Chapter 4

For the next few weeks, Carlynda would visit M. Geroux every night after she closed her bakery. Meg was too distracted by her excitement at being asked to return to the Opera house to notice Carlynda returning home later and later, but Madame Giry, despite being busy with her ballet studio, was more observant. When questioned, Carlynda lied to her for the first time in her life. She told Madame Giry that she had been closing the shop later and doing more careful cleanups after closing. Madame Giry hadn't question the story, though she did have a suspicious look in her eye; it was something Carlynda had done before, but that was to raise money to buy the opera house for M. Geroux. She had left her job at Madame Giry's studio, since she no longer needed to bring in the extra money, allowing her to stay at her bakery a little later and go straight to the opera house.

Every night Carlynda and M. Geroux would talk on the staircase. However, since that second night together, they stayed on lighter topics. She would talk about her day, the rude customers, the silly customers, and moments where she made a mistake on an order. He seemed genuinely interested in her daily life, no matter how dull she found it. In return, he would complain to her about the mistakes the workers made and how he had to fix everything and that he should have just done it all by himself. His complaints made her laugh and he didn't seemed offended by her enjoyment of his frustration.

The day of the opera house reopening was fast approaching and, with it, Carlynda's uncertainties over whether or not they would be able to continue seeing each other. They had talked about the reopening, of course, but never whether she would see him once it opened. It wasn't until the day before the reopening that Carlynda brought it up. Monsieur Geroux led her back to door and was about to open it for her when she mentioned it.

"You will be quite busy tomorrow, monsieur."

"Yes, quite." There was a pause and Carlynda waited for him to open the door and say goodbye. He obvious had not thought about whether she would be able to return tomorrow night. But the door stayed shut. "Will you…"

She took a step closer to him. "Will I…?" she whispered.

"Will you still come tomorrow night?"

She felt the beginning of a blush on her cheek. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes," he breathed out.

Carlynda bit back a pleased smile. "Where? Something tells me we wouldn't be able to just sit on the staircase anymore."

"Come to my office right after you close. Knock on the door, I'll let you in."

After agreeing to see him again, Carlynda left the Opera House feeling content and strangely happy. Despite not knowing much about his past or what he looked like, he had become one of her dearest friends. What she knew about him was what matter most, not his appearance, not his background, but who he was as a person.

As she walked down the dark street, lit only by a few street lights, she pondered this man in her life. He had a point, she realized. A few weeks ago, when they both realized just how similar they were, he said something about finding comfort with someone who understood. He was right. She was tired of being alone, of being lonely. She was already in ruin and there was no turning back to get her maidenhood back. Why not enjoy life while she could? She would never marry, there would never be someone she would wait for. It was too late for that. Maybe having someone there would help her with her nightmares.

She heard footsteps behind her and her first thought was of her mysterious stalker who followed her home every night, but that quickly got tossed. Her nightly follower was never that noisy. She never heard footsteps from him. It was usually the swoosh of a cloak or a crack, as if he stepped on something like a twig. It was never his footsteps. Not once had she heard his footsteps.

She determinedly stared ahead of her, her heart pounding in her chest. She held her hands tightly together in front of her, trying to calm the shaking. Her brown eyes flickered around trying to find something, like a weapon, to protect herself with. She shouldn't be out here this late. She should have left the opera house earlier. She knew this city at night. She knew the dangers, but the thought never crossed her mind when she was sitting on that step with M. Geroux.

The footsteps behind her quickened, so she walked faster. She felt fear grab her heart.

Just as she was passing an ally way between a hat shop and a tobacco store a hand shot out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her into the ally. She let out a scream that was quickly muffled by a glove-covered hand as she was pulled against someone's chest. She began to struggle against the man's hold.

"Quiet."

At the familiar sound of M. Geroux's voice, she immediately relaxed. She heard someone cursed from the street then heavy footsteps as the person ran away. It was only then that M. Geroux released her. However, she didn't step away from him. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against his chest, ignoring the way he stiffened. She let out a relieved, but shaky, sigh. She opened her eyes and stared out into the street. "Thank you," she whispered.

His body slowly relaxed and softened behind her. "You're welcome."

Finally, she stepped forward and turned to face him. He was still hidden in the shadow of the buildings, away from the light of the nearest streetlamp. "You follow me home every night." It was more of a statement then a question.

"Yes."

"Why?"

There was a moment of silence. "To see if you return safely home. I know these streets at night."

"So I was right." She smiled softly at him. "You are like a guardian angel."

"Don't," he ordered sharply. "Don't call me an angel. I am no angel."

The hardness of his tone spoke of some history and it reminded her of her thoughts before the footsteps interrupted her. She grabbed her hands in front of her and glanced to the ground. "I'm actually glad you are here. Well, of course, I am, considering what was about to happen. What I meant was that I wanted to see you. Well, talk to you actually. Though talking to you requires seeing you, so both really. I wanted to see and talk to you. Though I'm not really seeing you. You're in the shadows. It's hard to see. But I wanted…"

"What do you want to say, mademoiselle?"

