockets, as well as a business proposal. Hooded and cloaked, he traveled to the office of a Frenchman who was renowned for getting rich men anything they wanted –for a price, of course.
Naturally, the man, a Monsieur Laurent Buchard, did not flinch at the sight of a hooded, cloaked, mysterious stranger in his office –no doubt many of his 'clients' didn't want him to know who they were, or ask questions about their unusual requests, and wished to remain anonymous. Thus, when Monsieur Buchard heard Erik's venture and the amount of money that would be paid, he didn't even think about refusing.
Erik's demands were relatively simple: he wanted to rent a railcar, and attach it to a late-night train heading for Venice (or any city close to it). The railcar was to be fully stocked with food and drink, as well as clothing for us to wear. Also, the train was not to leave the station without Erik safely aboard.
Monsieur Buchard understood this perfectly, and agreed to make the arrangements for the date Erik provided him, no questions asked.
"But that is not all Monsieur Buchard has done for me," Erik smirked. "I also asked him to rent a house for us in Venice. Actually, it will most likely be a palace that once belonged to the Italian elite, as I only want the best for you."
I could not help but be impressed and flattered. "I cannot believe you would do all of that for me," I said, sitting back in my seat. "But why kidnap me? I would have come with you if you'd asked me to. And how on earth did you get me on the train?"
To my surprise, he blushed and looked properly ashamed. "Because I had no idea if you would accept my proposal," he admitted, looking away. "I did not know if you would allow me to woo you as any other man would, because I did not even know if you cared for me in that way. I had sincerely hoped that we would marry first, and you would grow to love me later."
Well, that made sense…sort of. Since neither Erik nor I were psychic, we couldn't know what the other would have done if he'd tried to ask me to dinner or anything romantic. In his world, kidnapping me probably seemed like the only solution to his problem, and he'd acted accordingly.
As for how he got me to the railcar, he explained, it was simple: he had rolled me up inside of a rug, stolen from one of the Populaire's store rooms, and hauled me there in the back of a cart (another courtesy of Monsieur Buchard). With me safely hidden from sight, and on the train without suspicion, Erik's plan was complete.
"I also took you because I did not like hearing your praise of Antoinette's cousin," Erik added, his voice tinged with jealousy.
I couldn't hold back a laugh. "You thought that I cared for Philippe that way?" I said, giggling. "Oh, Erik, you're so funny! Philippe is a nice man, to be sure, but it's not him that I love."
He moved to take a chair beside me, pulling me into a kiss that was full of love and need. We sat that way until we ran out of breath. Erik pulled away first, a satisfied, peaceful look on his face as he looked down at me.
"You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say you love me," he whispered.
I smiled and kissed him on the tip of his nose. "I have an idea. But what happens now? You said you wanted to marry as soon as we could in Italy, but afterwards…"
"We will wed when the train stops for a few hours in Italy. I am assured that there will be at least one such stop, and made the arrangements accordingly. After we're married, we will go to Venice and take a gondola to our rented villa, where we will stay until I can purchase one of our very own."
I stared at him. "You're going to buy an Italian villa?" I asked, amazed. "Do we really need a place that grand?"
Erik looked at me in disbelief. "Of course we do," he said, as though it were obvious. "I want us settled in a home of our own, and I do not intend to live in a tiny house with barely enough room to breathe."
He reached out and took my hands. "I also wish for you to have a life of leisure. Between training the ballerinas and taking care of your family and myself, you have spent too long working your hands and patience. I intend to make you the image of the pampered wife and give you everything you could want…and all that you deserve."
I blushed, embarrassed and flattered at the determination in Erik's voice. True, I had been working very hard for over twenty years, taxing my mind and body to take care of my family, of Erik, and to carry out Destiny's will, but I didn't mind the work.
'But maybe it won't be so bad being spoiled,' I thought as Erik pressed a kiss on top of my engagement ring.
Not that I'd let it change me. After all the years I'd spent watching the divas in the Populaire act like spoiled brats (or overly pampered cats), I definitely didn't want to turn out like them! Hopefully, Erik would be able to keep me from turning out badly.
"I have a gift for you," he suddenly declared, rising up to retrieve a box from the desk in the sitting room of the railcar.
I hadn't been expecting any gifts, but the content of the box was, to me, quite priceless. Inside was as small stack of books, clearly meant for me to read and pass the time. Obviously, Erik had no intention of us leaving the railcar until we arrived in Italy.
"Do you like them?" he asked, looking slightly anxious as he knelt beside me. "They are the latest novels from England, and I thought-"
I shushed him with a kiss. "Thank you," I said, caressing his cheek. "Now, would you like me to read to you, or have you some art to work on?"
