Chapter 53

I brushed aside the curtains inside the carriage and peered out through the window. Snow fell in huge, soft flakes, drifting lazily over the cobblestone streets. I tracked the progress of one particular flake that seemed reluctant to settle upon the ground with its companions. It would drift lower and lower, then be captured by the night air and swirled about once more. As my eyes followed its journey, my thoughts ran along quite different lines than the mere observation of a snowflake. I was oblivious even to the chatter of my dinner companions gathered in the carriage with me as we waited for the driver to whip up the horses and carry us to the restaurant.

I didn't know what to do about the rift that had opened up between Erik and I. He couldn't trust me because of what a young girl had once done to him and he didn't want to believe that his pushing away had shattered my heart.

He had once claimed that I made him want to live. I felt the same way for him, when before so much inside of me had been dead. When another man touched me, most recently the disgusting baritone sitting across from me, I felt absolutely nothing. But even the brush of Erik's breath against my skin could steal my wits and leave me starving for him. When his hands were on me, his body inside of mine, I couldn't even think, couldn't move beyond the passion he was stoking and feeding within me. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that only Erik could make me feel completely and utterly alive.

So, did I fight for him when he so strongly believed the worst of me? Or did I give up and just desert the field? Did I stir those feelings within him because I was the only woman within his reach, who had not turned him away because of his face?

He had pushed me away, left me, without even a gracious word. Who was to say he would not do it again, if I tried to forgive him for what he had done...

He had treated my decision to move rooms, my form of self-preservation, with scorn and disdain, making it seem as if I had left him. Would he always be so prone to these wild mood swings?

The time for guessing and speculation had ended. Throughout the course of our strange relationship, it had always been I who had been the open one, unwilling to hide my feelings from a man who I knew needed to hear that I loved him and wanted him. I felt as if I deserved at least a word in return. I could accept it if he did not love me yet. But if we got past this rift, I could not accept playing his mistress, available for his pleasure at his beck and call.

If I had to tie him to a chair and gag him, he was going to listen to me. And I wouldn't leave him be until he gave me an answer.

A hand on my wrist pulled me out of my fantasy of binding a struggling Erik to a chair, his cravat shoved in his mouth, muffling his cries of outrage. I dropped the curtains and turned to Christine, settling back against the seat. "Yes, Madame?"

She furrowed her brow and swatted my hand with her reticule. "You must cease calling me Madame. It makes me feel so old! Call me Christine!" She gave me a large, bright smile and I returned the gesture.

Straightening in her seat, she cast a glance over at Meg Giry and Devre deLuc, the latter whispering in the former's ear. She frowned and turned back to me, keeping her voice low for my ears only.

"I don't know if I like this fellow. What kind of man do you take him to be?" She raised her brows questioningly.

I turned away, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. Christine was Meg's closest friend, their relationship still strong even after the singer's rise in status. Meg would not heed the advice of her mother; most girls her age did not. And I was fifteen years her senior and therefore most likely grouped in that same category, especially if I questioned her choice of suitor. But she would listen to Christine, who she idolized. It was against my conscience not to speak the truth to her dear friend.

"I do not think he is as perfect and proper as he portrays himself to be," I whispered softly to her. She gave me a questioning look, and I grimaced, then continued. "He has made many...unsavory advances to the twins and I. Some very crude. I cannot see him as a faithful, affectionate husband as your Vicomte is. I fear Meg will have her heart broken and much more damaged if she continues this association with such a man."

Christine looked at the two of them, still unaware, and nodded solemnly. We both frowned as the man in question slipped a gloved finger in the buttonhole of Meg's own glove and brushed her bare wrist. It was an extremely intimate gesture, suggesting that though they may not have become lovers, they were terribly close.

Christine leaned over again. "I will speak to her tonight."

I nodded.

Devre lifted his head and his eyes found mine. He smiled slowly, his white teeth gleaming in the moonlight as the carriage shook and began to move. In the low light he looked a little too much like Armand and I shivered.


Dinner passed uneventfully.

With the exception of Devre deLuc making several comments a bit beyond the pale, it was a pleasant evening. Raoul was his charming self, keeping the table laughing, his wife rolling her eyes and swatting at him with her fan. Meg was bubbly and energetic, poking fun at other diners until we had several peering over at us in annoyance. Christine shared with me the names she had picked for her child, who Raoul insisted was a boy. She gave him a sweet "of course, darling", then whispered aside that it was surely a girl.

I found myself drawn into the conversation and soon we were discussing the upcoming masquerade and our respective costumes. Meg asked me who I would be, and at the interest that gleamed in Devre's eyes, I shrugged my shoulders and claimed I had no idea. Actually, before the severing of what had been my relationship with Erik, I had begun to throw about the idea of Persephone, who had been forced to live half of every year with her hellish god...

