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Chapter 13

Raoul

Albert took the lead as we were ushered to our seat, Julien tailing behind me. Twice, Albert looked back with a wicked grin as we stepped through the aisle. When I turned, his brother was fixing me with the exact same look.

I rolled my eyes. The two of them - spending so much money on a gag gift. It didn't stop me from dressing in my finest - if I was to experience an opera, I might as well put all my chips in. I was willing to bet, after all, that this would be an absolute bore no matter how I prepared for it.

We sat in the middle of the rows of seats. I'd thought they might get us a box seat - but there were none available, according to the ticket seller.

I eyed a box close to the stage. Empty. Strange. Perhaps its patrons were not here yet.

I shrugged. No matter. A box was expensive. And though I was sure the twins could have afforded it, I doubted they wanted to spend that much on something I wouldn't even enjoy. Of the three of us, Albert was the only one to actually enjoy the fine arts. He was locking mouths with the sister of a thespian, after all.

"Is her brother in this show, then?" I asked softly, thumbing through the playbill absentmindedly.

He nodded. "He's a singer - not the lead. A minor character."

I nodded. "He's probably a rubbish singer."

He hit me with his own playbill harshly, and Julien howled. I grinned, rubbing my suddenly sore arm.

I looked, then, at my pocket watch. Twenty minutes to eight. Twenty minutes to the torture. At least I had those few precious moments of quiet, broken only by the soft murmur of hundreds of anticipatory voices, spread throughout the theatre.

And, really, it was a magnificent theatre. A large chandelier hanging from the painted ceiling. The entire place seemed to be gilded, and the enormous stage was hidden currently by a thick red curtain. The lobby of the Opera House was even more extravagant - more opulent than the de Chagny estate. Statues and elegant carvings and polished floors that seemed to reflect the stonework walls. It was a work of art.

That didn't make what we were about to witness any more endurable.

Ten more minutes.

I flipped through my playbill. La Carlotta Giudicelli was the prima donna. Piangi Giudicelli, I presumed her husband, was her male counterpart. I asked Albert to point out his lover's brother so that I knew when to boo, and he merely gave a small scowl and shook his head. I smiled as his twin sniggered.

I was about to move to the ballet when the orchestra began. The lights dimmed. The crowd stilled, quieted.

And I frowned.

Three hours.

I could make it.

I was bored.

Bored out of my mind.

For exactly fifteen minutes.

Then she appeared. The most beautiful girl I'd ever seen - tied up blonde hair, delicate, and wide-eyed.

I'd gone to my playbill swiftly to see who she was - but I didn't know her role, so it was no use. There were a dozen or more girls in the ballet list. I turned to Albert to ask if he knew who she was.

He'd given me an infuriating, knowing smile, winked at me, and told me her name.

Meg. Meg Giry.

The opera was tedious. The music was shrill. And the entire experience had me hoping that no one knew my title - merely so that I wouldn't have to give a formal review.

But Meg made it semi-bearable.

When she was on the stage, I was enraptured. I could not look away. When she was gone from view, I merely thought about what I'd seen.

Albert was amused - so was Julien. I ignored them both.

For all three hours.

And when it was finished - when I was content to have seen an angel for a moment but go back to my life on Earth - Albert informed me that we were going to go and visit his lover's brother.

Not wanting to leave my friends behind, I agreed, hoping we'd be brief.

Backstage, it was bustling. Singers and dancers and honored guests who'd come to give their loved ones flowers created a sea of people. I bristled, uncomfortable.

Please let this be quick.

When Albert found who he was looking for, both men gave exclamations of pleasure and embraced. Then, before the man could pull away, Albert leaned in close to his ear. The man smiled, nodded, and ushered us further into the throng, and further still, until we reached an opening near one of the wings of the stage. Two girls stood there, one a bit taller than the other.

The taller girl, who'd taken down her hair, was strikingly beautiful, with bright blue eyes and curled brown hair. And next to her, even prettier...was Meg.

I stood before her, heart hammering. I felt I would faint when she turned to look at me. She looked at my face, gave me a once over, and gave a very small smile.

My hands went slick, and my neck was hot. I turned, looking for the twins for any bit of assistance, but they were gone.

Tricked me. They'd tricked me into coming to meet her, into-

"Hello." A small, feminine voice. I whirled back around. Meg was still looking at me. She opened her mouth. "Did you enjoy the show, Monsieur?"

I blinked. I forgot the French language entirely.

The girl with brown hair suddenly found somewhere important to be, though I could feel that she hadn't travelled far. I could feel her sky-colored eyes just as strongly as I could feel Meg's chocolate ones.

"H-hello," I managed.

A beat, during which I realized I hadn't actually answered her question. I inwardly cursed myself. Normally, I could manage a conversation much better than this - but I'd never been interested in any of those girls before. But this girl - she was -

She smiled, genuinely. Pleased, somehow. Somehow.

"What is your name?" she asked. "Mine is Meg."

I swallowed. "I did enjoy...the show."

Her smile grew and she let out a laugh. Like the sound of a bell. It was lovely. "You seem to be one step behind on our conversation, Monsieur."

I didn't know what to do with my face. "Sorry."

"It's all right. Your name?"

"Raoul." I pondered whether to give her my last name, but didn't. It seemed to be going well, and I didn't want to change that with the introduction of titles. I wanted to let her think we were on the same social standing, at least for the moment.

She nodded, and gave a little curtsy. "Good to meet you."

"Likewise." My throat was dry. "Your...your dancing...was..." I wiped my hands on my trousers. "Very good."

She had to have noticed my nerves. I was sure she did. But she was ignoring it as she bowed her head. "Thank you. It means a great deal."

I think she expected me to turn and go, then. That I'd merely come by to compliment her, congratulate her on a job well done. The small quirk of her eyebrows told me as much - that my current staring was confusing her.

She cleared her throat. "Is there anything else, Monsieur?"

I should have said no - that I'd said what I needed to say. I should have given a little bow, turned, and walked away.

But I didn't.

No, instead my heart betrayed me. It reached up, up, up to my throat and spoke the words for me: "Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?"

Her eyes widened, and I immediately wanted to shrink away. I wanted to crawl under the nearest table and hide, shrivel to nothing. I wanted to reverse time so that I could rip up that blasted ticket and never have come here.

She was going to say no. She didn't know me. I was a stammering, clammy stranger to her. Of course she would say no.

But then she stole a glance to my right - to where that other girl had gone. Then when her eyes met mine, her lips grew once more into a smile. Her eyes softened.

"Yes. I would love to."