Chapter 10

Bessie settled herself in the crook of my arm and promptly fell asleep on her back. The tip of her pink tongue jutted out from her mouth and she pawed at the air, which amused me. As much as I wanted to grumble and protest an unwanted pet, I was smitten with the tiny creature-and I dare say she was quite comfortable with me as well.

With the pup settled in for her nap, I reached for the post and the newspaper I had brought upstairs now that Alex was in his studies for the morning, Meg was tending to her jungle of indoor plants, and Madeline was browsing a catalog for items we did not need.

I opened the newspaper and furrowed my brow once I realized the front page was missing. My jaw clenched and nostrils flared, and had it not been for Bessie asleep in my arms, I most certainly would have stormed down the stairs and asked Madeline what she had done with my paper.

Instead I foolishly turned the paper over as if somehow this would rectify the situation, which it did not. I muttered a curse under my breath and sighed heavily, causing Bessie to open her eyes and squirm in my grasp.

"The audacity," I said through my teeth. "The absolute insolence."

Bessie perked up at the sound of my voice and attempted to bite off the corner of the paper held above her head.

"There shall be hell to pay," I said to her as I folded the paper once more and slapped it onto my desk, causing an irritating flutter of paperwork to rustle.

Bessie rolled onto her belly and I gently slid her down from my arms and onto the rug where she gave a full body shake and wagged her tail when I stood. Delighted by the start of another adventure, she trotted to the closed bedroom door and waited for me to escort her downstairs.

She did not know the absolute apathy that had coursed through my veins since my youth. She did not understand that I had never been one to harness my emotions or consider the consequences of my actions. She did not know of my violent, bloody past.

Seeing this ribby, runt of a mongrel paw at my bedroom door gave me pause. I did not want her to see the very worst part of me, more damaged than the flesh beneath my mask.

This tiny creature trusted me. She nestled into my grasp with ease and curled up against me without hesitation. When I did not open the bedroom door, she bounded toward me and ran in a circle.

I knelt before the dog, and she immediately put her front paws on my knee and jumped until I scooped her up. She licked the exposed side of my face until I chuckled to myself and held her further from my body.

"You are quite free with your affection," I said quietly. My anger subsided briefly.

I tucked her under my arm, grabbed the newspaper, and exited my bedroom to find Madeline at the bottom of the stairs. She offered a close-lipped smile when she saw me.

"Where in the hell is the front page of my newspaper?" I snapped.

Madeline looked quite taken aback my tone and question. She looked from me to the paper in my hand and shook her head. "I didn't bring the newspaper inside this morning."

"Then who did?"

"I would assume Meg did."

"Why did she retain the front page?"

Madeline took a step toward me. "I highly doubt she would do such a thing."

"Then who-"

Alex yelled something inaudible from the study and Madeline immediately turned her head before she looked at me and frowned.

"You are a liar and I hate you!" Alex shouted.

My skin prickled at my son's outburst directed presumably at Charles. Before I could march into the room and demand answers, Meg flew out of the kitchen like a startled pigeon, stopping only when she spotted me. Madeline held her hand out to her daughter and glared at me.

"Did you retrieve the newspaper this morning?" Madeline calmly asked Meg.

Meg silently nodded. She looked from her mother to me and glanced at the newspaper in my hand.

"Did you take the front page?" Madeline asked.

Meg shook her head and Madeline sighed. "Make lunch for Alexandre."

For a brief moment Meg hesitated, but there was no denying her mother's request. She looked curiously at me one last time before she disappeared back into the kitchen without a word spoken.

"He does not need lunch," I protested. Bessie wriggled to be placed on the ground and I obliged, watching as she bounded after Meg, who promised the dog a bowl of water and a visit into the back garden to relieve herself.

Madeline slowly turned toward me once we were alone. She looked me over slowly before her gaze settled on my mine. The look in her eyes was hardened and cold, an expression I had seen many times before in recent years.

"You have shown time and again, day after day, for months on end, that you have no idea what Alex needs," Madeline said. Her tone lacked anger, but the look in her eye was venomous.

"I know precisely what my son needs," I snapped.

Madeline stepped toward me, her body rigid. The way in which she held her cane and moved forward had given many a ballet dancer pause. One thump of her cane or snap of her fingers and an entire troupe of girls went absolutely silent. If she cleared her voice or raised her chin, the entire stage of actors paused and awaited her command. Truly I was no different than the rest of them. I stood and awaited her wrath.

