"You will be sorely missed, Madame Chekov," Moncharmin promised, kissing the woman's cheeks. "We were only just getting used to having you around!"
Anya kissed his cheeks in turn, knowing full well the men would only miss the tickets she sold. A Russian Ballerina supposedly being courted by the Opera Ghost was quite a money maker. "Thank you for a wonderful experience here, even if it was brief," smiled Anya sincerely. She had been Prima Ballerina for nearly a year when her ankle injury forced her to take a potentially permanent leave of absence from the company. Anya had to force herself every moment not to mope about and feel sorry for herself; she had grown quite fond of the Palais Garnier and of performing again. Leaving felt like losing a loved one… well, at least she had been able to grace the stage one final time before retiring from performing completely. It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, as they say.
The woman tucked her final check into her skirts before limping as gracefully as possible through the halls to the dressing room to finish packing her things. Her ankle caused her so much pain, it was all she could do to walk from the dressing room to the managers' office and back. Erik had warned her not to walk on it, but what choice did she have? The company couldn't very well keep a lame dancer on payroll.
Opening the door, Anya couldn't help but smile at the sight that greeted her in spite of her melancholy. Every inch of counter space and table top was filled with flowers of every shape and size, much as it had been on her opening night. She limped over to the bed and chair by the vanity, sitting and smelling one of the nearby roses. "All right Erik, how did you manage this one? You only brought me back an hour or two ago."
Erik appeared in the room by the mirror, looking proud of himself. "Magic, of course," he explained simply. "Do you like them?"
"They're beautiful," she promised. "If only I could take them all with me."
"I'll make certain they end up wherever you do. Have you found a place to live yet?" He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. Anya limped to his side, sitting down and leaning her head on her shoulder.
"Three days ago I was in the basement of an apartment building, and until two hours ago I was in the cellars with you. I haven't even begun to look at a place to live yet," she sighed, closing her eyes. Thinking about such things made it seem even more real. Anya didn't dare tell him her first instinct was to take this opportunity to move to America.
"You really shouldn't walk on that leg," Erik insisted with a deep frown when she moved over to him. "It will never heal right."
"Well I can't very well sit in bed until it's healed, now can I?" She pointed out. "I have to pack and move my things by the end of the week."
Erik stood and moved over to the wardrobe. From inside the giant closet, Erik pulled out an elegantly carved wooden cane and brought it back to the bed for her to inspect. "I was going to wait for you to find it on your own, but you may as well have it now."
"It's lovely, Erik," she told her lover, though a frown was etched on her face. So this was her future, was it? Well, at least she could take a page from the ballet mistress' book and keep her students in line…
"Is something the matter?" Erik pried, sitting beside her again.
"What isn't the matter is a more appropriate question," the ballerina sighed. "I'm sorry to be in such a mood. I'll be better again in a few days," she promised. "Thank you. For everything. You saved me, set my let, brought me these beautiful flowers and the lovely cane… you don't deserve my foul mood."
"You've seen me in worse moods and still you can tolerate me. You deserve no less a courtesy. Besides, if this is you at your worst I am a lucky, lucky man."
Anya sighed quietly and rested her head on his shoulder again. "What am I going to do, Erik? It's going to take ages for me to heal and get any sort of strength back… I used to think thirty one years was far too old to be dancing, but to retire… now thirty one feels too young."
"First you need to heal, then you can start thinking about the future of your career. You could be lucky and make a full recovery. But I can guarantee that will not happen if you keep walking on that leg," Erik stressed, and Anya nodded.
"All right, all right, I'll stay off it."
Erik leaned over and kissed her gently. "Even if you do have to retire, maybe it would not be so horrible," he suggested. "You could open up your own school. You've certainly built up enough of a reputation to find students."
"I could," Anya admitted tentatively. "But if I were to start a school here I would have to abandon it when I leave for America-"
"So don't go to America. You can make a fine enough living in Paris."
