I really hope you guys enjoyed this story. I had a blast writing it. Thank you so much to all who reviewed. I know I don't say it as often as I should, but I really do appreciate the feedback. A special thanks to those who reviewed every chapter. Feel free to leave a review letting me know what you think!
Thanks again so much for everything.
The hour was late, and Erik and Christine were just returning from her last tour of Europe. It had been a very long past few weeks, and they both groaned with gratitude as they walked inside their dark, chilly, slightly-musty home.
They spent a few minutes dragging in luggage and then hauled it upstairs.
"You're never leaving this house again," Erik growled, flicking on the lights. He peeled off his realistic mask and rubbed his bare face.
Christine sighed and flopped back onto the bed. "I'm old," she complained wearily. "I hate it."
"You aren't," he assured her. "I am." He began unpacking, and she watched him for a while before giving an irritable huff and rising to help. They worked in silence for a while until Christine's cell phone made them jump.
"Who is calling at this time of night?" she said. She picked up her phone and answered it. "Hello?"
"Hey, Mom!"
"Mia, why are you calling me in the middle of the night? We just got home two minutes ago."
"Good! That's why I was calling. I was just making sure you guys were home, because Will and I are coming tomorrow."
Christine racked her jet-lagged brain. "Tomorrow? Tomorrow is..."
"The last day of fall semester, Mom...Seriously. We'll be there around three, okay?"
"All right, darling." Christine yawned. "Would you like to speak with your father?" She turned around and saw Erik on the bed, asleep, fully-clothed.
"It's late, I know, so I won't keep you two old people up anymore."
"We're very grateful, I'm sure," Christine said dryly, smiling.
"See you tomorrow."
Christine said her farewell, put her phone down, and climbed into the bed, still dressed in her day-things, just like Erik. She curled up next to him, grasped his hand, and was asleep instantly.
They both slept very late into the day. When Christine woke, she rolled over and groggily peered at the clock on her bedside table before groaning into her pillow. It was already past noon, and sunlight was pouring into the bedroom, which was free of the clutter of luggage from last night.
She readied herself and found Erik downstairs, nodding over a book.
"Mia and Will are coming today," she said. "For their break."
He stopped dozing and looked at her instantly.
"Why?" he asked suspiciously. "Why is he coming?" Erik didn't like speaking Will's name.
"I don't know," Christine said comfortably, curling up on the couch with eight weeks' worth of mail. "Mia just called last night and said they would be here around three."
Erik hmmphed and replied, "I don't see why she needs to bring him over here. They barely know each other."
"Love, they've been together for a year," Christine said offhandedly, slitting open a bill and looking at it. "Remember? Last summer he even went with her to see me in Sydney. I'd say they know each other very well."
"Let's hope not too well," Erik muttered darkly, looking back at his book with a furrowed brow.
They sat in companionable silence until 2:30, at which time Erik began to become anxious again and Christine left to fix something for everyone.
"Erik?" she called from the kitchen. "Do you want to eat anything before they get here?"
He didn't answer, and she sighed and went to the front room to find he was staring out of the window, his eyes scanning the road for Mia's car.
"Erik," she repeated. "Do you want anything before they get here?"
"No," he snapped irritably. "Leave me alone."
"Fine, you grouchy old man," she retorted. "I was just trying to be nice." She went back to the kitchen.
They arrived a few minutes before three, and there was the usual exchange of hugs and handshakes and greetings, some awkward, some not.
When they were all settled in the front room, Christine finally said, "So, what's been going on?"
"Oh, nothing really," Mia said vaguely. "I just missed you guys and couldn't wait to come see you. Will's family is out of town for the beginning of the break, so I dragged him along for a few days." She squeezed his arm and smiled at him. Will quickly expressed his gratitude for them for opening up their home to him yet again.
They spoke for a while longer, mostly discussing Christine's recent tour and talking about her future plans for performance. Erik leaned back in his chair and took up his favorite pastime—glaring at Will. Will had gotten quite good at ignoring it; he didn't even blush.
Around four, Christine was just suggesting that she finish up and serve the early dinner for them all. Mia instead shot up out of her chair and said,
"Actually, Mom, I want to show you something upstairs."
"Oh—all right." Christine rose, and Erik made every motion of rising as well until Mia said,
"You can stay here, Daddy. It's girl stuff. Just stay and talk to Will for a while." And before she led the way upstairs, she whispered quickly into Will's ear. Giving her father one last smile, she dragged Christine out and up into her bedroom, shutting the door quickly.
"What is it?" Christine asked, looking around. "I don't see anything."
Giggling, Mia put a hand in her pocket and took something out.
Something small and shiny.
Something she slipped onto her finger.
Something she slipped onto the fourth finger of her left hand.
Christine stared at it and then took a heavy seat on Mia's bed.
"You—" Christine managed to choke out.
Mia sat down next to her mother and waggled her fingers. It was a small and pretty diamond, nestled in between two other small ones. The ring was in good taste, obviously not extravagantly expensive, but not the cheapest one in the shop.