"Your misguided desires and your son's needs are two different things," she said.

"Madame-"

"What will it take for you to finally open your eyes and see what you are doing?"

"I know precisely what I am doing," I snarled.

"Then that is quite unfortunate, Erik. You do not deserve-"

Madeline stopped herself short of finishing her statement. She looked away from me briefly and shook her head.

"Say it," I dared her. I tensed considerably, silently willing her to say I did not deserve my own son.

Madeline had the audacity to walk past me and into the study where she firmly but pleasantly instructed Alex to wash for lunch. I glanced at the clock in the hall and saw that it was minutes after ten in the morning, nearly three hours before Charles normally provided my son's first break.

Alex sat with his back to the door. When Madeline bent to kiss him, he reached for his trouser pocket and patted his upper thigh. I carefully watched him for a moment before my anger threatened to get the best of me.

He had taken the newspaper. I was certain of it, and if I confronted him in that moment, I was certain voices would be raised and harsh words spoken. I considered storming into the room, but Bessie raced down the hall and to my side again and I scooped her up, returning to my room well before Alex left his seat. Despite the anger flooding my emotions, I knew if I did not remove myself from the situation, I would prove Madeline correct: I did not deserve Alex.

I placed Bessie on the floor, locked the door, and pulled off my mask, my pulse drumming in my ears as frustration took hold. Back and forth I paced the length of my room until I paused at the window overlooking the front of the house and saw Julia rounding the corner. She had a thick scarf wrapped around her head that made her face impossible to see, but I still recognized everything about her. She was familiar to me with the way her hips gently swayed as she walked and how she tugged at her skirts every few steps, something she did out of habit when she walked around her house. She glanced up at my bedroom window and my heart stuttered as I took a careful step back.

I was certain Julia had not seen me, but I could not decide if I was grateful or disappointed. I looked at my mask carelessly tossed on my desk and frowned as I wondered what she would have thought if she had seen me peering through the window with my face uncovered.

"Monsieur!" Julia shouted.

The sound of her voice startled me. I turned toward the window and saw her wave to a man across the street who smiled and trotted toward her with his arms outstretched. They exchanged a greeting I found far too friendly and my anger quickly turned to jealousy.

I pictured myself jogging across the street in broad daylight to take her hands in mine. I imagined her hazel eyes brightening and the way her lips parted as she spoke my name and leaned in for a kiss to the cheek, but quickly dismissed the idea.

I would greet Christine at the Exposition in several short weeks. She would see me from afar, our eyes would meet, and she would know how much I loved her, how I had never stopped loving her all these years. Perhaps she would see the despair in my gaze and the hint of hope and renewal her voice gave me. All I wanted was a second chance, a moment to present her son to her and ask to be part of her life again. I would fall at her feet if need be. I would cut off my own hand to prove my loyalty to her. There was no sacrifice I would not make on behalf of my angel.

Julia's laughter rang out and I turned my attention back to the street below. Another woman had joined the conversation and stood arm in arm with the gentleman Julia had called over.

A deep sense of relief overcame me as I watched them from afar. I imagined what it would be like to walk Julia to the park on a Saturday afternoon with my son and her daughter chasing one another. Alex would spend his money on toy soldiers and candies while Lisette, if she was anything like her mother, would wisely keep her coins in her pocket. Julia would loop her arm with mine and comment on how fragrant the flowers were in full bloom and I would inhale sharply and smell her intoxicating perfume.

The thought surprised me as our relations were restricted to her home in the evenings. We did not meet for supper by candlelight or attend plays and operas. We sat in her parlor with a plate of sweets and conversations that typically lasted late into the night. Often we retreated to her bedroom for more primal desires, but there was always pleasant conversation and the sweet melody of her laughter that made the hours pass with ease.

We were nothing, I told myself. We would never be anything at all but bedmates a handful of times a week as we were far too different by light of day. Julia sang simple, off-key melodies while she washed the dishes while I created grand symphonies and operas. She walked to the market in late morning while I left for my walks late in the evenings, far from curious eyes. In five years neither of us had brought up the possibility of something more than carnal pleasure. We both knew damned well our lives were set to different melodies.

