Here it is, the much anticipated (0r dreaded!) chapter in which our characters go to the ball! Happy Valentine's day everyone!
Chapter Twenty-nine
The Ball
"Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we're here we should dance."-Proverb
"Do help me, Cerise!" Amelie exclaimed. "Stop looking at yourself in the mirror!"
Cerise jolted back to attention and placed a hairpin in her mother's outstretched hand. "Oh, sorry. It's just that I've never worn something so beautiful before…"
"You two are going to be the most elegant girls at that ball." Amelie was smiling proudly as she looked at her daughter and her niece, whose hair she was styling. "You look as fine as any ladies or duchesses, princesses, even!" After the last of the hairpins were placed in Alana's hair, the women stood in front of the mirror one last time.
Alana could hardly recognize herself. The gowns that Erik had found her and Cerise were incredible…where in the world had he found dresses like that without cost, without anyone having need of them? Hers was white with a sweetheart neckline, a full skirt, and a bodice adorned with what had to be real, tiny pearls and diamonds. Cerise's gown was much like hers, but it had a deep ruby color that somehow went perfectly with her dark auburn curls that were piled on top of her head. Both of them had little white flower petals in their hair.
"Come on now, Snow White, Rose Red. The carriage will be coming soon!" Amelie took the two girls by the hand and led them out to the parlor, where Raimond and Andre were sitting.
Raimond rose when they entered the room, grinning warmly. "You two look wonderful!"
Andre suddenly stumbled to his feet, his eyes wide, mystified. He stared at Alana, and she immediately looked down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. She felt guilty about not facing him; he really had been trying to make amends since the incident when he'd stolen the communion wine. He'd been doing little odd jobs at the church and the house, and taking care of the horse. Though he still had a sour demeanor often, and his temper occasionally flared up, Andre had been more stable than Alana had seen him in years. And yet, even today it was painful simply to look at him, wondering if she'd ever be able to feel safe around him again.
Amelia must have noticed the tension in the room, for she sent the men out to bring the girls' luggage from their rooms, and departed to the kitchen, leaving Alana and Cerise alone in the parlor.
"You don't look very excited," Cerise said, looking eager and concerned about her cousin at the same time.
"Oh," Alana sighed. "I am. I'm just thinking."
"Me too. Tonight is all I can think about." Cerise's eyes were lively. "I can't wait for the dancing. I hope…" her voice became wistful. "I hope the Comte de Bellamy will ask me to dance. Though I suppose that's dreaming too far…"
"Don't be silly," Alana retorted. "Once Damien sees you, he'll ask you to dance with him a hundred times over! I have a feeling something will happen between you two tonight." She grinned.
"If he doesn't spend all his time dancing with you," Cerise said. Alana couldn't tell if her cousin sounded resentful or not.
"Oh he won't." Alana laughed it off. "I'll have Erik, remember?"
Cerise nodded. "I'll finally get to meet your mystery man!"
There came a thud from behind them. Andre had set their two suitcases down and was standing with his arms crossed, looking at Alana. "What mystery man?"
Alana paled and her throat tightened as she looked away.
"He's the gentleman who'll be escorting us to the ball tonight," Cerise answered.
Andre grimaced, his eyes suspicious. "How do I know the two of you will be safe with this man?" His tone was as concerned and fatherly as Raimond's.
For some reason, that angered Alana. "We'll be no less safe with him than we would be with you!" she snapped, glaring defiantly.
Her father stepped back as if he'd been physically struck by her words. He seemed to shrink inside himself. Immediately Alana's heart stung with guilt, and she got up and looked out the window to distract herself. "Oh," she breathed. "The carriage
is here." Damien had promised them a carriage would be sent from his house to take them to his estate that night.
Wordlessly, Cerise ran forward and threw the door open. Andre picked up the suitcases and hurried outside without looking at Alana. Soon all of them were standing outside. Alana hugged her aunt and uncle goodbye, thanking them for all their help, and then she found herself standing in front of her father, and this time she could not escape from his gaze. His dark eyes held deep sorrow and pain.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Andre shook his head. "No, I am. You go and have your fun." He nodded to the carriage, and sighed. "You look so beautiful, Alana. Looking at you is like…" he struggled for words. "It's like seeing your mother again."
Alana's eyes watered a little. "T-thank you," she stammered.
"You're welcome, sweetheart," he said, in the softest tone she'd heard from him in years.
Abruptly, she turned away from him so that she would not cry. It hurt too much.
She opened the carriage door and stepped in without help, and after a final goodbye Cerise followed her.
They were settling into the seat when Cerise gasped.
Erik was sitting across from them, the right side of his face hidden by a black half mask instead of the usual white one.
"Good afternoon," he said.
"Hello," Alana said with a wry smile, already feeling better now that he was here. "I'm not even going to ask how you got into this carriage without any of us seeing you." He never ceased to amaze her. "Oh, by the way, Erik, this is my cousin, Cerise Valjean, who has a tendency to be easily startled. Cerise, meet Erik, who has a tendency to appear out of nowhere."