"He proposed last week," Mia whispered excitedly, looping her arm through Christine's. "It was so romantic, Mom! We went out to the symphony and then to dinner, and then he took me to this beautiful moonlit lake. I was freezing, but it looked so gorgeous. And before I could even say anything, he was down on one knee!" She sighed girlishly and gazed dreamily at her ring. "But it's not completely official," she suddenly snapped, sitting up a little straighter. "I said yes, but only if he talks to Daddy first. Will was really, really nervous about that, but I knew that Dad would never allow it unless he thought Will asked him first."
Mia hadn't lived with Erik for eighteen years and learned nothing. She had more insight into his character than anyone—except, perhaps, Christine.
"That's good you thought of that," Christine murmured, her head spinning.
"You won't tell him, will you?" Mia asked anxiously, looking at her mother. "I know you can't lie to him, but just…sort of never bring it up, all right? Don't ask, don't tell sort of thing."
"Of course," Christine agreed blankly. There was silence. "Is that why you dragged me up here?"
"Yeah," Mia said, frowning a little and glancing at the door. "Will and I planned this out. I even gave him pointers on what he should say when talking to Dad. We decided to do it as soon as we got here, because I know that we couldn't keep it a secret more than a few days. I hope things go all right. I gave Will a pep talk the entire way here. Poor guy," she added sympathetically. "Dad's not exactly an easy person to deal with. He takes over-protective to a whole new level."
Christine nodded in agreement. They were both silent for a minute, as if trying to hear what the men downstairs were saying. But it was silent except for the occasional creak of the mattress springs.
"You do think…" Mia began uncertainly. She bit her lip in worry and stared at the door. "Dad will be okay, won't he? I mean, he probably isn't going to be happy, but he can't say no…Right?" She looked to her mother for desperate reassurance.
Christine gazed at the door as well and said, "I don't know what he's going to do, sweetie. He just hates change—you know how much he does. He wants you to stay here and be his little princess forever."
"I know." Mia sighed and drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her thin arms around her legs. "And I would probably be happy with that, but…I love William. I really do." She forced a laugh. "I told William that if Dad throws him out of the house, he doesn't have to come back for me. I don't know, Mom…Am I even worth having to go through Dad?"
"Of course you are!" Christine said instantly, indignantly.
"You have to say that because you're my mom," Mia replied drearily. "And I'm not just talking about this. Will would be marrying into the family. I'd make him come here for holidays and stuff. Years and years of having Dad just stare at him. I dunno. Maybe I should have talked to Will about this first." She buried her face in her bony knees.
"You shouldn't have to," Christine said firmly. "If he loves you, he'll do this for you."
"Not everyone is like you and Dad," Mia said, peeking at Christine with shining eyes. "Sometimes you guys make me sick. In his eyes, you're perfection personified. I know that William loves me, but sometimes I just wish…I wish that it was a dumb romance-novel romance like you and Dad have."
"A 'romance-novel romance'?" Christine repeated, stifling a laugh.
"Ugh, definitely," Mia moaned. "A disfigured musical genius…a beautiful young singer…A most unlikely love. You could probably sell movie rights. Will and me—we just met in a college class, dated, and got engaged. But I'm so stupid…You and Dad turned me into a dumb romantic."
"Darling," Christine crooned, reaching for her. Mia made an irritated noise in her throat and tried to pull away. "You're tired, you're worried, and you're stressed," Christine said, shifting closer and wrapping her arms around her only child, like she always used to do. "Everyone has their own story, and you should be proud and happy with yours. I…I never told anyone this—especially not you, you were always too young, but…Well, your father and I didn't start out all right."
"What do you mean?" Mia sniffled.
Christine heaved a sigh. "It's a long story. But I was very, very young. I was younger than you are now. And Erik—your father, I mean—was…oh, he was terrifying to me at first. You've known him your entire life, so you can't fully comprehend what it's like to grow to know him without any sort of background. I was so afraid. My father had died, and I didn't really want to sing anymore, but Erik sort of forced me back into it. I was really very scared, because, as you know, he had a terrible temper and was a great deal older than I was. He was also very jealous because I was seeing Raoul, and…Well, you know how he gets. He tried everything to scare Raoul away, and all the while he was becoming very possessive and controlling of me."
"He's always been possessive and controlling of you, Mom," Mia muttered.
Christine rolled her eyes. "I know," she said. "But he was ten times worse while—um, pursuing me. He was my voice teacher at the time, too, and he started telling me who I could and couldn't see, where I could and couldn't go, trying to really just ostracize me from everyone and everything but himself. Raoul was such a good man, he kept trying to get me away. You met him once, do you remember? He proposed to me, and I accepted, and your father was furious."
"This is making me feel awful!" Mia snapped. "You had two amazing men fight over you!"
"I'm not trying to make it sound that way!" Christine said hurriedly. "You can't see your father in anything but a good light. I'm trying to tell you that he was actually a terrible man—jealous, controlling, hateful, bitter. He had a horrible past, and it really messed him up."
