Chapter 10: A Name

Nataly perched anxiously on the edge of her velvet box seat surrounded by a couple friends and some important acquaintances. The box she was seated in was on the far upper right, so she could see a bit into the left offstage area, and saw that one of the ropes was slack—meaning one of the pulleys tucked backstage was stuck. It had happened once before in rehearsal and she knew that if none of the crew members backstage caught the problem, it would ruin the two final scenes.

Still seeing no one correct the problem, Nataly excused herself with a very quiet whisper and exited the box from behind. She moved through the narrow, dark corridors, darting through back hallways towards the back of the stage from behind as quietly as possible. She felt her way behind a wooden wall to where the pulleys were rigged and tried to see in the blackness. From the stage in front, she could hear Lousia's lovely voice rising up.

As she moved toward where she knew the problem to be, the floor boards creaked, giving away someone else's presence, and her outstretched hand touched the fingertips of someone else's outstretched hand.

Two intakes of breath, two hands pulled back in surprise.

"Hello?" Nataly whispered cautiously.

"It's me," came the Phantom's soft voice.

"Of course it is," she breathed, her blood humming.

"I saw the problem from out there as well," he said softly. "Let me fix it." His deft hands found the ropes in the dark and quickly loosened them and the metal fastenings. "There."

"Thank you…" Not knowing exactly where he was, she moved forward slowly, hands in front of her. When they touched him, she splayed her fingers lightly on his chest. "There you are," she whispered. He smelled heady, like leather with a touch of sweat.

The blackness, the closeness, and the ringing beauty of the opera being movingly sung from the stage so close seemed to affect them both in the same way. He placed his gloved hands on her hips and she leaned forward against him. They could see nothing; there was only touch and breath. Everything before, every word and touch they had exchanged, seemed now a tide that had been kept back and building, and now its force could not be turned.

Her hands slid upward until they touched his neck, his face.

"Nataly…" he murmured. The sound traveled down into her bones, warmed them, and left a deep ache. She felt his breath on her face as his head lowered toward her. Their noses touched, and then their lips. Heat and electricity surged through her body, keeping thought an impossibility. She felt a whimper rise in her throat and escape. Her hands rested limply on his shoulders; she had forgotten the existence of anything but their mouths.

He sighed, low and deep, and she felt her body respond—she clenched deliciously between her legs. Her tongue moved lightly against his bottom lip and he took her whole mouth with his, consuming her, his arms tight around her body. She wanted to sink into him and never part from that embrace.

The pulleys began to move beside them, but Nataly was deaf to it. He was the entire world in that moment. His scent, his taste, his touch was all she had room for.

There was the sudden creak of approaching footsteps and suddenly the Phantom had let her go and was moving away from her. Nataly reached out blindly but her fingertips only grazed his disappearing figure. The footsteps were close now.

"Hello?" someone whispered.

"Hello, yes, it's me," she whispered back, unable to keep a hoarse, breathless note of longing out of her voice. Her heart was pounding madly.

"MademoiselleBenoit?"

"Yes—is it Franz?"

"Yes, mademoiselle. Why are you—is something wrong? The pulleys?"

"I just fixed them. They had gotten stuck again and I knew they needed to be righted before this act."

"Oh, mademoiselle, thank you, I'm so sorry I didn't check—that could have ruined—"

"It's quite alright, but if you would kindly watch them for the rest of the performance, I should like to get back to my seat."

"Of course, mademoiselle, of course."

"Thank you, Franz." Their blind and whispered conversation ended, Nataly very slowly and cautiously made her way out from the dark backstage. Her heart was still beating too fast and she kept hoping that a black gloved hand would slip into hers out of nowhere and pull her against him again. She didn't want it just to be a kiss in the dark; she wanted to kiss him in every way, everywhere…

She closed her eyes briefly as she was walking. She should not have put the match to that blaze, but at the moment she certainly could not regret it. It might destroy everything. It was exactly what she had known she needed to avoid. There was no avoiding it now. And God help her, she didn't want to. He lit her veins afire. Not only that, but she felt… She cared for him. Wanted to protect him same as she desired protection.

She laughed to herself a little. As much as she cared for her opera and doing her duty as a lady of society, all she wanted to do was find him again and have him wrap her up in his arms. She shivered. Did she even really know the man? But she remembered the night in the stable and warm affection replaced her doubts. His secret was hidden kindness, not cruelty.

She returned to her box seat and whispered to the curious women around her about the necessity of liberating the ropes backstage. They all raised their fine eyebrows in appreciation. To them that must have sounded like high adventure and excitement. Nataly couldn't help but feel a little condescending of the ladies around her at the moment; Madame Laroche of her same age had not even known who had written Anna Karenina when Nataly brought it up in conversation earlier in the evening.