Her cousin smiled politely, the color starting to return to her white face. "It's nice to finally make your acquaintance.
Erik gave a slow nod. "Likewise."
They had a long carriage ride ahead of them, and much of the trip was uncomfortably quiet. It was because Cerise was there, Alana realized. Before, when she and Erik had been together it had just been the two of them, alone. Erik was always reserved, but she'd forgotten just how shy he was. He seemed to eye her cousin nervously, and Cerise did likewise. She didn't seem to be able to trust a man in a mask. But then again, her life hadn't been saved by one of them.
Alana looked at him without fear, even though his black mask and his dark cloak would have had an ominous appearance to anyone else.
"Are you wearing your costume, Erik?" she asked, desperate to break the awkward silence. "Did you ever decide what to wear?"
"Yes." Erik pushed his cloak back, revealing a suit that looked incredibly fine.
Or…two suits, joined together. The left side appeared to be a white admiral's uniform, adorned with medals, with a silver epaulette on his shoulder. The right side was identical in form, but without marks or insignia, and the fabric and epaulette were black as night. The suit was molded closely to his body, and he wore tall black boots, and a sword at his hip. On any other man, the costume might have looked unusual, but on Erik, even sitting down, it looked spectacular.
"Incredible," Alana said. Cerise seemed impressed as well, smiling and nodding her approval. "Where in the world did you find that costume?"
"The same place I found yours," he replied. "Though I had to make some changes."
"Obviously. How did you do something like that?"
"I had help," he said vaguely.
Alana nodded. "So…I take it you're dressed as the Half-Man, like you were talking about before?" It saddened her that he would take the story so personally, and even chosen to dress as the character.
"Yes."
"I'm sure yours will be the best costume there." That was the last of the conversation on the long ride. After watching the world pass by through the window, Alana and Cerise both fell asleep, while Erik quietly read from the book of Edgar Allan Poe stories that he had brought.
Alana woke to Erik softly calling her name, his book finally set aside. "We're here," he said.
Immediately she looked out the window and gasped. The sun was setting now, and they were riding down a wide cobblestone road, passing by orchards of fruit trees in a large valley of green grass with rolling hills in the distance. But the landscape was not what Alana was looking at. She sat open-mouthed, staring at the monumental chateau their carriage was taking them to. "Oh my goodness," she whispered, looking at Erik in disbelief. "It's like a palace." She nudged Cerise in the ribs, jolting her from her sleep. After blinking awake, Cerise did exactly as her cousin had done. Neither one of them could stop smiling, and the carriage was suddenly filled with their excited chatter and laughter. While Erik looked out of the window at the chateau, Alana thought she saw him roll his eyes at them. He clearly wasn't used to being around multiple young women.
Before they knew it, the three of them were standing in front of the brightly lit mansion. Alana looked up, up, and up; the building seemed never ending. She couldn't imagine a person actually living in a place so huge. Several servants came forward to carry their suitcases to their rooms, while another asked them to follow him into the house. Cerise squeezed Alana's hand, and they both grinned as they hurried inside, Erik following solemnly behind them.
Once they walked through one of the tall double doors, they stood in a room with soaring ceilings and an enormous crystal chandelier, art lining the walls on all sides, a spectacular double staircase at the far side of the room, leading to what must have been dozens and dozens of rooms. Alana stole a glance at Erik; he was wide-eyed and speechless, taking in the beauty and the architecture, completely blind to everything else.
The servant cleared his throat. "If you wish to follow me to the ballroom…" he motioned for them to come with him, and dumbly they followed.
Even the hallways were beautiful, Alana thought, as they walked after their guide. Damien's house in Paris was stunning, but this chateau had such an overwhelming sense of old, old grandeur. Alana found herself feeling very small, a foreigner in a place like this. The servant stopped and pointed at one of the doors along the wall. "If you ladies wish to make use of the dressing room, it's right through this door. There is an entrance
to the ballroom from there, should you wish to join the party when you're finished. Monsieur," he said to Erik, "if you'll follow me we can head to the main entrance to the ballroom."
Cerise and Alana went into the dressing room, which was already full of women, talking amongst themselves or sitting in front of vanities laid out with cosmetics and hair care products, applying powders and rouges and putting the finishing touches on their elaborate hairstyles. Their costumes were extravagant; Alana glimpsed several fairy tale or Shakespearean characters, as well as some historical figures, including what appeared to be a Marie Antoinette. The lady dressed as the infamous queen was all too familiar. Alana cringed inwardly. Seraphine.
As she and her cousin touched up their appearances and smoothed the skirts of their dresses, Alana hoped and prayed that Seraphine would not notice her, but in the mirror she glimpsed a woman in a painstakingly styled powdered wig and voluminous pink dress studded with diamonds gliding towards them.
"Why, if it isn't Mademoiselle Alana Valjean," she said loudly, grinning in the mirror's reflection as Cerise tucked away some loose strands of Alana's hair. She clearly emphasized Alana's ordinary title, to make it known to everyone in the room that she was not one of them. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here. And you must be the Reverend's daughter," she said to Cerise.