"It isn't about making a living, Erik," Anya explained. "It's about starting a new life, in a place where nobody knows me, where no terrible things have happened. Surely you of all people can understand why that is appealing? You've done it yourself! Think of how often you've moved in your life, the places you've travelled when things where you were became difficult."
"So things are that terrible here?" Erik demanded, coldly, rising from the bed. Anya had not realized how heartless her words had been until just then.
"That isn't what I meant-"
"I know perfectly well what you meant. The bad here outweighs the good, who wouldn't want to leave?"
"Sit down you foolish man and hear me out, would you?" Anya snapped, bitterly. "I don't want to go to America to run away from you, Erik. In fact I decided the last time we talked about it however many weeks ago that I could not possibly leave Paris unless you were with me. I need you in my life more than I need air in my lungs. So stop all this nonsense as if I take you for granted. I know very well how wonderful you have been to me and how much you love me, and I love you just as much. Stop waiting for the other shoe to drop, would you?"
Erik's anger subsided as Anya spoke, and he sat back on the bed beside her, hanging his head some. Anya was right; he was perpetually waiting for something, anything negative to happen between them. When she vanished he thought her dead, when she wanted to leave for America he felt scorned… His love for the woman was so strong and perfect how could something horrible not be waiting just around the corner. "I apologize," he told her quietly. "Good things don't happen to me very often, and they never come without a price."
"I'm not upset with you, Erik, you don't have to apologize" she promised, lying back against the bed and closing her eyes in exhaustion. Since her rescue she had been sleeping hours more a day than usual and still felt fatigued all the time. Erik said I was because of the break in her leg trying to heal. Anya thought with how often it slept it ought to be healed in no time at all.
Even in her melancholy Anya was the most beautiful thing in Erik's life, he thought as he watched her. How strong she was, faced with a life altering injury and feeling nothing more than gloomy. Any other ballerina would have been an emotional whirlwind, weeping and shouting, cursing the stars for her rotten luck. Anya clearly was feeling sorry for herself, but had no intention to drag the world down with her. She mourned the probably loss of her career privately, and her strength only made Erik love her all the more.
Reaching into his coat pocket, Erik pulled out a small black box he had been carrying with him since just before Anya had gone missing. Carefully he lifted one of Anya's hands off her belly and placed it over the box. The woman's eyes opened and Anya set up, taking the box with a shaking hand.
"Erik…"
"Open it," Erik urged gently, before Anya could finish her protest.
Although she already had a strong feeling she knew what was in the box, Anya obeyed and opened it. Inside was a white gold band with a modestly sized diamond flanked by two more diamonds only slightly smaller the center one. Although Anya had guessed correctly on the contents of the box, it still surprised her; she had expected it to be the same or a similar ring to the one he had given the now-Vicomtess, a simple gold band to symbolize eternal belonging. This ring was a work of art in itself.
The ballerina looked with wide eyes from the ring to her lover. "Erik… I can't accept this."
"Why not? We're in love, aren't we? Why shouldn't we be married?"
"If that was all that was needed in a marriage I would say yes in a heartbeat," Anya swore upon hearing the hurt in Erik's voice. "But it isn't, Erik."
"What else could there be?"
"Erik, I don't have a career, or a place to live, or even two proper legs to walk on at the moment! This is a massive change in my life, I have no reason to get married and drag somebody else through it-"
"I make enough money for the both of us, you don't need to work. You would never be working class again if you marry me. You can live with me, your leg will heal."
Anya chewed the inside of her lip. "I can't live underground and be a housewife, Erik. I need to move. I love your house and the time we spend there… it's even more my home than this room is. Was, I suppose. But I couldn't spend every single day underground. I need sunlight, things to do. I would grow restless and make the both of us miserable-"
"We'll open up a dance school, and you can teach," Erik suggested. "You would be out as long as you wanted every day, as many days a week as you want. I don't need for you to cook and clean, I've been doing all that for myself for years. I only need for you to love me and to share your life with me," he said, barely more than a whisper.