She snapped her mouth shut and flickered her eyes up to him before looking back down at the ground. She twisted her fingers around each other. "I thought about what you said and you're right."

"About?"

She stepped close to him, evading his personal space. She glanced at his face searching for his eyes in the darkness without any success. "I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of holding on to an impossible dream."

"I told you, Carlynda, your dream is not impossible." Her name again. It was only his second time calling her by her name. The effect had not lessen over time.

She shook her head. "Not that dream. The impossible dream of saving myself for my husband, for a man I love. That dream is impossible. I had shied away from men, as if the longer I do without the better the chance that my maidenhood would be restored, but that is impossible. What is done, is done. There is no redoing it, not with that. That is an impossible dream.

"You, Monsieur Geroux, understand what it is like to have impossible and improbable dreams. It is a comfort, knowing I am not the only one. But I am tired of feeling lonely and cold at night. I still have nightmares of those three nights I…I was used as an object to men's pleasure. I don't want my only time to be so…so cold and distant. I will never have a husband to show me how it should be done and felt. I'm tired of being alone." She glanced down, feeling ashamed of her weakness.

His fingers gently grabbed her chin and pulled her head up. She raised her eyes to where she believed his eyes were. His thumb caressed her cheek. "You should make an excuse to Madame Giry for being out all night tomorrow."

She leaned into his touch. "Why?" she whispered.

"Because I am tired of feeling alone as well. I have no experience when it comes to it. I don't want to die before I experience everything that goes on between a man and a woman."

She smiled shyly, surprised by his confession. He seemed like a man of experience. The way he talked, moved, presented himself it all seemed to scream experience and worldliness to her. "Tomorrow night then," she said as she backed away. "I should head home."

He dropped his hand and nodded. "Yes. You should go. I'll follow."

She gave him one last smile before leaving the ally. She felt a little more relaxed, knowing she was protected. Her face turned red. She couldn't believe she just agreed to a man's lover. Oh what her parents would have said if they found out about this. She couldn't help but let out a little giggle. Her parents were no longer in charge of her actions. There was no reason they should hear about this. Even if they did, what could they do? She was basically already cut off from them and she was an adult.

Thoughts of tomorrow night kept her awake that night from nerves and a little excitement.


The reopening of the Opera House was a big success, according to the evening paper. However, it wasn't the success that hit front page. It was the absent owner, Monsieur Geroux. His financial assistant, Monsieur Jules Bernard, a former masonry worker, was able to smooth over the curious and demanding press, claiming M. Geroux was there to do art, not become a public figure. M. Bernard would become the face of the opera house, not M. Geroux. All questions and concerns would first go through M. Bernard and he would take them up to M. Geroux.

Carlynda was not surprise by this news. If she as the one, if not only, friend of M. Geroux hadn't seen him, then the public sure won't.

As time grew closer to closing time, Carlynda felt her heart beat faster in her chest. She grew distracted easily and several times forgot to add an ingredient or two during her baking. Because of this, she decided to close an half an hour earlier than usual. She quickly changed gowns in the back of the bakery. Changing her brown, working gown to a nice light green gown. She gave herself a quick look in the mirror. The light green gown fitted her well. The hemming of the gown was done with a darker green and the bottom of the dress, in the same green shade as the hemming, was a flowery design. The sleeves were on her shoulders, but they were designed to hang off them in a tempting manner. It was a dress she had gotten several years ago, during the three days she rather forget. It was extremely modest by that standard. It was supposed to be a dress she wore while not working. It was the only modest dress the owner of the brothel would allow, because of the hanging sleeves.

She purposely left off a corset, allowing M. Geroux to have faster and easier excess. She blush at the thought and the consideration she showed. She pulled half of her hair back and into a bun, letting the rest of it to hang over her shoulders. Then, she put on the only pair of earrings she owned, a pair of dangling green earrings. Satisfied with her look, she turned and put on her faded brown and yellow wool bustle coat to cover her corset-less frame. It was nearing the end of summer, so the afternoons were warm, but the nights were starting to get chilly. She wouldn't stand out wearing a coat.

She stepped into the cool air and locked the bakery door behind her. She made her way to the opera house. She couldn't believe she was actually doing this. She stuffed her hands into her coat pocket to pretend they weren't shaking with anticipation. Tonight would start a whole new relationship and, hopefully, a new life. Love may not be a factor, as she would like, but finding comfort through it would be enough. She had to give up the dream of love.


The inside of the opera house was huge. She had never seen it in full light before. The grand staircase of red and gold, the pillars of white with golden designs, and the windows covered with rich red curtains, pulled back to let the fading light of the sun in. The ceiling seemed to stretch high above her with a few small golden chandeliers. She would hate to have the job of lighting those. They would need a large ladder.

"May I help you, madam?"