"Yes," Cerise said, smiling politely at the noblewoman. "It's nice to finally meet you. You're Comtesse Seraphine d'Auvergne, am I right?"
Seraphine nodded nonchalantly and looked the two girls up and down. "What lovely costumes you're wearing. Wherever did you have them made?"
Alana swallowed. "A friend of ours found them for us, actually."
Seraphine grinned oddly again. "How convenient. Well, the two of you look positively charming. Why, anyone at the ball could be fooled into thinking you truly are noblewomen!" She laughed and left the room.
Cerise looked at Alana quizzically. "You met her at Damien's, didn't you?" Alana nodded. "Was she…mocking us? For not being aristocrats?"
"Yes. That seems to be what Seraphine does to get her fulfillment in life." She sighed. "But we shouldn't pay her any attention. Let's go!"' Alana got up and linked arms with her cousin, the two of them moving towards the door. After a moment of breathless anticipation, they pushed it open.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Erik was standing on the shore of a sea of light and music. Leaning against one of many marble columns, he took in everything around him. The splendor of the massive ballroom, with its columns, crystal chandeliers, and Baroque painted ceiling dome. The people, in elaborate, exquisitely made costumes, dancing in the center of the room or conversing along the sides. He was not used to so much noise, or so many people in one place. It was unnerving, and yet it was spectacular. The masquerade balls at the Opera Populaire had been impressive, but this celebration was already surpassing those by far with its sheer beauty and magnitude. He saw people's faces, laughing and smiling as they talked, sipped champagne, or sampled hor d'oeuvres.
So this is the kind of life I've been missing, he thought. He remembered what his mother had said years ago, about his father being a very wealthy man. If his father had had enough decency, enough of a heart to love his mother, and love Erik too, then maybe he would have grown up in a world like this, instead of in a filthy slum, an animal's cage, and underground.
As he looked out at the revelers, something caught his eye. He couldn't help but stare.
There was a man dressed like him.
Not as the Half-Man.
As the Phantom of the Opera.
Evening dress, with a cape and a white half-mask. It was unmistakable. How many other men dressed as he did? Erik saw another glimmer of white and couldn't believe his eyes. There was another…no, at least three men, dressed as him. It seemed he'd become something of a legend. It was strange. He didn't know what to make of it, but he breathed a sigh of relief. Chances were no one would recognize him tonight.
"Erik!" He turned, and saw Alana and Cerise making their way through the crowd, grinning from ear to ear, their eyes darting excitedly about the room, taking in the sights and sounds. "What do you think?" Alana asked when she and her cousin were standing next to him.
He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. How could he describe such a scene? "It's certainly a new experience," he said. "Very interesting."
"Alana Valjean!" came a man's voice before the girl had a chance to respond. Erik watched as she turned to face a young dark-haired man dressed as a Roman army commander. There was something familiar about him, he thought, and wondered if he'd run into him before.
Alana curtsied. "Good evening, Comte. Happy birthday." Erik couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as the man bent to kiss Alana's hand.
"Yes, happy birthday," Cerise echoed, her eyes betraying her infatuation with the man. This must be the Comte de Bellamy, Erik realized, the friend of Alana's who'd invited him here. The man Madame Giry had said wished him dead more than any other. Looking at him, it was impossible to tell such a thing. He had such a brightness about him, a cheerfulness in speech and countenance. But Erik knew more than anyone how easy deception could be. He would keep a wary eye on the Comte de Bellamy tonight.
"And you must be Erik," the Comte said, stepping up closer to him. He extended his hand. "Alana's told me so much about you. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." After a moment of hesitation, Erik shook his hand. Despite the warmth of the room, Comte Damien's hands were oddly cold. The other man seemed to be waiting for a response, but Erik did not give one. He did not have anything to say to him; he just nodded politely, wondering what exactly Alana had told this man about him.
"Well, I hope you have a wonderful evening," the Comte said, a strange look flashing across his eyes for a second before vanishing into cheerfulness again as a tall woman, flamboyantly dressed in a bright pink gown, came towards them. Judging by the extravagance of her dress, and the meticulously styled powdered wig on her head, she had come as Marie Antoinette. "Seraphine!" Comte Damien exclaimed. "You're looking quite well this evening. You remember Alana, don't you?"
Erik saw the woman look Alana up and down with a condescending eye, and he felt heat rise up in his chest.
"Oh yes of course I remember Mademoiselle Valjean. I had the pleasure of speaking with her and her cousin earlier this evening." She smiled at Alana and Cerise, looking falsely cheerful.
"And this is Monsieur Erik," Damien gestured from Seraphine to him.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance." Seraphine curtsied, while Erik nodded to her. When she'd risen to her full height again Erik felt her look him up and down briefly, but with none of the condescension she'd shown for Alana. Her eyes lingered upon him for longer than he cared for, and he glanced away. He didn't like the woman. She reminded him of a certain diva he had despised for four excruciatingly long seasons back at the opera house.