Grinning, he kissed me quickly and stood up. "I suggest that you take care of a few important things before you are lost in those books, dearest Lissie –namely that you compose a letter to your mother, explaining things before she brings Paris to its knees looking for you. I left a message of my own for her, but I doubt she will be very understanding of our situation. It might be best for you to write her and explain."
That made me wince. "A valid point," I sighed, looking at my books. "Very well. Is there a pen and paper?"
Hours later, I hadn't gotten further than the date, and Dearest Mama scribbled onto the pristine white sheet. Erik sat at the large desk, which better suited his tall form, and I was situated at a smaller table in the corner, with nothing to show for the large passage of time. I had eaten lunch and an afternoon tea over the blank piece of paper, but as the daylight began to fade, I still had nothing. Meanwhile, I had heard scribbling coming from Erik's desk all day, which was frustrating.
Finally, I set down my pen and closed my eyes, attempting to clear my head so that I could get my act together. Breathing deep, I sat back in my chair and let myself fall into a slight doze, the rhythm of the train swaying me like a baby in a cradle. It was rather relaxing, so I didn't notice that Erik had stopped working and approached me until I felt his fingers on my shoulders.
"You have written nothing down, my love," he whispered, moving his fingers to massage my neck.
I sighed. "Well, no one said it would be easy. What am I supposed to tell her? Not to mention how do I tell her all this in a note?"
Erik pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "Write as I did to the managers of the Opera House," he suggested. "Be straightforward."
As he left me, my eyes flew open. Erik was right; I should just tell what happened, how Erik and I felt about one another, and that we were getting married. And since photos could now be taken, I might send Mama a picture of Erik and me together in Italy, and that should be enough evidence that we were happy.
As Erik went to prepare dinner (something I still can't believe he can do), I sat and scribbled down a rough draft of what I wanted to say. I finished just as the plates were being set on the table, and after we'd eaten our way through sliced beef and garlic potatoes, I went to refine my letter. Erik helped by reading through my final draft and providing corrections.
"What shall we do with this now?" he asked as I signed and sealed it. "Shall you send it at the next stop, or wait until we are wed?"
"I was hoping to wait and send a portrait of us," I admitted. "Can we do that in Venice, once we settle into the villa you've rented?"
He thought about it a moment. "We may wait and send a photograph from Venice. There will be someone waiting for us at the station, and they will take us to the villa." He smiled at my skeptical look. "Since we are the only ones in a rented rail car, I think he will know us when we step onto the platform."
I shook my head. "You really have thought of everything for this venture, haven't you?"
Erik reached out and pulled me close. "Almost. We still have to find a priest who will marry us, and I fear you will lack a wedding gown, though there are several dresses in the wardrobe that should suit the occasion."
"I'm sure there are," I said, standing on tip-toe to kiss the adorable clef in his chin. "But in the meantime, will you read to me? I like hearing the sound of your voice."
"I live to please," he replied, sitting me down in a chair. "What would you like me to entertain you with this evening?"
As we lay in bed, I stared up at the ceiling and nibbled my bottom lip, losing myself deep in thought as my husband-to-be slept beside me.
Actually, that was the problem: my fiancé.
It wasn't that I regretted accepting Erik's proposal; I was beyond happy that he loved me as I loved him. However, that didn't stop the blossoming feeling of guilt I now had growing inside, as well as a dozen questions I didn't know if I could (or wanted) to answer.
Should I tell Erik everything about myself, starting with the fact that I was from the future? Do I tell him about my being sent here into the past, and into another body, all in order to carry out the work of the great-and-powerful Destiny? How do I tell him that the only reason I was here was to make sure he turned out a better man and help him find love –which, in the end, turned out to be me?
Closing my eyes, I tried to fight back tears. I loved Erik like I'd never loved anyone else. How could I keep such a huge secret like this from him? Didn't he have a right to know? Shouldn't our marriage be built on truth? How could I live with myself, knowing that I had kept such information from my husband?
Then there was Erik's reaction when he found out. He might be flattered that Destiny had taken an interest in him, if only for the sake of his happiness. For such a powerful being to take interest in him might make Erik feel a bit more confident in himself, which was something he needed.
On the other hand, he might be furious that I'd befriended him simply because I'd been ordered to do so. He might think that I was marrying him out of duty to Destiny, not because I actually loved him, and that, I knew, would break his heart.
'No, it's best if I keep quiet,' I decided.
If Destiny wanted it otherwise, she'd tell me. Right now, I would do what I wanted: become Erik's wife, and settle into a new life in Venice.
Closing my eyes, I snuggled down under the sheets to fall fast asleep.
AN: There is chapter one! I hope that it met everyone expectations, but I promise more fun in the future, so don't worry. Please be kind and review. Thanks!