"Then why did you marry him?" Mia shot. "If he was so terrible…"
"Because I love him," Christine said simply. "Despite all the awful things he is, he is a wonderful, wonderful man. He may be a giant pain sometimes, and we've had our fair share of experiences with that, but I know he loves me deeply, and I really do love him."
Mia stared at the floor for a while, absorbing it all in. She then sighed in a disgusted way and said, "I was wrong. You guys could definitely sell movie rights." She gave a weak smile and rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I'm being silly, I know. I love William, and I know he loves me. Things are going to be okay."
"Of course," Christine said. She asked hesitantly, "But why…so soon? You two have only been dating for a few months."
"By a few months, you mean more than twelve," Mia said, raising a jetty eyebrow. "Besides, we're both graduating at the end of next semester. Will's been accepted to the Manhattan School of Music, and he wants me to go with him."
"Manhattan?" Christine repeated, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.
"I know," Mia said instantly. "It's really far away from you guys. I'm sad, too, but…Come on. I'm going to get married soon. I can't spend my entire life here. I need to be with Will and support him. And we have e-mail and telephones and everything now, so it won't be too bad. You two will adjust, I know it. Besides, I have a perfect plan. After we graduate this May, we'll take the summer and get married and go on a honeymoon. Then we'll spend the rest of the time looking at Manhattan apartments and things like that. Isn't it great?"
"It is. But what about you? Don't you want to go to graduate school?"
Mia shrugged. "I'm really okay for now. I think I'll go back in a few years, but I need a break. Will has amazing stamina, he works like a horse. I'll see if I can't audition at a few places in Manhattan and just be there for Will. It'll kill me when he comes home knowing more than I do—" she gave a great sigh "—but I'll make him teach me everything. And then I'll apply after a few years."
"I'll see if I can't pull some strings in Manhattan," Christine offered. "I know a few directors."
"I know you do." Mia grinned. "I have amazing parents."
"The best," Christine agreed teasingly. "So have you decided on a date yet?"
"I'm thinking a few weeks after graduation," Mia responded, and they immediately began to gush on wedding plans, giggling together excitedly.
Will sat and stared at the wall. The clock's tick tock echoed annoyingly, infuriatingly around the room. He was just sitting there, staring at him, looking comfortable and suspicious at the same time. How in the world did he do that?
What sort of person just stares?
And what sort of person wears a mask?
Will had asked Mia about him one spring night. He had suggested that they get an apartment together for the summer, but Mia blanched and refused point blank.
"Why not?" he asked, somewhat sullenly.
"It could never, ever happen," Mia said simply. "My dad would never allow it in a million years."
"But you're twenty-one years old," Will said. "You're not a kid anymore. You can make your own decisions. Doesn't your dad realize this?"
"Nope," Mia said simply. She was reading a textbook, studying for finals, her skinny legs thrown over the arm of her chair. Will sometimes worried about how skinny Mia really was, and it was especially strange because she ate candy and chocolate like nobody's business. But Mia was still a stick, with bony arms and fingers, pencil-like legs, and a stomach that went in more than it went out. She was skinny to the point that it was almost unattractive. When Will told Mia that maybe she should see a doctor about it, she had actually laughed and said,
"My mom hates it too. I had a million doctor visits when I was little to see if I had some sort of freak disease or something, but I'm actually really healthy. Blame it all on my dad. He's the exact same way."
Will watched her read for a few more minutes. "Doesn't it bother you?" he asked quietly.
She didn't look up as she said, "Does what bother me?"
"That your dad controls your life this much that you won't even consider being with me?"
She put her book down, frowning a little.
"Okay, let me ask you this," she said. She swung her legs over the arm and set them on the floor. "You met my dad last December, for my birthday. What did you think of him?"
"He was…" Will faltered. Mia smiled just a little—and he didn't really like how she smiled.
"Go ahead. Say whatever you want. I've heard it all."
"He was…unusual."
Her horrible smile widened a little. "That's putting it nicely," she said. "Be specific."
"Okay…He was an incredible piano player. Seriously, I have no idea why—"
"Nope, we're not talking about that," Mia interrupted shortly. "You're talking about his personality and habits, not what kind of musician he is."
Will resisted making a face at her. She was making it hard on purpose.
"Fine," he said shortly. "Do you really want the truth?"
"Of course I do," she said calmly. "I never want anything but."
"Okay, fine, here it goes." He took a deep breath and plunged: "He was strange. He stared at me the entire time, and I hated it. He was really rude to me. I hated the questions he asked me, and he always looked at me like I was something disgusting. He was demeaning. He made me feel humiliated all the time. I hated being around him because I didn't want to embarrass myself." Then he stopped and bit his lip. He was afraid he had said too much.
Mia, however, sighed and put her legs back up over the arm of the chair.
"Okay, I'm going to ask you something else," she said. "Do you like being my boyfriend?"
"Yes," he said instantly.