The music had just stopped, and the dancers stood still and applauded. "Ah. Excellent," said Damien. "Alana, may I have the honor of sharing the next dance with you?"
A jealous knife pierced Erik's chest. No, you may not have the honor. He looked at Alana, willing her to say no.
"Oh…my apologies. I've never danced before, and I've promised Erik that we'll teach each other to dance," Alana said. Erik almost smiled as pride filled him. She would rather dance with me than with the host of this grand ball. "At least for this first dance, though I'd be delighted to dance with you some other time this evening."
Erik thought he saw Damien's face darken for a moment.
"Very well. The next dance is a slow waltz, quite simple to pick up. I wish you two luck." He turned to Seraphine. "May I have the honor?"
The other woman, whose expression had visibly soured when Damien asked Alana to dance, immediately smiled again and took his hand, the two of them walking out into the center of the ballroom. They didn't see Cerise, who'd been entirely forgotten, look down at the floor, her face sad. Erik pitied her. It seemed she had feelings for the Comte, and he was either oblivious or didn't care. He knew how that felt.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Who was that man?" Seraphine asked Damien as they waltzed across the ballroom floor. In the long years they had known each other, the Comte had danced with her so many times that they moved in perfect rhythm, each knowing exactly how the other would move.
Damien rolled his eyes. "No one of any consequence."
"Oh." Seraphine's eyes lost a little of their interest. "Well, he is quite handsome. That face of his could get him far in life."
He laughed harder than he'd intended to. "I highly doubt that."
"Then why did you invite him?"
"Only to please Alana Valjean…" Damien began.
Seraphine frowned. "And why would you want to do that?"
He bristled with irritation. "Because I care about her, that's why."
"Oh." Seraphine gave him a hard look and continued their dance in silence.
After a while, Damien glanced across the ballroom, searching the crowd of swirling dancers and conversing partygoers along the walls, and there they were. The madman, looking eerily sane, was talking to Alana, and that filled him with jealousy. After the failed kiss weeks ago, and seeing the way she looked at "Erik", as she called him, he knew that her heart belonged to that liar and murderer, and he had to help her.
"Damien, look at me."
He faced Seraphine, startled by her stern tone.
"Don't pay them any heed. Let the two nobodies be together." Her expression was cold and hard.
"She's not a nobody!" Damien burst out, causing a few of the nearby dancers to shoot him alarmed glances. "She's a wonderful woman, a better one than you'll ever be!"
Seraphine gasped and her wide eyes looked hurt. But he had to say it. "I will get her to fall in love with me eventually. I'll wait as long as it takes, and I don't care what anyone else says about it. So you should just give up this…this quest of yours!"
"What are you talking about?" she asked, indignant.
"Honestly, Seraphine. Don't think I don't know you've been trying to seduce me for years now."
Her jaw dropped.
"I know your family and my family are close, and for all our lives, they've just assumed that the two of us would be married. But never once did any of you ask what I wanted!"
He stopped dancing where they were and stalked off to find himself a drink, while Seraphine, her eyes stinging with tears, whispered a "happy birthday" as he left.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Just look at her," Alana said with rapture, as she watched her cousin dancing in the arms of a handsome, rather roguish-looking aristocrat dressed as a pirate. "She looks like she's having a wonderful time out there. I told her she'd have fun, regardless of who she is or isn't dancing with."
Erik didn't know how to respond to that. He rubbed his neck nervously. Oh, why did I come here? It was a beautiful place, but the overwhelming amount of people was getting to him. He couldn't shake the fear of someone recognizing him in spite of his costume, or worse, two certain people he knew being there. Or the fear of having to dance. Embarrassment would be inevitable.
Then, the music ended and the dancers stopped and applauded the musicians. The people dispersed, beginning a search for new partners. Out of the corner of his eye, Erik saw a gentleman making his way toward Alana, eyes bright with anticipation. He stepped closer to Alana and with an icy glare sent the other man in the opposite direction.
"Well?" Alana turned to face him, and he tried not to stare at her too obviously. She was absolutely stunning tonight in her beautiful ivory gown, white flowers in her golden hair. "Shall we join the others?" She reached out her small, slender hand, and he took it, leading her out near the dance floor.
His heart was racing from the feeling of her hand in his, and from the realization that he was about to dance, with no idea how. "A waltz is a three step dance," he said, both to her and to himself. "Slow. It can't be too difficult. Can it?"
Alana shrugged, and there was no time to think things through. The music began to play softly, and the couples began to waltz. Erik swallowed, and took Alana's hand, just barely resting his other hand on her waist as she reached up and put her hand on his shoulder. He glanced at the other dancers to see what they were doing, and took the first step of the dance. Alana stepped back abruptly, and he moved to the right with her following carefully, her eyes serious with concentration.
Erik looked away to observe the dancers again, but before he knew it, he collided with someone else's shoulders. A disgruntled man turned around, looked him up and down, scowling, but turned back to his companion and resumed the dance. Erik turned to face Alana, who was covering her mouth, muffling the sound of her laughter.