By the time the opera had finished, Nataly had become swept up again in its tragic plot and wept along with every other lady at its ending. Her heart was full of pride in her cast and crew. It had been a beautiful performance, far more powerful than their last had been. She stood and applauded along with every other audience member. Then she escorted those in her box down to the gallery wing where much of the audience was moving down to. The congratulations and compliments began and did not cease. Her cheeks began to ache from all her genuine smiles and she noticed that couples in the gallery were more affectionate toward their partners than usual. Romantic tragedies always made people feel amorous.

She allowed herself only one glass of champagne, and the second one she was offered she held for at least an hour and a half, always holding it up in apology when young men attempted to offer her more. The roses she always accepted, however—she loved them—although she always remarked that her cast and crew deserved them more. By the time the number of guests in the gallery began to dwindle, she had a handsome bouquet in her arm.

She put down her warm glass of champagne to kiss goodbye all her remaining guests. One particular guest lingered—and his lips lingered on her cheeks as he kissed her goodbye in front of the doors.

"Have a wonderful evening, Monsieur Durand."

"Please, Nataly, call me Jean. We're friends, are we not?" He gave her a winning smile, one she was sure often got him what he wanted. He was extraordinarily handsome and it had made him cocksure.

"Friends, monsieur?" She looked at him with mild surprise. "I only know your first name because you've just now told it to me."

He smirked, his eyes sparkling. "The first step toward becoming so. And what could help this blossoming friendship along than dining with my parents and me this Tuesday evening?"

"I have an engagement this Tuesday I'm afraid, monsieur. Perhaps another day this week would also suit Monsieur and Madame Durand?" She had no such engagement, and though courtesy forbid her refusal of such an offer, she could still make it on her own terms. She disliked the idea of having to bear the Durands for an entire evening; his parents were cold, arrogant people—some of her father's least favorite since even before she was born.

"Hmm." Her polite decline had taken him by surprise. "Perhaps Thursday? I shall have to confer with my parents and then I shall send you word."

"Please do, monsieur, I will be pleased to dine with your family." She had carefully chosen to once again call him 'monsieur' and to say his 'family' instead of 'you'. Her verbal parries had not taken him down as many pegs as she had hoped, however. He still gave her a smile as he replied, "I will be delighted as well, I'm sure," and closed the door behind him.

She went to the window, and when she saw him climbing into a carriage she growled to the empty entrance hall, "Arrogant hound. I will not be barked up a tree." She marched moodily back into her theatre.

They were cleaning up. She walked to the stage upon the edge of which sat an opened bottle of red wine. She turned and lifted it up, calling out happily, "Everyone!" They all turned toward her, grinning, and most of her cast came out from backstage to hear her.

"Like everyone else in this theatre tonight, I wept at the end of that beautiful performance. You all did so well. I'm so proud of what we can all accomplish together and grateful of the talent of each and every one of you. I hope you're celebrating tonight. Leave the cleaning until tomorrow. Have a cheers!" She lifted the bottle up and laughter and shouts of cheer went up with it. Her leading man came out from backstage with bottles of wine and champagne in his arms and, laughing and cheering, everyone distributed them.

"And to our beautiful Mademoiselle Benoit!" called out young, lanky Franz, lifting a bottle the moment he was handed one. "Tonight's third act-saving, pulley-fixing heroine!"

Nataly laughed and laughed as they all cheered and raised bottles to her. She waved them off.

"To Lousia," Madame Giry called out in a strong, pleasant voice. "For her magnificent performance!"

"Hear, hear!" Nataly called among the cheering. She lingered to congratulate those of her cast and crew she hadn't been able to earlier in the evening, and then slipped away unnoticed with a small oil lamp and her bouquet of roses. She was tired, her cheeks ached, and her blood was still smoldering for the Phantom. She was hoping he would meet her on her way to her room upstairs, or in the attic hall. The hope quickened her steps.

But her lamp was the only light she found on the way and when she reached the top of the stairs she was alone. Her shoulders drooped and she sighed in disappointment.

"Expecting someone?"

She smiled and turned toward his voice. He was standing in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs.

"You, of course."

The Phantom climbed the stairs toward her and the lamplight illuminated his figure more by degrees. He was dressed handsomely with a white half mask on his face. She placed the lamp on the floor and stepped back slightly and then he was standing beside her. He held up a black rose.

"For your collection."

Nataly smiled a little and opened her arms to let her collection of roses fall to the floor. They made soft sounds, some cascading down the stairs. She then reached out, took his rose, and placed it beneath her nose to smell its fragrance.

She could tell the gesture had touched him; his eyes were the exact way she loved them best: shining softly with emotion and tenderness. Her heart and mind both fluttered. She had wanted never to let her guards down or to be foolish. But she was and, she realized, had been for a while now, falling in love with the Phantom of the Opera.

She reached up and touched his cheek gently where his skin was not covered by a mask. He gazed at her all the while. Her eyes lingered on his mask, trying to picture him without its rough shield. She wanted him without covers, gates, and clothes. Wanted all of him, hers only.

His eyes had hardened when she looked back into them.

"Perhaps you'd be more comfortable if there was no lamp," he said in a low, edged voice. "Then you could forget what I look like."