And yet still...I could picture her doting on my son. She knew his favorite color and books, how much he detested astronomy but loved anything that he could read about Egypt and mythology. In the afternoon Alex talked about playing with Julia's daughter, and late at night over dessert, Julia fondly recalled whatever amusing story Alex told her during the day.

I did not have feelings for her, I assured myself. Indeed I could not have feelings for her. She was a neighbor and nothing more. Julia Seuratti was a good woman, but she was not my son's mother, and no matter how well she treated Alex, she would not be anything more to him than a woman who lived in the home behind ours and made him cookies.

Despite all of the reasons I should have returned to my desk, I watched Julia speak to the woman and man and silently willed her to notice me as I stood in the window without my mask. If she met my eye, if she smiled rather than recoiled, if she waved and acknowledged me, then I would step forward. I would smile and wave back to her. I would wait for her invitation to see her that evening and ask if she had ever wondered what was beneath the mask. If she asked for a closer look, I would show her. My heart raced at the very idea of voluntarily revealing what made me most ashamed.

I knew every detail of her likes and dislikes. She loved late season peaches, hated the mention of politics, and claimed her favorite color was yellow. Given that she had no yellow dresses, curtains, or anything else of that color, I had once pointed out that I was fairly confident her favorite color was actually blue. She had blue gowns, matching gloves, and the coverlet on the bed were all blue, as were most of the flowers on the dining room table in the summer. Julia had not argued my point, but instead shrugged and said I was most observant.

Julia did not look at my window. She departed down the street toward the market without a second glance and I shivered at my unfulfilled desires. It was foolish to think I would ever remove my mask in her presence. Far too much time had passed and I could not bear the thought of her recoiling or screaming at the sight of me. Not now. Not after five years of sharing not only her bed but her parlor as well. She knew what I allowed and not a detail more.

We had a decent relationship, and despite fully intending to end our affair in coming weeks, I wanted her to think of me with fondness when our paths no longer crossed. It was for the best that she never saw my face uncovered.

Without thinking I unlocked the bottom desk drawer and pulled out the folder containing every article and image of Christine I had collected. For as long as I would live, I was certain I would hear the echo in my thoughts of when she gasped and pulled away from my wretched face. The absolute fear in her eyes had startled me as no one had seen my cursed face for so many years that I had forgotten what it was like to hear a woman scream out in terror.

One terrible moment had erased years of comfortable conversations and singing lessons. In a single heartbeat, I fell from her graces. One unforgivable folly had unraveled me in the most devastating fashion.

Far too often her apathy for my appearance invaded my thoughts when I wanted to think of her in the days when I was her angel. I struggled to recall her smile when I looked at her through the mirror, the excitement in her expression when I praised her during our lessons.

I did not know Christine's favorite color or the type of perfume she fancied. I had no idea what her coverlet looked like or if she had flowers on the dining room table. The ache within me became almost unbearable as I struggled to call if she had ever told me her likes and dislikes.

We had music, I told myself, a connection she shared with no one else. At last the photographs in the newspaper jarred my memory to a more pleasant time between tutor and student.

"Our son needs you," I whispered in an attempt to reassure myself that my actions were on behalf of Alex. "I need you," I said.

It was easier to say the last three words. I needed her. I would be a better father with Christine at my side. I would be a better man with my son and his mother in my life. Without her, I feared I would continue to be nothing but a wayward shadow. Most of all, I was deathly afraid that I did not truly deserve Alex. Christine would assure me that I was worthy of not only our son's love, but hers as well. Our lessons could continue. I would train her voice and she would give me the guidance I needed to be a better, more worthy man.

I heard Meg and Alex's voices through the open window and swiftly gathered the newspaper clippings and returned them to the drawer. I stood, nearly tripping over the dog, who had curled up in the center of the room, and saw Alex bundled up in Julia's scarf. He had come to a stop several steps from the front door and dug his fingers into the woolen scarf lovingly secured around his neck and face. I was certain Julia had bundled him up when she spotted him on the street with nothing more than his overcoat.

"Alex? What are you doing?" Meg impatiently questioned. "Come inside at once."

Alex ran his hand along the knitted scarf. "Aunt Meg? Why don't I have a mother?"