"It's not funny," Erik muttered, but that only made her laugh more uncontrollably this time. This was so humiliating. He felt as if everyone in the ballroom was staring at him.
"Let's try it again," Alana said once she had gotten her laughter under control. "One two three, one two three," she said softly for the two of them to hear.
Erik sighed and stepped forward, joining the dance again. Six steps, successful, no mistakes…
"Ow!" Alana exclaimed, letting go of his shoulder and looking down.
"What?"
She looked back up at him and burst into laughter again. "You stepped on my foot!"
Erik groaned. This was even worse than he'd anticipated.
Seraphine, with a new partner, waltzed by them and remarked, "Having trouble, Mademoiselle Valjean? It would be so difficult to dance like the rest of us here if one had never been to a ball before." She shook her head sympathetically, but had a strange malicious look in her eye as she glided away with her partner.
"Come on, Erik," Alana said. Her face had gone red and the brightness had gone from her expression. "Let's try once more."
He nodded, took her hand, and they began again. He willed himself to focus on the music, to forget all else around them, and soon he found himself stepping in rhythm, circling across the floor with Alana following his lead. The music was all he could hear, and she was all he could see. He stepped away and spun her around, and then brought her back to him, so close. She never once looked away from him, or he from her. Just as it had done throughout his entire life, music was guiding his every footstep.
Only this time, he wasn't walking alone.
When at last the music stopped and he spun Alana for the final time, he blinked back to a reality that, for once, wasn't so bad. He allowed himself a smile as he bowed with the rest of the gentleman, and Alana returned his smile as she curtsied with the ladies. They left the center of the ballroom and Erik leaned against the wall, deep in thought as he looked at all the people in their various costumes.
"That wasn't so terrible, was it?" Alana asked him.
"At first, yes," he said honestly. "But toward the end it went rather well, wouldn't you say?"
She nodded excitedly. "At this rate, if we dance all through the night we'll be the most skilled dancers in this entire ballroom…" she broke off, laughing again. "As long as you don't step on my foot again! It's a wonder I'm able to walk at all!"
Erik laughed softly. "My apologies."
"I might just forgive you," she said imperiously, "if you'll dance the next dance with me again."
"What about your friend, the Comte?" Erik searched the room for the dashing young man.
"Oh, don't worry about that. There's plenty of time left tonight. But I'll need quite a bit more practice before I dance with the likes of him."
"With the likes of him?" Erik felt himself being transformed by the lightheartedness of the celebration around them. "My dear Alana, once you're finished dancing with me you will no longer wish to go anywhere near the dance floor with the likes of him."
Her cheeks flushed a little. "Well, we'll see about that," she said wryly.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Damien sipped his champagne, looking out at the sea of costumed dancers. There went Alana and her lunatic; they were moving with the music, but their footwork was absolutely atrocious. He choked back a laugh.
"There he is!" came a woman's voice
Damien spun around and immediately was wrapped in a tight embrace. "Mother!" he exclaimed. Was this display of motherly affection really necessary among all his friends?
Ignoring his cry of protest, the Marquesse de Bellamy pulled away and touched his cheek. "So handsome, just like your father."
"I appreciate the compliment my dear," said the Marquis as he approached.
"For heavens sake though, son, put away that glass of champagne. I can't remember the last time I saw you without a drink in your hand." Her voice was lighthearted, but her eyes were full of concern.
"I'd listen to your mother if I were you, son," said the Marquis. "Besides, what are you doing drinking? You should be out dancing, with our dear Seraphine. It's your twenty-third birthday, a time for celebration!"
Damien rolled his eyes. "What better birthday present than to not dance with her."
The Marquesse gasped with shock. "Oh mercy! You two haven't had a falling out, have you? Oh, you have. I can see it!" She shook her head sadly. "What a pity…you two were very nearly engaged! You must go to her! Make amends!"
Damien laughed. "I do not intend to turn tonight into an engagement celebration, Mother." He held up a finger to silence the woman before she interrupted him. "Nor do I intend to marry Seraphine…ever."
The Marquesse looked to her husband for support. Damien's father looked at him and said. "Very well, son; you're a grown man. Tonight is in your honor. You may do as you wish. But I'd advise you to think about this decision a little more seriously."
His mother started all of a sudden. "There's another woman, isn't there?"
Damien knew he had a guilty expression on his face; he never could hide much from his mother.
"Who is she? Is she here?" she demanded.
He scanned the ballroom, and spied Alana, dancing with her murderous partner with a naively blithe expression on her face. He pointed her out. "There she is."
He heard his mother's sudden intake of breath. "Oh. She's a very…pretty girl, with a fine gown. But who is she? I've never seen her in my life! Where is she from?"
Damien swallowed hard. "She is the daughter of Reverend Valjean back in Paris."
In an instant both of his parent's eyes were on him, shocked and angry. "You can't be serious," the Marquis said.
"Her mother was a Scottish lady!" Damien jumped to her defense. "She may not have a title now, but she has nobility in her, about her."