She stared at him. His words stung her more than she had thought they could. He had no idea that only a great movement of her heart would have allowed her to feel this way for a man. She guarded herself and her interests too closely. She slowly moved her arms back from him.

"If you think so, you do not know me nearly as well as I had thought. You do me injustice." With so much new and powerful emotion inside her, she was no longer a woman who could guard her feelings from an outside glance, and her eyes, unbidden, welled with clear, warm tears. Although she too did not know her love as well as she should have. If she had, she would have understood that such testy comments sprang from insecurity, and he said them with the desire to hear a reassurance of their falsehood.

She began to turn from him, but his soft hands on her arms stopped her. He was not wearing gloves and she gazed at his lovely, strong hands. "Nataly…"

She looked up and told him, "My heart is not easily touched. I saw your true face that night the chandelier fell. I've seen you masked, unmasked, angry, teasing, in pain, and in what I hope to be love. And I'm still here, standing beside you, hungry for your mouth, your breath, your touch—"

He interrupted her to give her what they both hungered for. He took her in his arms and she wrapped herself around his body, soft noises of ecstasy escaping her. Her lips danced over his, tasting, breathing his breath. He groaned from a place low in his throat and the sound made her legs tremble. She broke from his mouth to gasp for breath and he pulled her up against him such that she could wrap her legs around his middle and lay her head on his shoulder. She kissed and kissed his neck.

He held her so tightly she closed her eyes at the deep feeling of grounding and security the hold gave to her. He walked with her down the hall toward the door of her room and when he set her gently down in front of it, her heart fluttered with unease, thinking of the bed that was inside.

"I… We can't…"

He smiled a little and silenced her with a gentle touch to her chin. "I want nothing you do not want."

She gazed into his eyes as he spoke and found no hint of dishonestly. She reached into the bodice of her dress and drew out her key. She unlocked the door while the Phantom went back to pick up the lamp to take it in with them.

Nataly lit a few more candles inside the room; enough to light it dimly. The Phantom sat on her bed.

"I should like…" She blushed and the Phantom cocked his head. "I should very much like to be able to change out of his dress, it's heavy and constricting, and if you wouldn't mind allowing me to—" He had gotten up and he kissed her brow.

"Call when you're dressed again." He left, took the lamp, and closed the door behind him. Nataly smiled and began unlacing her formal outfit. It felt so good to be taking the thing off. She opened her wardrobe and took out a pretty but far more casual and comfortable dress, and slipped into it. She slipped on a loose sweater as well because the room had a slight chill, and then opened the door for him.

He had collected all her dropped roses while she had changed and brought the bundle and her lamp back in. He set them on her small white desk and placed the lamp back.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He gazed at her from across the room. "You look beautiful."

"You are not so bad yourself," she replied, smiling, as she crossed to him.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," he said as he took her into his arms.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she joked.

"Yes, I know."

"Oh, phh!" She smacked him gently on the arm. He chuckled. She kissed him. She drowned in him.

Late into the night the candles were burning low and she lay in his arms on her bed, chaste though they ached in an unspoken way for one another. She was gazing at him and tracing the exposed skin on his face with gentle fingertips. She pressed her forehead to his, closed her eyes, and sighed with happiness.

"Keep me in your arms always," she breathed. "I want to be nowhere else."

He kissed her. "You have them."

She gazed at him a long while, her dark eyes shining in the candlelight, and finally said quietly, "We know each other better now, Phantom…will you tell me your name?"

He gazed back into her eyes and drew a long breath. Then he reached up a hand and his fingers slid under his mask. Slowly, he pulled it from his face.

He swallowed, his eyes burning with old shame and fear. "Erik…" he answered her. "My name is Erik."

Her expression unwaveringly tender, she kissed him, gently, trying to pour from her mouth to his all the love burning in her heart. To show him he need not fear. That it changed nothing.

She felt a wetness on her cheeks and pulled her head away to see that tears were leaking from his eyes. She kissed them away.

"Don't cry, love," she murmured.

He closed his eyes and tears ran more steadily than before. He leaned back and lay on his back on the bed.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered.

She shook her head with her lips touching his cheek. "It's alright." She brushed the tears gently from the wasted part of his face. He flinched at the touch, so she kissed him there.

"Do get used to it," she said softly, a smile in her voice, and kissed his ruined skin again.

More tears ran, though he smiled a little. She brushed them all patiently away until they stopped. He opened his eyes and she smiled at him and kissed his lips lightly. Then she settled down against his chest and neck and held herself to him. He was so very warm, and his skin and clothes smelled so masculine it at times made her feel faint. She felt utterly safe in his embrace and she had been happier in these quiet hours they had spent together tonight than she could ever remember being.

"I love you, Erik," she said quietly.

He took a slow, deep breath in and out. "You are my light, my saving, and all my reasons, Nataly," he replied in a low, warm voice that almost broke with emotion. "I love you until the end of reckoning."

She drifted to sleep there in his arms and her dreams were full of light.