"I am totally not joking," she said, staring at him again, her dark eyes intense. "If you like me, that's great, because I like you. But if you don't like me enough to put up with this kind of stuff, then we need to end this, because I hate wasting my time. I have lots of things to do, and if this is going to keep being a problem between us, then I need to know. You'll just never understand my dad, Will. You just have to accept that I grew up as a 'Daddy's Little Princess' type girl, and I still am. I love my dad more than I can even describe. And I am going to do what he wants, because whenever I've done that things have turned out great for me. Whenever I've done the opposite, things turn out bad. I know without a doubt that he would say no to us moving in together. And so I'm not even going to ask." There was a pause. "I like you a lot. My dad is never going to be happy with any guy I date, so just know it's nothing personal against you. I could try to persuade him to let me stay here for a summer semester so I could be closer to you, but I would never, ever move in with you unless we got married." She laughed a little. "And that would be a disaster!"
Well, that was exactly what Will was doing, sitting in Mia's front room on a snowy December afternoon, staring at the wall with terror. He had assured Mia that night that he still wanted to be her boyfriend. And then he had ended up proposing seven months later because he loved her and wanted to marry her.
But Will knew that Mia's father didn't want her marrying anybody. The day after Will proposed, Mia had taken him to a nice little café and talked to him, very seriously, about how tricky it was going to be.
"He's going to freak out," Mia said calmly, drinking some tea. The ring sparkled on her bony left finger, looking ridiculous and huge. Will had tried to choose a smaller one so it wouldn't overwhelm Mia's hand, and the ring had looked nice in the store, but on her finger it just seemed too big. The next smallest choice would have been a fleck of diamond in a gold band. And that one had been really ugly, even to him.
"How are you going to tell him?" Will asked nervously.
"Oh, I'm not going to," Mia said. "You're going to ask him."
"What—ask?" Will spluttered. "Like—like they did back in the 1800s? Like, ask him if I can marry you?"
"Yup," Mia said. "He's not going to let you marry me if he thinks you think you can just come into his life and take me away without his permission."
Will tried to wrap his brain around her statement. It made his head hurt, so he stopped.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized what a daunting task it would be. He couldn't just go into Mia's home and said, "Sir, may I marry your daughter?" How in the world would it be done?
"I've got some kind of plan," Mia said, when he asked her. "Come home with me again for the break. An unexpected visit is going to make him suspicious."
"Okay," Will said, a little nervous already. "And…and just wait for the right moment."
"No, you need to tell him as soon as we get there," Mia said confidently. "If we keep it a secret, he'll know something's up. Then he'll find me and worm the answer out of me. He's good at that. He'll just wheedle away until the answer sort of slips out of you without you even realizing it."
Will felt himself blanch, and he stared at the food on his plate. It looked disgusting.
"I'll get my mom away from you two and tell her while you ask him. Good plan, right?"
"Wait, why can't you be there?" Will asked desperately.
"Because I won't be able to look at him," Mia said. She drank some more tea. "If I'm there, he'll give me this heartbroken, disappointed look that will say something like, What are you doing? Why are you betraying me like this? What have I done to make you want to leave me? And so on and so on. I've seen it before. Then I'll probably feel so bad about it that I'll laugh and pretend it was all a joke. Nope. You're flying solo. Safer for everyone."
Except me, Will thought bitterly.
"Except you," Mia said thoughtfully, and Will blinked at the echo. Then she put down her cup. "Look, I know this is a lot to ask. Sorry you had to propose to the one girl with the weirdest father alive. If you don't want to go through with it, I understand. If you want the ring back, I'll—I'll give it to you. I just want you to know what you'll be getting into if you go through with this."
"No!" Will reached over and held her hand gently. "I love you so much, Mia. I want to marry you. I want you to come to Manhattan with me next year. I want you to be my wife. I'll do whatever it takes."
Mia grinned a little. "You sound like my dad. But thanks, Will." Her grin softened. "I love you too."
And Will tried to keep that thought in his head as the tick tock of the clock kept going. I love you too. I love you too. I love you too. Mia's voice in his head, whispering, giving him strength. That's what he needed. Because when he stole a glance at the masked man in the chair, he felt his insides freeze with dread. What would he do when he heard the news? Shout? Throw him out of the house? Force Mia to live with him forever? Would he get violent?
Somehow, it seemed that it was completely possible for him to do all of those things.
He needed to speak. The silence was going to drive him mad. And if he didn't start soon, he was going to lose his courage and it would never come.
"Thank you again for letting me stay here, sir," Will blurted.
The masked man's thin fingers were intertwined casually over his chest as he stared. One long leg was crossed comfortably over the other. He was the epitome of calm, of cool—but his eyes gave him away. They regarded Will as something of a thief, an invader, a person unwelcome.
Will thought furiously about how to gently ease into the subject that was lingering over him. He tried to remember what Mia had said on the way here.
"Tell him that you're moving to Manhattan next year," Mia had said. "He'll be interested in the program. Then just tell him that you want me to move with you. Then he'll be really surprised and angry, but don't let him say anything. Just ask the question. Tell him that you love me, and ask."
"I'm moving to Manhattan," Will finally said quickly, loudly. "Next year. For graduate school. For music."
Mia's father looked a little excited. "You're moving away next year," he repeated, his voice sending chills up Will's spine. It had an ethereal beauty to it that was almost disconcerting to Will.