The Marquesse clicked her tongue with disapproval, and her husband shook his head. "You may have your fun tonight on your birthday, son, but whatever attachment you may have to that girl must be severed. Tomorrow, it will all come to an end," said the Marquis with an air of finality.
Damien was livid, but he burned with rage in silence. His father had always been a stern man, and even now, at twenty-three, he dared not cross him. His parents stalked off and he finished his glass of champagne in one swig.
You're wrong, he said silently to them. Tomorrow, everything will begin.
"What on earth have you done to them?" came Raoul's voice. The Vicomte had walked up beside him and clapped him on the shoulder. "Has the birthday boy been misbehaving?"
"Oh, shut up, Napoleon," Damien growled.
"You guessed already!" Raoul said, looking down at his costume.
"What other historical figure can compare to you in ego? The answer was obvious."
Raoul laughed. "Happy birthday, Damien. Or should I say, hail Caesar? Come now, whoever you are, you must stop lurking around here and come have some fun with the rest of us. It's your celebration. You should enjoy it."
The Comte allowed himself a small laugh. "Oh, don't worry. I will. The party just won't start until all the guests have left for the night."
Raoul chuckled at the irony, then abruptly let out a groan of displeasure. "Would you just look at that?" He gestured toward a man dressed in formalwear and a flowing cape, with a white half-mask on his face. The mask was on the wrong side, but it was obvious he was dressed as the Phantom of the Opera. "He's not the only one I've seen dressed like that. It's some nerve, doing that, with what happened to you and Avery."
Hearing Avery's name was like a knife to the chest. Damien recovered and said, "It's no matter. Besides, the Phantom has become a sort of an urban myth. They're talking about him in all the cafes, and at all the state functions. Everyone knows the story." Except Alana, it seemed, but she'd soon know the sorry tale.
"I wonder which one is the real Phantom," Raoul remarked as he watched the masked man pass by.
"Our man's not dressed as himself…obviously," Damien said. "In fact, there he is…do you see the man in what looks somewhat like an admiral's uniform? It's half white, half black, he's got a black mask and cloak…"
"I see him," the Vicomte said with revulsion. "Dancing with your Alana, I see. It's disgusting." Damien nodded and Raoul wondered, "Can you tell me this? How can a masked man with such strange, and wicked behavior possibly win so much of a woman's heart?"
The Comte just shook his head. "Madmen can be the best actors sometimes. You know he's a liar and a lunatic. With him, anything's possible. It's like he's got her under a spell…" Then he realized something. "Where's Christine?"
Raoul gestured vaguely to the far side of the room. "Off talking with some other women. I would've brought her over here with me to talk to you, but she so rarely talks to the other women…"
"Is she angry with you?" Damien interrupted.
He sighed. "She was at first. She tried and tried to change my mind, but after you came and talked to her she was finally able to see things the way we do. She'll be all right. We'll all be. Our troubles will be over very soon, my friend."
The Comte de Bellamy smiled. "I couldn't think of a better birthday present."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The music had steadily picked up tempo, growing livelier. Instead of waltzes, they began doing contra dances. Erik and Alana had tried one and gotten horribly confused, throwing off the other dancers. They retreated, laughing, away from the center of the ballroom.
"Oh, we're bad at this," Alana said, still trying to contain her laughter. "It is fun, though, isn't it?"
Erik grunted. "I don't care for all that skipping about." He gestured out at the dancers, prancing in perfect rhythm across the floor, switching from one partner to the other and swinging them around.
"I don't blame you. I don't know how they do that in shoes like this," Alana said.
"There you two are!" Cerise was coming towards them, arm in arm with the Comte de Bellamy. She looked practically giddy; Erik had seen her out on the floor with the man for the last three dances. The Comte looked as if he were enjoying himself, but he appeared somewhat distracted, and Erik knew who was making his mind wander. He regarded the Comte coolly as the man approached Alana and asked her to dance. Her eyes darted to meet Erik's, but she quickly looked back at the Comte and accepted his offer.
Erik seethed as he watched Damien lead her off, and he leaned back against the wall, his arms folded tightly across his chest. Cerise stood beside him, wistfully watching Alana and the Comte walking away.
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Cerise turned to him. "Are you having a good time?"
"Yes," he replied. He wasn't fond of the crowds of people; every time someone looked at him, it made him uncomfortable. But he was grateful for a new experience, one that wasn't all bad, and he was grateful for being able to spend time with Alana without having to hide.
"I'm glad to hear that," said Cerise. "Alana was very happy that you decided to come, you know. She hasn't been able to stop talking about you for weeks."
Erik was taken aback. "She hasn't?"
Cerise turned her piercing blue gaze on him; there was a strange intensity in her eyes. "You had better not do anything to hurt my cousin. She's already dealt with too much pain in her life." And with that, the auburn-haired girl sauntered off across the room, disappearing into the crowd and leaving Erik alone with his thoughts.
He searched the ballroom and glimpsed Alana and Damien dancing together, smiling and laughing as the Comte showed her what to do. As he watched, he began to contemplate the different ways the man could be murdered. Eventually he tore his gaze away, unable to watch anymore. Was it normal to feel so…jealous?