I remained stock still while Meg grabbed my son by the wrist and pulled him inside the house. She slammed the front door much harder than necessary and for a moment I was unable to follow their conversation as I walked to my bedroom door and strained to listen to their exchange.

"Return to your studies," Meg ordered.

"Does Uncle Charles know?" Alex asked.

"Do not ask him such questions," Meg said.

"Does Father know who my mother is?" Alex blurted out. "Grandmere? Surely someone knows her."

Part of me regretted hiding the truth from Alex all of these years, but quite honestly with the way Christine had dropped him off I did not know what to say of her, and despite his curiosity in all matters, Alex never asked.

On several occasions I had considered telling him that his mother was a gifted singer and that she cared greatly for him, but unfortunately was not able to be in his life. This, however, was untrue. Christine had abandoned him, plain and simple, without so much as a word spoken between us. She had left him soiled and starving in Madeline's arms before she disappeared, and my thoughts on the matter were still quite bitter. He was an absolutely flawless infant and inquisitive toddler. It pained me to think of all she had missed in his life-and how Alex never had the pleasure of hearing his mother's sweet voice.

However, Alex was content within my home and well provided for in every way imaginable, which is why I suspected he never thought to question why he did not have a mother.

Christine had avoided performing in Paris, and as far as I was aware, she stayed out of France altogether, but that was about to change. Everything was about to change. We would have her back at last.

"Hang up Madame Julia's scarf on the hook and take off your wet boots!" Meg yelled as she stomped up the stairs.

I took a hurried step back despite the door being locked and Bessie released a blood-curdling yelp as though I had cut off her tail and not simply stepped on her for a fraction of a second. She continued to wail as though I had nearly murdered her and the high-pitched sound puckered my arms with goose flesh.

I whirled around and grumbled a curse under my breath while Bessie continued to cry. She dashed beneath my bed where she picked up her left front paw, then decided it was the right one that was in pain.

"Monsieur?" Meg called. "Are you unwell?"

"It's the dog," I snapped impatiently at her asinine inquiry and looked from the door to Bessie, who peered out from beneath the bed with her dark, pathetic eyes. With a sigh I tapped on my knee and called her name, but she was not quite ready to forgive me.

"What happened to Bessie?" Alex yelled. "Is she injured?"

"I don't know," Meg replied.

"She is not injured," I assured the two of them. I grabbed my mask and knelt, reaching beneath the bed in an attempt to retrieve the dog, however, Bessie whined in response but did not come out. In fact, she slinked further back and pressed her small frame to the wall, making it impossible for me to pull her out.

"Why did she make that sound?" Alex asked. He roughly jostled the door knob.

I exhaled as I stood, checked my reflection hastily in the mirror, and unlocked the door, barely able to step aside as Alex burst into the room with Meg at his heels.

"Bessie! What happened?" Alex shouted as he crawled halfway under my bed and pulled the pup out by the scruff of her neck. He still had Julia's scarf wrapped loosely around his neck and tossed one tasseled end over his shoulder to prevent the dog from biting the yarn.

Meg placed the newspaper on my desk and folded her arms across her chest as she watched Alex coddle the dog. She made every attempt to pretend she did not stare, but I felt her gaze pinned on me.

"Alex, I think she is fine. You should return to your studies at once," Meg suggested.

"She doesn't look fine," Alex said as he looked the dog over. "Were you injured under the bed? Did you fall? Did something frighten you?"

"I stepped on her tail," I admitted at last.

Alex gasped dramatically. Behind me, Meg inhaled sharply. The two of them were far too similar with their theatrical reactions, particularly when it came to an overly dramatic dog.

"Oh! I am sure it hurts to have someone step on your tail!" Alex exclaimed.

From the corner of my eye I saw Meg shake her head in dismay and assumed she thought I had intended to injure the unwanted mongrel. Every time she met my eye, I still saw a flicker of trepidation in her gaze. We had shared the same home-both the Opera House and the one we now occupied-for the majority of her life and Meg Lowry would always see me as a monster. Admittedly it stung to think she considered me the type of remorseless beast who would harm a rail thin dog.

"It was an accident," I added. I glanced at Meg, who pursed her lips and looked away. She nodded ever so slightly to acknowledge my words. I didn't know if she believed me, and I hated that her opinion had any clout.