He nodded. "Yeah, I've been accepted into the Manhattan School of Music."
"Ah," the masked man replied. "Mia is looking into studying abroad for a year or so. I have looked into the Royal College of Music, in London. She should be attending there next year."
Will panicked. Mia's father wasn't doing what Mia said he would do. He didn't seem at all interested in where Will went to study, only where Mia was going to go. Then understanding hit Will: the masked man was glad that Will was moving away, because it meant that Mia wasn't going to go with him. And the masked man was also telling Will about his future plans for Mia to reiterate the fact that their relationship couldn't continue. He looked down at the floor, trying not to betray the panic. It was the most terrifying thing he had ever done. He tried to remember a time when he was more scared than asking Mia's father for her hand…but he couldn't remember a time when the gut-sliding fear had been more real.
The clock ticked away more time—time that should have been spent frankly telling the masked man that he was in love with his daughter and that he wanted to marry her.
Perspiration began to line his forehead as he unclenched his jaw and said jerkily, "Sir—sir, I would like Mia to—move to Manhattan as well."
There was a deep moment of silence, and then the masked man replied, quite calmly in fact,
"No, I'm afraid it's not possible. She will be attending school in London. And it isn't up to you to decide where she goes to school. It is up to me."
Though his tone was calm, there was a definite challenge in there, as if he was waiting to see what Will would reply with. And he could only say stupidly,
"I—well, I understand, sir. But—"
"There are no 'buts' in this matter, young man," the masked man interrupted smoothly. "She will go to London, and you will go to Manhattan. It is decided."
"Sir," Will began, hastily, panicky, "I want Mia to move to Manhattan with me because I love her."
The silence that followed was unbearable. The masked man uncrossed his legs, as if he was ready to pounce on Will. Will stared at the floor, his hands clenched on his knees, feeling terrified.
"That is obvious," the masked man said, his voice a low hiss. "But it changes nothing."
"Sir, I want to marry her." He was feeling reckless, as if he had nothing at all to lose. But he did, and he felt stupid as soon as the sentence came out.
There was no longer an easiness about the masked man's position. He was tense and alert, his eyes burning, his entire frame taut with tension.
"I'm sure you do," the masked man said. His voice made the hairs on the nape of Will's neck stand on end. "However, she has her heart set on London. You cannot begin a marriage by being on different continents. It will not work."
Will blurted out, "I've already asked her, and she said yes. She said she would come to Manhattan with me."
It was a moment so pivotal that Will knew he would remember it for the rest of his life: the terrible, weighting silence in the room crushing him, smothering him.
"You dared to ask her without my permission?" the masked man finally said. It was obvious he did not want to be angry with Mia—like he couldn't be angry with her.
"I'm asking it now," Will said, feeling strengthened by the blow he had dealt to his enemy (he felt a little guilty about thinking that way, but it was true: Mia's father was opposed to what he wanted). "I'm asking it out of respect for her wishes. Believe me, I would have never thought it necessary, except two hundred years ago."
"Oh, I believe you," Mia's father replied coldly. "I also believe you are a young, foolish, naïve upstart who thinks he's a great deal wiser than he actually is. I believe my daughter is too young to marry, and I believe that you are a fool if you think you can address me such in my own home."
"I have nothing but the greatest respect for you, sir," Will said, though the last word came out with some reluctance. "But I believe that Mia has the right to speak for herself—and she's already done so. She said yes to me."
"She would never go through with marriage without my permission," he snapped in reply.
"I know," Will admitted grudgingly. "Which is why I'm asking for it now."
"And what if I don't give it?"
"Then you can tell Mia that you want her to be unhappy," Will said. He was feeling angry and frustrated, and he just wanted to get out of that house—with Mia, preferably—and go for a long drive. "She's said yes to me already. She's told me that she loves me, and I love her. I'm going to marry her." His mouth turned dry after that. Where had the words come from? How could he have said that so boldly?
The masked man observed him quietly. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his leg again, though it was stiff and forced, as if he was restraining himself from jumping up and throwing him out. Which he probably was, Will thought. Finally, he spoke,
"Would you like to see my face?"
Will blinked. The question was so unexpected that he could only stare and gape. He had been expecting another quiet shouting match about Mia. And then her father had to go off and offer to let Will look at his face…which he had always wanted to do. But he had to be polite. So he shook his head against his own wishes. The masked man laughed softly, and it wasn't a very nice sound.
"Come now, everyone wishes to see my face," he said, his voice slithering from behind the mask. "I knew it from the second you saw me. You want to see what I'm hiding."
"I'm all right," he said. "Sir," he added grudgingly. But then he couldn't help the excited pounding of his heart when he saw the masked man's hands rise up to pull it off.
At the last second possible, he took his hands away and put them back on the arms of the chair. Will felt disappointment course through him. Mia had only said that her father's face was a personal matter, and Will had better not bring it up again if he knew what was good for him.
"Perhaps not," the masked man said silkily. "But I should have you know that it's quite a sight. Oh yes, it made me quite the novelty some years ago in the Middle East. Now sit still while I tell you this."