A few men and women stopped by to speak to him, usually to ask him who he was; they'd never seen him before. He only spoke to them briefly, concocting false names to those who asked for his, and turning down several women's requests to dance. They probably thought he was terribly rude, but he had nothing to say to them. He wasn't good at making small talk, saying pointless things that nobody really cared about. Erik stifled a yawn. This place didn't seem quite so beautiful, the party didn't seem quite so exciting, without Alana at his side…
Suddenly, his gaze fell upon a dark-haired woman in a black gown with her back to him, all alone on the opposite side of the ballroom. Slowly she turned around. She was wearing a black mask, but it could not hide her identity. He knew who she was immediately.
The woman's champagne glass slipped from her hand and fell to the floor, shattering to pieces.
Erik felt an overwhelming cold rush through him. It seemed the entire room had grown dark, and all other people had disappeared but him and the woman in black. He didn't know what he felt. Anger? Fear? Hatred?
Love?
Neither one of them moved for what seemed like forever. And then he saw the Vicomte de Chagny walk up to the woman in black. He took Christine in his arms and kissed her, leading her out of Erik's sight.
He just stood there, numb. He longed to go after her, and he longed to run away, far from her. She would never love him. She could never be trusted not to betray him. There was no future for them.
He was so utterly confused. His feelings for Christine were so strong, and so was what he felt for Alana. There was such a long history with Christine, and he'd only known Alana since earlier that summer. But what he felt for Alana was something entirely different than anything he'd experienced before; it was something good, he thought. But was it real? How could he know?
"Erik?" He turned at the sound of his name, half expecting to see Christine there for a moment before he remembered that in all the years she'd known him, she'd never asked for his name. Alana was there in front of him, so fair, so innocent, so trusting. What does she see in me?
"Did you have a good dance?" he forced himself to ask.
"Yes, I did," she answered. "Contra dancing isn't so hard once you practice a little…are you sure nothing's wrong? You look as though you've seen a ghost."
"It's nothing."
"Why don't we go outside?" She took his arm gently and they made for one of the large glass doors leading out into the gardens. "The fresh air could do us some good."
A cool breeze floated past them as they stepped outside. Summer was nearly over; a few leaves drifted from the branches of the various trees planted in a perfectly ordered way around the garden. The chateau grounds seemed neverending. The pathway leading through the expanse of flowers, trees, and hedges could go on and on forever. The two of them wandered through the gardens for a while, passing a few scattered couples also milling about in the fresh air.
"What's bothering you, Erik?" Alana asked finally. "You actually seemed…happy earlier tonight, but I can tell that something's wrong."
He sighed. "I saw someone."
Her expression darkened. "Who?"
He didn't want to say it, but he had to. "Christine," he whispered. Alana opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off. "But it doesn't matter. I shouldn't even care that she's here, with someone else. I don't need her. She's brought me so much pain…"
"I'm sorry…"
"You don't have to apologize, Alana. You've helped me more than anyone ever has." He could hear the emotion in his own voice. "With you, I've said and done things I've never said and done before, seen things I'd never seen, felt things I've never felt.
I just want to tell you thank you for all you've done."
Her cheeks flushed pink. "You're welcome. It's no trouble at all."
That's where you're wrong Alana. A person like me is nothing but trouble. The question was, should he let her go, keep her safe from himself and his past? If he continued down this road, he would bring her pain. It was inevitable.
They'd come to a little gazebo, and they stood and stared at the lights of the chateau behind them. "It's lovely, isn't it?" Alana sighed. "You can hear the music from here." The sounds of the orchestra drifted on the wind across the garden.
It was a slow, sweet-sounding song, and it began to soothe his troubled heart. Listening to the music, and looking at the girl beside him filled him with a sense of peace, the most he'd felt in a long time. He took Alana's hand in his.
"May I have this dance?"
She smiled and nodded, and he pulled her close to them. They began to dance in time to the music, in their own way. They were all alone, and they could be themselves. Erik let the music tell him how to move, and he began to hum softly along with the tune, until words came to him and he began to sing.
May I have this dance?
Tonight on our own, you and I
We're alone, and I swear I've never felt more alive
You and me
That's all we need
So may I have this dance?
He felt his face burning, and broke off. What am I thinking? "I'm sorry. That was dreadful, wasn't it?"
Alana's eyes were shining. "No," she whispered. "I think it's beautiful. Won't you sing it again?"
He smiled, and sang the verse again, adding new words to it.
Before today, there was only pain
All I've ever known is night
But now I see, when you're with me
All I see is light.
No more hate, despair, or fear
It all fades when you are near
How can I deserve this?
How can I repay this?
Alana reached up a finger and gently touched his lips as she sang,
You can have this dance.
Erik felt a sudden rush of happiness stronger than anything he'd ever felt before. They danced and sang the first verse until the music stopped. Alana pulled away smiling sadly as she said, "I wish they could have played that song forever…I don't want it to be over."
