AUTHOR'S NOTE:: Thanks to everybody who read the first two chapters of this story, even though it wasn't many people, comparatively. Haha. So anyways. Obviously this is Chapter 3 of The Hardest Part is Knowing What to Call It. Sorry I didn't put up an author's note on the first two chapters, and for that little spoiler at the end of Chapter 2. I forgot to cut that off the upload document. But anyways, here y'all go, chapter 3. Read and review please. I do so love getting feedback. And if you have any story suggestions shoot me a PM. I'll do my best to respond ASAP. But I digress. ENJOY!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters except Amelia, her mother and the dressmaker from Chapter 2. Everyone else belongs to Andrew Lloyd Weber and Gaston LeRoux.
Chapter Three
Erik paced, impatient. It was ten fifty-five. Where was she? All day he had been consumed with thoughts of her. Her sleeping face as she held his hand. The small smile she had given him when he told her his name. The liquid beauty of her eyes. Amelia Hyatt had filled his mind to the extent that with the thought of her, his music would either pour out of him like lifeblood or simply not come forth at all.
A shrill creak resounded, breaking the silence. Erik froze, tense and ready to spring if need be; praying it wasn't her, not her, not this strange, proud, unreal creature who so entranced him without his even knowing it.
Amelia stepped through the dressing room door, closing it behind her. "I apologize if I'm a little bit late." She began. "I got waylaid." She let the dark shawl from her shoulders and fall around her elbows. She stepped closer to him, and he could almost smell the fragrant perfume of her skin. "I'm here, though, as promised."
Erik stepped back a little, farther into the dark where she couldn't see his face heat up. He had thought before that she was not equal to Christine; he was right. This sort of dark elegance surpassed anything Christine could have exuded. He drank in her image, part of him wondering if it was just his imagination exaggerating or if what he was seeing was really real.
He hid his astonishment at her beauty and bowed once, politely. "Good evening, then. You kept your promise. "
She looked shrewdly at him. "I just said I kept the promise. Were you not listening?"
Erik cursed himself silently for letting her distract him so. "Yes. I was."
Amelia laughed, a dark, throaty sound. "And what do you plan to do with me tonight, Monsieur?" A half-smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Carry me down the river Styx like Persephone and Charon?"
He regarded her for a moment. Then, with catlike grace, he slipped past her so he stood between her and the door.
He held out a hand for her. "Come with me."
Amelia looked unwary at first. He was, after all, the Phantom. But then the look melted away. Staring directly into his eyes, she slipped her hand –thin, delicate ivory thing that it was—into his, and nodded.
Amelia was stupefied to find herself almost swooning over him. Despite whatever monster the de Chagnys had made him out to be, the Phantom, Erik, was still an unbelievably handsome man. There was something about him, even in his mere presence, that she found captivating. She mused over this enigma as he led her through the same halls she had wandered down the night before. Finally, he led her to a large mahogany door.
Before he opened it, he pulled out a length of black satin cloth and covered her eyes with it.
"Do not open them until I say so." He told her coolly.
She smiled, amused. "I wonder why?"
He gave no answer. She could hear keys jingling, locks turning, and then a creak as the door was opened. Erik took her hands and led her forward. She had taken twenty steps forward when Erik stopped her and untied the blindfold.
She opened her eyes and gasped unconsciously. The grand ballroom had somehow been untouched by the fire. She stood at the head of a wide staircase, looking out over the opulence of the marble and gold chamber.
"My god…" She breathed. "How…" She turned, expecting to find Erik behind her, but not so. She cast about again, only to find him waiting in the center of the floor for her, hands clasped behind his back. She thought she saw him smiling, or at least smirking.
"Tonight," he called up to her, his smooth tenor carrying through the vast room, "We dance."
Erik watched, mesmerized, as she descended the stairs.
She seemed unaccustomed to such grandeur, and yet looked so natural when accompanied by it. Needless to say, the dress she wore was more than enough to make her seem regal as it was. Her figure was quite lovely. He longed to have her in his arms again, even if the first time was just a mistake. He shuddered to think of Christine in such a gown. And yet… something seemed off about her; as if she was not just unaccustomed to the magnificence, but made uncomfortable by it. He wondered what it was.
Amelia strolled across the floor, noiseless save for the swish of her skirts. She gazed about the room, picking at her fingernails as she walked. She stopped before him, again close enough he could smell the cold fragrance of her skin.
"I'll have you know I'm not much of a dancer." She stated flatly.
Erik shrugged. "We can easily remedy that."
"And we have no music."
"Do you seek to get out of spending time here?"
She stared at him, a shocked expression on her face. "No. I am merely stating facts, for your benefit."
Erik regarded her coolly. "I can help you become a better dancer, and I know music."
Amelia scanned his face as if looking for something she could not find. "Then I have no reason to protest." She laid a hand on his shoulder. "You will lead?"