It wasn't as if Will was moving. He was stiff as a board, staring at the man across from him with fixed horror and fascination and hatred and grudging respect and—a multitude of emotions that were juxtaposed in a paradoxical manner.
"It was before I was married—before I even knew my wife," Mia's father said, staring straight at Will. "Nadir calls them the 'rosy hours,' which shows that he still has some sense of dry, cynical humor, for they were anything but. I was very high up in the government. No official position, mind you, but very influential nonetheless. I had the ears of some of the most powerful men around, and I used my sway well. But you sit there and ask yourself, How did such a man become so powerful when all he can do is play the piano and wear a mask? Shall I tell you? Would you like to know?"
Say no, Will's mind whispered desperately. You don't want to hear this…you don't want to hear this…you definitely don't want to.
"Sure," he said.
His inner voice groaned in disappointment. There was a gleam in the masked man's eyes.
"If you insist," he said. "Whispers about me around the political system came, and I was sought out and offered…employment, I suppose is the best word, even though it isn't correct."
"And I'm guessing they didn't record your employment," Will said before he could stop himself.
The gleam brightened. "No, they did not," the masked man said composedly. "I was assigned a number of things—architecture, political advisor, glorified body guard…It built all of this." He gestured to his house, as if he didn't care in the slightest that it was paid for with under-the-table money. "But it still wasn't enough. I was earning the same rates as a common man! I was exactly the same as Mr. John Doe in New York City with his corporate job and ugly leather briefcase. And I was doing so much more than Mr. John Doe. I was keeping top political secrets, secrets that could ruin empires, monopolies. It was a delicate situation. I survived a number of assassination attempts."
Too bad, Will thought viciously. Then he felt ashamed of himself.
"And so I offered them one more service." His voice, a whisper, still reached Will's half-reluctant, all-the-way-willing ears. There was a silence. Will felt sick.
"Would you like to guess?" the masked man said.
Will shook his head. "Not this time." His voice sounded weak, pitiful.
The replying chuckle was low and ominous. "I thought not. But this service would nearly double my salary and protect myself from those idiots who thought they could kill me—me." He observed Will for a moment and said, "I'm not even going to tell you what it was. Use that pitiful thing you think is your imagination. Imagine all you want. By all means, tell Mia. She will never believe you. Tell the police, if you so wish. It was years ago in a different country with different rules, and I assure you that I had the endorsement of everyone around. There's nothing to be done for it. The rosy hours are over and will not be relived, not so long as I have what I do." He tapped his fingers on the armrest for a moment. "But now you're wondering why in the world I'm telling you this. The answer is simple, though. And I'm not going to let you guess, because I want it to be perfectly clear."
A dreadful feeling of doom crushed Will's chest. He was finding it hard to breathe, and he stared at the masked man for the first time in his life—he was paralyzed with terror.
"If you dare hurt my daughter," he whispered, "I shall come to you, and what I will do to you will make the rosy hours seem like a children's bedtime fairytale. Even I won't have the cynicism in me to call them 'rosy hours.' And no one will ever know, either…No one will know what happened to you. I can assure you that I won't trouble myself to tell anyone." He stood up. "Believe that, young man." And he walked out of the room.
Christine and Mia had continued whispering until a door slammed shut, cutting them off abruptly.
"Oh my…" Christine said, standing and peeking out of Mia's room. "Come on. Let's go see what's happened."
Christine's nerves were twisting, and she thought vaguely that Mia must be positively distraught if she was extremely anxious. They stepped into the front room. William was still sitting on the sofa (unhurt, Christine noted with relief, though he did look very pale) and staring at the floor. Mia instantly rushed to him, flinging her arms around his shoulders.
"What did he say?" she demanded breathlessly. "Will?"
"He—um…" William cleared his throat and tried again. "He said it was okay."
"Really? Yay! I'm so excited!" Mia bounced up and down on the sofa, kissing Will's cheek happily. When she finally noticed that he wasn't joining her in the celebrations, she stopped. "Will?" she said again. "Is everything okay? What happened?"
He shook his head wordlessly. Christine watched for only a minute more before going back upstairs and instantly spotting the loud door that had interrupted them minutes ago. She knocked quietly and entered.
Erik was a most peculiar man. He handled things that bothered him in many different ways. When events happened that upset him greatly, oftentimes he went off to another room and pretended to work on something else, while really he simply glowered about it all.
The same was true for that; he was restringing his violin (something, Christine remembered, he had done just before they left for her tour), his back to the door. She walked over to him and rubbed his back gently.
"Erik, love?" she whispered.
He ignored her. She noticed that he was still wearing his mask, but when she made to take it off, he jerked away and flatly said, "Don't."
She sat by him on the floor and rested her head against the side of his thigh, watching his long hands move. For one of the first times in her life, Christine saw that they shook slightly. The only other times she could recall seeing Erik's hands shaking was when he was slipping her wedding ring on her finger and the first time he held Mia.
More minutes passed in silence between them. He was gently twisting the peg for his G string, occasionally plucking it. He did not need a piano to know the exact pitch. He fiddled with the fine tuner for a few minutes before proceeding to the D string.