Of course, I certainly wasn't being forced. I willingly went into my Hades' dark embrace...


In the Grand Foyer we said our goodbyes, and I watched approvingly as Christine took Meg's arm and walked her to her room. With a last farewell to Raoul, I climbed the stairs.

In my room, I found no Erik waiting for me, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I could only imagine that he would come for me soon enough to continue our earlier confrontation. It left me some time to prepare myself for another fight with him. We would have to hammer out our differences in his home, for two reasons. First, my room was not private enough for the raised voices that might come as a result of our discussion. Secondly, there was nowhere to hide in the underground cavern by the lake. He could not back away from me and slide a panel shut in my face if he grew annoyed with my forwardness. There were only three rooms. And the lake was shallow. If he leaped into his boat, I could simply hop in after him until I could overturn the small craft and force him to listen to me. There was the possibility that he could haul me over his shoulder again and remove me, but I meant to keep several feet between us. His touching me would be disastrous to my plans.

I meant to keep him awake all night if I had to, so I pulled open a drawer and removed my night shift and my robe. I tucked both into one of my bags, along with my hairbrush and an odd assortment of toiletries.

I never entertained the notion that he would not come to me. Erik had been consistent throughout our tumultuous relationship that if he wanted something of me, he would come.

But he did not. I kep the bag packed, but the long hours of the night faded and though I kept myself busy, finalizing sketches of the commissioned costumes for the Bal Masque, the night ended with me in my empty bed.


The sun chose to beat down brightly upon the streets of Paris as the three seamstresses of the Opera Populaire did their shopping.

I led the small group about the modiste supply shops, our lists of the fabrics, trims, threads, and other materials we would need to create the costumes for Aida clutched in our hands. The footman behind us was already quite burdened with several boxes and bags stuffed with the purchased goods. Our lists bore numerous strikes as the items were found, measured, and purchased with the Opera's proof of credit.

We had already been wandering the shopping district for a good while, having made our start shortly after I'd dressed and met the twins in the costume room. There were a very few items left to procure, including several bottles of dye. A great majority of the costumes consisted of muslin robes. Muslin was a soft material that held dye very well, and, if purchased in white, could be soaked and dyed to any color. We had bought yard after yard of the white earlier.

With only dyes left to procure, I sent Marie and Jeanette on without me so that they could get back to the Opera House and begin on the work that wouldn't need my supervision. I wanted to be alone for a while, alone without the Opera looming all around. I waved them on, watching them disappear around a corner and I eased out a breath.

It was quiet and cold on the street and I wandered towards the dye shop in the hush of a fresh fall of snow that was so at odds with the brightness of the day. My mind latched onto the thought that had been circling through it for the last several hours - Erik had not come to me.

I had been so sure that he would and that he and I would be able to talk through this. Alright, perhaps there wouldn't have been so much talking as yelling and storming about, but we would have settled this between us. Last night in the passage outside my room, in that moment when he'd murmured my name and I had felt his fingers slide up and into my hair, I had felt the palpable desire in his posture, felt it in the warmth of his breath on my lips, in those tense moments before he would have set his mouth on mine. He wanted me and I knew it. But what would it take to make him realize that he could still have me and not fear that I would leave him broken? Or was it pointless to even try to push him on this? Maybe he truly was done with me and his silence last night was an indication to me that he meant to end things between us. The thought had a knot of grief fisting tight in my chest.

I took my time wandering towards the dye shop and as I stepped inside, the bell over the door tinkling merrily, an advertisement pinned upon the public board by the entrance had me slowing in my steps. "Talent needed, management opportunity, post needs filled by first of the year, submit designs to post office box or make an appointment." I reached up, pulled down the advertisement, which listed the name of a modiste's shop in a village just beyond Paris, as well as the posting information. I don't know how long I stared at the advertisement in my hand before I folded it quickly and pressed it into my reticule.

Managing a smile, I turned towards the shop clerk to make my dye requests.

To be more specific, it's going to be published as a Kindle ebook with a paperback option. You won't need a Kindle to read it, only a smartphone or device with the Kindle app downloaded, which is completely free to download. I don't know what pricing will look like yet, but I want it to be reasonable. If I do have to take the story down, I'll give plenty of warning.

There is some intermingling in these later chapters between the version that will be published and what I'm posting here. With only being able to post when I have breaktime/lunches, I don't have the time to keep the two entirely separate and retain my sanity. If you notice any timeline differences, just ignore them. I.E., Genn is 30 in this version, however in the published version, she is 35 and Erik is the early 50s, as he is in the book.