He nodded, and carefully wrapped an arm around her waist, taking her other hand into his. He guided her across the floor, humming a monologue from one of the operas he'd learned as a child. Their eyes never left each other's. It was almost as if she trusted him completely. He so wished she did. He could never tell her that, but he wished it anyways. It seemed an eternity had passed, yet in one fleeting moment of reality.
He watched her out of his peripherals and noticed she was beginning to tire. He whirled her around one last time, and halted.
"How are you feeling?" He asked quietly.
She gave him a warm smile. His heart tried to leap out of his chest. "A little tired. You're an excellent dancer, Erik."
He nodded demurely. "Thank you. Would you like to sit?" He gestured to a grand piano just beyond the corner of the room.
"Only if you will play for me." She murmured sleepily, suppressing a yawn. "I'll not interrupt."
Erik gave her a half a smile. "Very well."
She yawned again. He smiled fully and took her arm, gently guiding her to the piano bench. She sat straight, with her hands folded neatly in her lap.
Erik spread his fingers out over the keys and let the music take over. He forgot everything save the keys, the pitches, the melodies and harmonies… It washed out of him like waves on a shore, crashing down and yet still soothing. After a few minutes he looked over at Amelia. She certainly looked tired. She was smiling, but her eyelids were drooping. Erik supported her with his shoulder, tapering into a soft, slower lullaby, then, for reasons he knew not why, into Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata". She fell against his arm, finally asleep. Erik stopped and sat for a moment, watching her. She was so peaceful, calm. He wondered what she saw in him that made her decide to return tonight. Perhaps, he guessed, it was just fear of the Phantom. He frowned, hating himself for daring think it might have been anything else. There was no way it could have been…
She stirred, breaking off his train of thought. She rubbed her eyes and yawned hugely, in a way he thought unbecoming of a woman.
"Hello, sleeping beauty." He gave her a half-smile and watched, bemused, as she stood and straightened her dress out. He closed the piano and leaned on an elbow, still smiling.
"How long was I asleep?" She fussed with her hair self-consciously, shooting little glances at him.
"Not long." He stood and led her by the waist to the stairs.
"Not long. I see." She gave him a sideways glance. "Do you have the time, Erik?"
He reached into his coat and pulled out a shiny gold watch. "It is close to half past midnight. The night has only just begun. Were you thinking of leaving me so soon, Amelia?"
She chuckled and slipped her arm into his as they strolled down the silent halls. Erik thought back to the innumerable young lovers he'd watched cavorting in the moonlight, from his hiding place atop the theater's roof. He wondered if this was what it felt like, this strange jumble of feelings. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was beautiful, he decided. It seemed to him, though, that she didn't know it. She certainly never presumed on it.
"I left my book in Box Five last night. " She said suddenly.
"Would you like to fetch it?"
"I'll get it eventually."
Erik nodded, drawing her closer to him. "If you want." Outside the theater, thunder rolled ominously. "However, I will not allow you to leave now," he continued, "because if you do, you will catch cold and I will not have you traispsing along the streets of Paris in the pouring rain."
She shook her head, smiling. "You sound like my mother. Here, I have an idea." She took off in a rush of dark skirts, heading for the boxes. Erik followed behind her, a shadow in a black suit. She threw open the door of Box Five and appraised the room with her hands on her hips.
"Where is it?" She mumbled, poking around the box, looking under seats and behind curtains.
Erik stood in the doorway and watched her, interested. In reality he knew exactly where her book was. It was sitting on his writing desk, open where he had left off reading it.
She gave up looking and sighed. A sheen of sweat glistened on her skin. Then she noticed Erik standing in the doorway with an expression of amusement on his face.
"You know where they are, don't you? You took them out of the box last night." She rounded on him, half-incredulous.
"It's still my theater, after all. I can do as I please."
"That doesn't include steal my books!"
"You were also trespassing in my box."
"But, I didn't have to come back tonight." She countered. "I could have lied to you and instead stayed at that blasted party and suffered through so much boring society conversation until I was sure my brain was going to rot out my ears. If you want me to keep coming back here every night you've got an odd way of showing it." She stormed off, throwing her shawl around her head and shoulders, heading for the door despite the fact that it was still pouring down rain outside. Erik shook his head and took off after her. Her fits could almost put La Carlotta to shame, if she was still living.
"Amelia!" He called after her. She stopped, albeit reluctantly.
"What do you want now?" She spat
"Would it make you less angry to know that your book is lying open on my desk, because I was reading it last night?"
She gave him a look that could melt diamond. "Erik, if you'd have just been straight forward in the first place instead of standing there smirking…" She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes. That makes me a little less mad. I wish you'd have just told me, though, instead of being so sly about it."
He nodded, but didn't apologize. "Very well. Shall we go and fetch it then?"
Her voice still bore traces of her ire. "Yes let's."
Hopefully not too fluffy. Chapter Four is in the works, along with a major plot twist. Be kind, rewind—er, review, and stay tuned for the next chapter. Ciao!