"Will you play for me tonight?" she asked, craning her head to look up at him. He glanced at her, and she was relieved to see that he still had affection in his gaze, meaning he wasn't completely out of her reach.
"Of course," he said simply.
She smiled in thanks and then thought for a moment on how best to break the conversation that would have to inevitably come.
"Will and Mia will enjoy it too," she said.
Instantly, he stiffened. "I won't play for him," he said shortly.
"That's selfish."
"I am a selfish man. You know this. I make no excuses."
"I know you are—not even letting your own daughter marry someone she loves."
"I said I would allow it!" he snarled angrily.
"But you don't want her to. You have to want it as well."
"I don't want it. She's too young."
"Erik, when I was her age, I was married to you and already had her."
"We're different," he stubbornly insisted.
"Why don't you want her to get married?" Christine said, ignoring the direction Erik wanted the argument to go.
"She needs to continue with her schooling."
"She said she's going to apply in a year or two. She needs a break, and I can hardly blame her. She's worked herself to the bone these past few years."
"Then she should come home until she applies somewhere else."
"She can't stay here forever!" Christine said, finally telling Erik what he had never wanted to hear.
"Why not?" he said, his temper rising even higher. "You want her to leave! You want her out!"
"Of course I don't want her 'out,'" Christine said. She wasn't sitting anymore. She was standing. Erik rose from his chair too, his long fingers wrapped around the neck of his violin, as if he was attempting to strangle it. Christine continued: "I wish she could stay here, too, but she can't. She'd be miserable. She needs to move on with her life."
"I want her to continue with her life as well! I want her to go to school and find a career performing."
"She can still do that while she's married. Look at me."
"You quit for over ten years so you could raise her. Your career has never been the same. If she married, she would have a child and have to give up her dreams."
"Maybe having a child is her dream," Christine said. She was quivering. It had been a long time since she and Erik had had a true argument. Sometimes she forgot how scary Erik looked when he was angry. He was shaking with rage, his hands white with pressure, his eyes flashing furiously.
"She would not excel so in school if her dream was to sit around all day and watch a drooling infant."
"I think you've forgotten that watching your child has been your favorite thing to do for the past twenty-two years."
"Of course it has," he agreed instantly. "I want to continue watching her, and I want to see her succeed."
"So you think she's some kind of failure if she gets married?"
"Of course not."
"Do you want to force her to do something she doesn't want to do?"
"No!"
"Then what is it?" Christine's voice was shrill now. She could understand a little of Erik's frustration, but she could not understand why he was being so stubborn about it all. When he continued to watch her, his eyes flashing, she pushed. "What is it, Erik? What?"
"I don't know!" he roared suddenly. There was a shocked silence, and after a moment he suddenly crumbled to his knees in front of her, burying his face in his hands, his violin to the side. Shuddering gasps wracked his skinny frame. "I don't know," he said again, whispering into his hands.
Quickly, Christine knelt next to him and wrapped her arms around him.
"It's all right," she said softly, rubbing his back again, which was shaking. "Erik, angel, please…"
He clawed at her arm. "I can't let her go," he said desperately. "I have spent decades working for you…for her…to keep you both with me…"
"Even if she marries, Mia will still love you," Christine said. "You won't lose her. I promise. We can't trap her here. She needs to do this. She needs to leave us for a while. She needs to find her own strength without us—without you."
"She doesn't have to," he rasped.
"But she needs to. Don't you understand?"
"No." He said it freely, without shame. "Am I not good enough for her? Why does she think she needs to leave me?"
Christine resisted sighing and instead said, as soothingly as she could, "My love, this is not about you. This is not a punishment or a snub. Mia is not doing this to hurt you."
"You went with that boy to hurt me. How is this any different?"
She flushed and tightened her grip on him. "That was nothing but a mistake," she said. "Mia is smarter and stronger than I was or am or ever will be, and she knows her own mind. At that time, I did not know mine. I know it now, and I'm here with you. If she has ever hurt you, it has been completely unintentional." Despite everything, she laughed a little. "Like that time she burned your masks? She thought she was doing you a big favor."
"If she thinks that this is a favor, then—"
A knock on the door cut him off, and they both looked at it.
She didn't know if he would allow anyone inside, and so she was still, feeling him under her, allowing him to take the lead. A few moments passed, and then he shifted to his feet and stood, pulling her up with him. He cleared his throat quietly and straightened his rumpled clothing and mask, which had been slightly askew.
"Come in." His voice was level and smooth, as if he had never had a care in his life. Christine took his hand, hoping to encourage and support him. He pressed her fingers slightly.
Mia entered, alone, looking at Erik with wide, dark eyes. She approached him slowly and then whispered, "Are you mad? Please don't be mad."
He blinked. "I'm not."
She took in a deep breath and then said steadily, "I won't marry him if you don't want me to."
Christine felt Erik's hand jerk slightly against hers, and she marveled inwardly at Mia's unselfish and caring feelings and thoughts.
"I want you to do what you want," Erik said.