"But it's not over," Erik said, still holding her hand. "Our song is just beginning."
Alana's eyes shone even more than before, and he realized it was because they were full of tears. Suddenly her arms were wrapped tightly around him, and her face was buried in his chest. He stood there and held her until she finally stepped back. "Thank you so much for coming." She wiped a tear away. "I think this is the happiest I've been in years."
"You're very welcome. I can say with the utmost honesty that this is the happiest I have been in my entire life." She looked at him in bewilderment, and he reached out to wipe away the final tear from her face. "And it's all thanks to you."
Erik couldn't believe he was saying these things, and yet he couldn't believe that he hadn't already said them. Alana looked down at the ground, blushing at his words; he could feel the heat rising beneath her skin through his hand that still lingered on her face. He found his hand moving to her chin, and slowly, slowly, he tilted her face upward to meet his. For a moment he just stared at her, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.
Then, at last, his lips met hers.
It was a slow, gentle kiss.
They were not consumed by burning passion, but an overwhelming peace such as they had never felt before. When they finally pulled apart, they stood with their faces close together, drinking in the moment. Neither one of them spoke or met the other's eyes until Erik put his arms around her again and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. He wanted to speak, but all his words had gone. Her gaze drifted away from him to the brightly lit chateau, and he realized what he'd meant to say.
"Alana, I think I…"
"Look, everyone's stopped dancing," she said at the same time. "Wait. What did you say?"
Erik looked and saw that everyone in the ballroom was standing still, watching something. "It seems something important is going on. We should go inside." She nodded slowly, and he led her inside by the hand.
"What were you going to say back there?" she asked as they neared the open doors.
"It can wait," he said with breathless anticipation.
Joy. This is the first time I have ever experienced joy. Right now, nothing matters but her, and nothing could possibly bring me down from this place. He found himself, much to his own surprise, thanking the Almighty for this blessing he'd been given for some unknown reason. I thank you with all my heart. I know I don't deserve this, but please, let it last.
At the top of the staircase on the far side of the ballroom, the Vicomte de Chagny was making a speech in Damien's honor, with Christine at his side, and Erik didn't even care. He did not hear a word of any of the speeches from the Comte de Bellamy's many friends and family members. All he heard was the sound of his own racing heartbeat, and all he felt was joy and the feeling of Alana's hand in his.
And when the last of the speeches were given, and the last toast was made, and the guests began to disperse, when one of the servants led him, Alana, and Cerise up the stairs to their rooms, that was still all Erik could feel. After Cerise had said goodbye to them, casting a wary glance his way, she disappeared into her room, leaving Erik and Alana in the hall alone.
"Thank you for a wonderful night, Erik," she said with a smile. "I told you we would have a good time."
Erik gave a small laugh. "Well, I've learned my lesson about even thinking to contradict you on anything ever again."
She laughed too, and said, "Good night."
Erik leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. "Good night."
And then she was gone inside her room, and he was standing in the hallway by himself. He saw a flash of movement to the left and looked up.
The Comte de Bellamy stood in the intersection of the several different hallways, staring at him icily. Erik shot back a cool glare of his own and turned his back on him, making his way to his own bedroom. The servant had showed it to him before he'd gone to bid goodnight to the two women he'd escorted tonight. It seemed to be on the opposite side of this particular wing of the chateau, far, far away from Alana.
But that was all right. She was in his heart now, and he knew that he was in hers. He went inside and changed out of his costume into a simple white shirt and trousers, and replaced his black mask with the usual white one. It had been a long day and night, and he sank gratefully into a soft, luxurious armchair. The suitcase he had brought was sitting alongside the chair, and he opened it, pulling out the two books he had packed. The clock in his room had just struck four, but he wasn't tired. He would read to pass the time until he could see Alana again.
He stared at the two books in his hand. One, his beloved old dog-eared book of Poe's dark stories. The other, the Holy Bible, the one Alana had given him. He regarded the second with slight annoyance but at the same time, curiosity. Before tonight, he had never felt anything from God but disapproval and cold, angry silence. But now, he swore he felt something else, and maybe this giant book full of stories with strange names could help him make sense of everything.
He set Poe down and flipped through pages and pages of unfamiliar words. He stopped on a single page, and scanned the text for something that would mean anything to him. Erik saw the word "love" and decided to begin reading there.
"Love has long patience, is kind; love is not emulous; love is not insolent and rash, is not puffed up, does not behave in an unseemly manner, does not seek what is its own, is not quickly provoked, does not impute evil, does not rejoice at iniquity but rejoices with the truth, bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails."
Erik stopped right there, the book falling from his hands onto the floor. He had never thought of love like that before, and he realized with horror where he had gone wrong in the past. He thought he had loved, but he had had no idea what love really was. He knew little of this Bible, but the words resounded true in his mind. He had never known love, perhaps until…
A sudden knock on his door jolted him from his thoughts. Who could that be, at this hour? Maybe it was Alana, he guessed. Who else could it be? He thought with a smile as he got up.
He pulled the door open and stepped back in shock.
"Christine?"