Anya looked back down at the ring, heart and mind racing in very different ways. Her mind kept running over and over the complications and difficulties a marriage would bring them both… but her heart told her to damn the complications and to take them in stride. It had worked once before, after all. Or at least, it had worked for a while before.
"…Okay," Anya finally said with a small nod. "I will marry you, Erik."
Erik littered kisses over Anya's face, nearly crying from joy and excitement. His raw emotion touched Anya so deeply she began to feel her own eyes well with tears as she kissed her new fiancé back repeatedly. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had made the right decision. Perhaps it would not be an easy marriage, but what marriage ever was? At the very least she would have a husband who worshiped her, and he would have a wife who adored him for eternity.
Pulling away from Erik's persistent kisses, Anya removed her engagement ring and wedding band from her left hand for the first time in seventeen years. How light her hand felt, unadorned by the bonds of marriage… Anya inspected her naked finger with furrowed brow as Erik took the engagement band from its little box and took up Anya's hand in his. With lithe, delicate fingers, Erik slid the band onto her wedding finger. He frowned when it fit loosely around her finger, slipping some as she held out her hand to inspect it.
Anya kissed him reassuringly. "Ring sizes aren't nearly as easy as dress sizes. I'll have it sized first thing in the morning," she promised, kissing her fiancé deeply.
"What will you do with your husband's rings?"
"My ex husband's rings, Fiance," Anya smiled some. "I don't know. I'll keep them I suppose. I don't think they're worth very much, but they might be someday. If you'd rather I pawn them…"
Erik shook his head. "Do what you'd like with them. I don't care as long as it's my ring on your finger from now on," he promised, kissing her deeply. Anya returned the kiss in the same manner, and before long the pair were consummating their engagement lovingly in the sheets, the pain in Anya's leg completely vanishing as she arched under her lover in ecstasy. In the place of pain came that familiar, sweet wave of pleasure that made her whole body warm and relaxed as Erik collapsed over her, spent.
Anya tipped her head for her fiancé as he kissed and nibbled at her neck languidly, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as he blanketed her comfortably. The woman smiled privately at his intimacy, knowing his openness was for her and only for her.
"Mmm," she hummed pleasantly , trailing her fingers along her fiance's back. "What is my new name going to be?" Anya asked thoughtfully, smiling to Erik.
To her surprise, the man frowned some. "You mean to take my name?"
"Of course I do. I don't suppose it makes a difference since nobody will recognize it, but I certainly don't want the name Chekov after we're married."
"What is your maiden name?" Erik asked after a thoughtful moment of silence.
"Rusayev. Why?"
"Then I think your name should be Anya Rusayev," he said, turning over and pulling Anya on top of him.
Anya folded her arms under her chin and looked up at him. "Why would I take my maiden name?"
"Because I have no name to give you."
The woman frowned some. "Didn't your mother give you a name?"
"No. She told the priest who christened me to give me his own name. I suppose if he gave me his whole name, it is Erik Mansart, but I very much doubt he was so self-loathing."
After a long moment of silence, Anya finally spoke again. "I think in that case you should take my name, Erik."
Erik raised a brow under his mask. "What sense would that make? Not having a surname has never harmed me before."
"Then having one won't harm you now. It doesn't seem right for a husband and a wife not to share a name, is all. We are going to share everything else, why should I have a name and not you?"
The masked man considered this for a long while, stroking his fiance's hair as he thought in silence. "I have a compromise. We will pick a surname together, and both take it when we are married."
"I suppose that would work. But why not simply use mine? It would save us the trouble of finding one that suits us."
"Because it is wrong for me to take your family name. It was given to you and intended for you, not for me. I may be a part of your life but I will never be a part of your family's."
Anya considered this and nodded her understanding. "All right. We'll make up a name for our own family, then."