She sighed in response, a little exasperatedly. "Dad, please don't say stuff like that. You say it to avoid answering me, and it drives me crazy."
"What would you like me to say?" he said coolly.
"What you really think," she replied composedly. She then continued, but her voice was stretched and pained, almost frightened as she said: "If you really don't want me to marry William, I won't."
Erik was silent, watching her as she began to tremble. It was obvious that she was doing her best not to give in to sobs, hoping to give the impression that it wouldn't break her heart if Erik disapproved. Christine wanted to rush over and comfort her daughter, but she was still, knowing that she was not part of this scene. Erik slid his hand from her grasp and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Mia's shaking, skinny frame. It was one of the first times he had physically reached out to touch her since she had grown. She sniffled into his shoulder, arms clutched tightly around his back. He put a light hand on her dark hair, silent, thinking.
"You truly wish to marry him?" Erik finally asked quietly. "Marrying him would make you happy?" He looked down at her as she nodded into his shoulder. When he glanced up at Christine, he saw her standing tearfully, though she was smiling softly, encouragingly. He closed his eyes for a long moment, his expression unreadable behind his mask.
When he opened them, he looked down at Mia and sighed deeply before stepping away.
"As long as he can promise me that you will be provided for, I have no further qualms." His voice was not quiet, but it was not loud. It was straight and even, carrying nothing and implying nothing. Mia wiped away some lingering tears with her fingertips and looked at him, a smile beginning on her lips.
"Really, Daddy?" she whispered. "You mean it?"
"I would not have said it if I didn't," he said stiffly. "Don't inquire any further. This is difficult enough as it is. If you ask me again, I am not so sure my answer will be the same."
Mia laughed weakly for a moment, and then she sniffed one last time before brightening even more. She rushed to him and hugged him again.
"Thank you, Dad," she said. "I love you so much."
Christine couldn't help it; she burst into tears.
Erik looked at her, alarmed. "What's wrong, dearest?"
She shook her head. "Nothing," she gasped. "I'm—just—so happy for you two!"
There was a moment of silence, and Erik rolled his eyes. "I believe I've had quite enough of crying females for one day."
Mia laughed, and even Christine managed a choking giggle. He reached out and drew her to his side, where she put her face in his shoulder and tried to force her tears to subside.
"I have a question, though," Mia said, watching her father with an eyebrow raised.
"And what is it?" he said.
"What did you say to Will?" she asked.
"Nothing too important, I assure you," Erik said dryly. "Save he shall be allowed to marry my only child."
"Dad, he looked scared stiff," Mia said suspiciously.
"I said nothing frightening," he replied lightly. "Whatever he gathered was his own interpretation."
Mia crossed her arms. "Whatever," she said shortly. "I'll just get him to tell me later."
"We shall see," Erik said smugly.
After rolling her eyes, she glanced over her shoulder and said, "Oh! I guess I should go see him. He's probably freaking out." She left the room, but not before shouting, "Come down!"
Erik watched her go, his head tilted slightly, and Christine came up next to him, wrapping her arm around his.
"Thank you," she said softly. "You've made her so happy."
"Yes, well, that is what I live for," he replied, almost absentmindedly. "Even if it makes me absolutely miserable."
She sighed against his arm. "You're still really this upset?"
"No," he quipped. "I just like to brood and have you fuss over me."
"You're hopeless." She laughed and tugged on his arm. "We should go downstairs. I want to congratulate my future son." It was an odd thought, and she smiled a little. She was getting the son she had originally hoped for.
"Son?" he said, bewildered.
"Son-in-law, if you wish to be a technical pill. But isn't it exciting, Erik?" She bounced on her toes, unable to restrain the excitement that had been bubbling up beneath the worry. "A wedding! I can't wait for Mia to start planning. She told me she wanted it outside, and I was thinking that if we have it at dusk then we wouldn't have to worry about your mask. And she should have an ivory dress, because white doesn't go very well with her skin—thanks to you, of course. She told me about this little cottage a few hours away that has a beautiful garden, and she said—"
"Sweetest," he interrupted her shortly, "I shall consider it a great success if I make it through today. Please save your feminine excitement for a later date. I have no energy to pretend to be interested."
"Well, thank you for attempting to spare my feelings," she said, though she was still cheerful.
To her surprise, he raised his mask and pressed his lips to the top of her head, bringing her close.
"You must know that I love you," he murmured. "More than I ever thought possible."
"I do know." She took the opportunity to kiss him before he put his mask back on.
"And it will…take time," he said. "I still have not yet convinced myself of this."
"I know," she said. "Remember when Mia was born? You were so afraid, but you're all right now. You'll be fine, Erik. I promise. Just let yourself see how happy she is."
He pressed his lips to her curls once again before nodding and slipping his mask back on.
She then said, "Let's go downstairs. They're waiting."
He took her hand and led her out of the room and down the stairs. Her thoughts were busy, dwelling on the future and what it would bring. She looked at Erik to smile. He had given her what the family that she had always wanted. The idea that she was part of a family that was doing nothing but growing filled her with excitement, and she knew that she and Erik were sharing what he had always dreamed of: a normal life.
Fin