Carlynda glanced to the side of the staircase where a stern, bun-haired older woman was standing. The new ballet mistress she was sure. Madame Giry had decided not to take M. Geroux's offer for the ballet mistress position, claim she felt too old. Instead, they made a business deal. Madame Giry would train young girls in her ballet studio and when they were old enough, would send the ones with the most potential to the opera house to further their studies.

"Yes, madam, I was looking for the manager's office. He's expecting me."

"This way, madam." She turned to walk down a hall beside the staircase.

"And it's mademoiselle," she corrected softly. Her heart fluttered nervously and she found herself taking several calming breaths.

The hallway was dim from the few lamps hanging on the walls. She couldn't tell if it was for safety reasons, in case of a fire, or if M. Geroux did it on purpose so he could hide better. The closer they got to the manager's door, the more nervous she felt. Her hands were clinched together in front of her.

"Here we are."

They were standing in front of a simple double doors, nothing too grand, like she would have expected. "Thank you, madam. I'll take it from here," she said, trying to dismiss the ballet mistress.

The ballet mistress eyed her suspiciously. "I see." With one last disapproving look, she turned and continue down the hall.

Carlynda face heated, knowing what the woman was thinking, and knowing the woman was right. She waited until the woman was out of sight before turning back to the door. She took several deep breaths before rising a slightly shaking fist. She rapped on the door a few times. There was silence at first before she heard M. Geroux unmistakable voice calling her to enter. Carlynda turned the knob and entered.

The office was dark. The only light came from the window closest to the door, leaving him and his desk in darkness on the other side of the room. She stepped into the light of the window, closing the door behind her, before facing his direction.

"Monsieur Geroux," she greeted. Now that she was here, it felt like any other time. Her nerves seemed to wash away and she felt herself smile. "I heard the grand opening was a success." She took off her coat and hung it on a coat rack located next to the door. She turned back to him when he didn't answer. She could faintly see his shadowy form sitting there. She narrowed her eyes in question and tilted her head to the side slightly as the smile left her face. "Monsieur Geroux?"

"I…I apologize, Mademoiselle McBeth. I didn't think you would come," he ended his sentence softly, show her some vulnerability.

She replaced the smile. "What made you think that, monsieur? It was I who agreed to it last night."

"I wasn't sure if you were serious or if it was just a spare of the moment thing." He quickly stood up. Carlynda could hear the scraping of the chair as he did. "Forget that. You are here now, looking…" He paused and Carlynda could almost feel his eyes taking his fill of her. "…looking quiet…beautiful." She blushed and reached up to push back her hair that wasn't in her face. Her hand dropped awkwardly when she realized there was no hair to push back. "That blush really does become you, my dear." If anything, that comment made her face turned a shade redder.

"You know how to flatter a lady, monsieur."

"Yes, so it would seem." She heard movement and could see his outline stepping away from the desk. "Come. We'll take this to a more comfortable spot."

She bravely walked into the shadows, her nerves coming back at the suggestive tone of the conversation.

"Reach out your hand. I'll guide you."

She did as she was told and felt his hand touch hers. He wasn't wearing his usual gloves. His hand felt cool to the touch. She grasped his hand tighter, as if to transfer warmth to him. This was why they were about to do this. It was so they wouldn't feel cold at night, alone. She would help warm him as he would warm her.

He led her behind his desk to a hidden door. She couldn't see the door this far away from the only light in the room, but she heard a quiet click sound as he opened it.

"My bedroom," he said softly, as if any louder would frighten her away or ruin the precious moment they were about to have. "I hope you don't mind if we do this in the dark." He shut door behind them.

She shook her head. "No, monsieur," she said, equally as softly. She glanced around, but could only see shapes. It was too dark to see any details.

She felt his chest against her arm. He was standing so close. He was about a head taller than her and she could feel his breath brush against her head, then her ear as he lean down. "Erik."

She felt her eyes close involuntary and leaned into him. "Pardon?"

"My name."

She opened her eyes and glanced to where his face was located. "Erik," she breathed out. His name. She finally had his name. She liked the sound of it. It seemed to fit him well. "Help me not feel so lonely anymore, so cold."

His hand went to her cheeks, his thumb caressing her cheek. "Gladly, my dear."

He bent down until his lips were only inches from hers, then he paused. His warm breath mingled with her shaky breath for a moment. Her heart was pumping even harder and her gut twisted nervously. His lips were then on hers. M. Geroux lips were moving passionately on hers, and she respond in kind. Turning so she faced him and her hands went to his chest. With one hand on her cheek, he moved his other one to her waist and held her there. His lips were soft, but moved roughly. This wasn't about being gentle. It was finding comfort. It was desperateness that prompted them forward. Her stomach seemingly plummeted to the ground and she inhaled deeply through her nose. His scent filled her, overpowered her. The smell of smoke off of burning candles, ink, and sandalwood was filling her senses. Her body moved towards him, to be closer. He then broke the breathless kiss.

They both leaned forward until their foreheads touched. "That was…that was…" she tried to say.

"That was just the beginning," he finished for her as his reached for the buttons of her gown.


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