Alex frowned and gingerly touched the tip of Bessie's tail. "Oh, Bessie, Father did not intend to step on you. He would not hurt you, girl. Not on purpose." He looked at me and offered a smile before he turned his attention back to the dog.

At least my flesh and blood believed I had not cruelly stomped on the pup's tail.

"Father is very kind, Bessie," Alex added.

My son's words took me by surprise. All of my life I had been called a monster, a demon, the bastard son of the devil, but rarely kind. More treatrous monikers suited me, but not when it came to Alex.

Alexandre brought out a side of me I had never known existed. He tested my patience often by sliding down the banister and somersaulting over chairs, but he amended his maddening ways with the way in which he offered a toothy grin. As an infant the utter helplessness of such a small child nestled within my grasp seemed to stop time. I rocked him as the sun rose and marveled at the chirp of birds in the trees and the fiery start to the day on a cold winter morning. I held him belly-down in my arms while he reached to the window and the rivulets of rain on the glass and cooed da da da over and over again. It did not seem possible that I had played a part in creating such a loving and rambunctious boy, and yet he was mine.

I regarded Alex for a long moment while he comforted the pup. He leaned forward and scrunched up his face when Bessie bumped her nose against his and licked his cheeks. She wriggled in his grasp, making him chuckle as she pawed at his chest. A boy and his dog, the perfect companions, both teeming with enthusiasm and mischief.

Soon enough we would have what we needed. Alex would know how I had fought for his mother to return to his life, how I would willingly sacrifice myself for the sake of Christine and Alex. There had been distance between Alex and myself, for which I was sorry, but that would be forgotten. Christine would return. I would repair the damage I had done. No longer would Alex stand at a distance; he would have a place between his mother and father where he was forever loved and protected. There would be no more sorrow, no more locked doors, and no secrets. We would be a family at last, strongly connected, with music filling our days and nights. I would know Christine's favorite color and purchase a dozen new dresses to please her and Alex would bring her flowers. All would be forgiven, all would be right.

"Did you apologize?" Alex asked suddenly.

"Alex," Meg warned. "Your studies."

I raised my right hand and silenced Meg Lowry while Alex continued to hug the dog to his chest. His gaze flickered to mine for a brief moment and he forced a smile. His wary expression was one I did not recognize on his round face.

My parents had never cared to notice the loneliness and pain I harbored. Countless times I had offered a wan smile to my father in hopes he would reconsider beating me mercilessly, but my attempts were always wasted. As he advanced on me, my smile faded and I braced myself for the inevitable in silence.

Not once had I shaken or struck my son, but the melancholy in his dark eyes was that of a boy who hurt deeply.

"I am truly sorry if I hurt you," I said, looking Alex in the eye. I shuddered at my own words. It was not my intention to hurt my son; I was doing what was best for him. For both of us. For all three of us, really. I would be an angel once more, a fierce protector of my son and his mother. He simply needed to be patient for a few more weeks before I could convince Christine that she was very much needed in our lives.

"Here," Alex said as he extended his arms and offered Bessie to me. "She forgives you."

I cleared my throat and loosened the knot that had threatened to bind my voice. Forgiveness. I had forgotten what it felt like to stand in good graces.

"A full recovery," I said as Bessie's tail thumped wildly against me.

"All she needed was a bit of love," Alex explained as he climbed to his feet and brushed off his trousers.

He turned before I could reply and dashed out of the room, leaving Meg behind. She folded her arms and looked from me to the newspaper she had left on my desk. There was dread in Meg Lowry's blue eyes, but she didn't dare say a word aloud.

The image of Christine smiled at the ceiling. Love and forgiveness, my son had said. I wanted both from my angel. Redeem me once more, I would tell my beloved Christine, revive the dying parts inside of me with your voice. Give me what no one else possibly could provide.

The bedroom door quietly closed as Meg made her exit. The sound snapped me out of my daydreams and I plucked the paper from my desk and sat on the end of my bed. I reached down to smooth the coverlet and felt the woven pattern of Julia's scarf beneath my fingers. Alex must have discarded it haphazardly before he handed Bessie off. I wrapped the woolen fabric around my arm and could not resist inhaling the familiar, intoxicating scent.

"Forgive me," I whispered.

I stared at the image of Christine, but the words were meant for Julia.