A/N: For those of you wishing for Erik to act kinder toward Gia, here you go. Although, I couldn't resist him trying to seduce her first. He can be such a naughty boy sometimes!
Gia spent the rest of the afternoon in her room, knowing that eventually Erik would come to her. This time she would explain to him why their relationship could never go beyond what it was at the present. She would be his unwilling accomplice in all matters relating to the Metropolitan, but no more. If he wanted a woman in his bed there were plenty of other women in the opera house who would oblige him.
She had placed the flowers in a small vase and set them on her bed side table. The last time she had been given flowers was by Mr. Dupoix after her mother's funeral. He had hoped that the sunny yellow roses would cheer her up, but at the time she had been so despondent, she had thrown them out the window. She was not sure if the tulips were meant to be a romantic or a friendly gesture. Tulips had always struck her as being such happy flowers, and she smiled at the bouquet. But it was the fact he had presented her with the shoes that touched her the most. She had been saving funds for the past few weeks because she knew she desperately required a new pair. His unexpected gift would allow her to spend that money on yet another volume for her bookshelf. It was frivolous to use that money on books, but they allowed her a safe escape from these walls. Books had taken her to glittering London, romantic Venice, and the mysterious East, places she would never see in this life.
Going to her shelf, she plucked a copy of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice from the neat row, and settled onto her bed for satisfying read. She had read the story dozens of times, and she never tired of reading of the exploits of the clever Elizabeth Bennett and the dark and handsome Mr. Darcy. Gia became so absorbed in the novel, she did not notice the hours slipping by, and she was startled when she heard a loud knock at the door.
Was it him? Was he actually extending her the courtesy of asking for entrance into her room? She could only assume so. There was no one else who was likely to call on her, except for Madame Giry, and following their discussion this afternoon that seemed unlikely. Idly, she swept her hands up to her hair, attempting to neaten it since several strands had come loose. It was largely a useless gesture, but she wanted to present her best face for him. She turned the brass handle slowly and found herself face to face with Mr. Dupoix, who was clutching a large black case that reminded her of what doctors usually carry on their house calls.
"Gianna, I am sorry for disturbing you, but the Opera Ghost bade me to give this to you," he said with a touch of nervousness in his voice. He held the bag out to her, and she took it from him, surprised at how heavy it was.
"What is inside?" she asked, wondering what Erik could possible want from the manager that weighed so much.
"His salary, all $25,000 francs of it. I counted it myself to be certain that the bank's count was accurate. I trust that concludes our business for the month?"
"You are paying him $25,000 francs a month!" she nearly screeched. "That's a fortune. You could pay nearly the entire orchestra for that."
"I will do what I must. He promised me in his note that if I do his bidding no harm will come to this place or anyone in it. He also seems satisfied with the way rehearsals are going, and did not make any artistic demands. If all he wants is money, I am happy to give it to him," he concluded simply.
"Do you have any message for him? Er—He told me that you should send them through me." Sacre bleu, she must be more careful in the future! She had been about to call him by his name in the presence of Mr. Dupoix.
"No Gianna, I do not have any message for him at the present. But I would like to know why you have become involved with him."
Gia hated to lie to Dupoix, but she was not about to reveal the specific details of why she had been pressed into the service of the Phantom. "I am helping him for the same reason you are. I know his reputation, and I fear what could befall the Metropolitan if I refused to assist him."
Dupoix seemingly accepted her glib response and withdrew, leaving her clutching the black bag. Curious, she opened the bag to find five neat stacks of bundled 100 franc notes. Gia had never seen such a large amount of money all in one place. As it was, she collected a salary of 150 francs a month which was barely enough to keep her fed and clothed. It had been easier when Mama was alive. Dupoix had paid her a pension, and she had savings from her days as an opera diva. Now with only her meager funds to sustain her, Gia was going to have to consider selling some of her treasures. She flatly refused to consider asking for a raise, and most of the other methods of raising money available to a young woman were distasteful and out of the question.
The timepiece on the vanity indicated it was nearly six in the evening. She would have thought Erik would have come by now. Just as she was about to go out to get something to eat, she heard a soft click, and the unmistakable rustle of fabric. He entered through the wardrobe as usual, his cape flowing behind him. As per usual he was wearing what Gia had come to think of as his uniform, black trousers topped with a white shirt, a waistcoat, a neatly pinned black cravat, and black tails. The only variation was that this evening his waistcoat was a deep blue that reminded her of the night sky. His clothes were made of the finest materials available, and she speculated where he got them. With the salary he was making, he could certainly afford them.
As he came toward her, she reached down next to the bed and tossed the satchel at him. He caught it easily, and immediately looked inside. He drew out the stacks of notes, one at a time, and a quick flip through made him confident that the full salary had been paid. If he had been short-changed, he would have been very vexed. Unlike the last two managers he had dealings with, this one seemed to have some common sense. Feeling very satisfied with himself, he continued his advance on Gianna, anxious to see her reaction to him.
"Did Dupoix have a message for me?" he asked as he took a position leaning rakishly on her chair.
"No. He only asked me why I was aiding you," she answered shortly.
"And your response to his inquiry was?" Erik was honestly interested in what she had told him. She would be hesitant to lie, but he was sure she would rather die than admit her secret visits to the practice rooms.
"I told him I was helping you because I feared what would become of the opera house if I did not, given your reputation. That seemed to placate him."
"Very good, my dear," he said as he moved away from the chair and began to make his way toward the bed where she was sitting. However, before he got close, she swung her legs to the other side and stood up, effectively using the bed as a barrier between them.
"Come now, Gianna, let's not play foolish games. We are both too old to do this. You want me. You want to know what it will feel like when we are together with no clothing between us, only skin. You want me to stroke that body of yours that you trap in a corset into the fulfillment that has been long denied it. You want me to make you into the woman you have tried so hard not to be." He spun the seductive words like a spider, and briefly Gia was tempted to allow herself to be caught in his web.
"No, monsieur, you will keep your distance. There shall be no repeats of our former encounters. Please, take a seat. I wish to explain something to you. Then perhaps you will realize why this seduction of me is pointless," her voice was hard and she would not take no for an answer.
Amused, Erik turned, and settled into the chair, only then did Gianna resume her place on the bed. "Fine then, explain to me why I should stop doing something that I know would both bring us great pleasure," he retorted, careful to maintain the seductive tone of his lower register.
"To begin monsieur—"
"Call me by my name Gianna. It is not something I share with many. I want to hear you say it."
She closed her eyes and swallowed. She would get through this. Once he knew the truth, he would want nothing to do with her. How many times had her mother told her no man would want go where another had been? Just this once, she would do his bidding without question.
"To begin, Erik, although my mother tried to keep me sheltered from the seedier elements that surround this place, I am not unaware of what goes on in the dark hallways and corridors after hours. I know that many of the ballet dancers and chorus girls sell themselves to any gentleman who can afford them. I am even aware of what happens to some of the girls who foolishly fall in love with these men, expecting them to leave their wives and fiancées for them. I have seen their fates, and I have no wish to repeat it.
Do you know how many girls I have seen over the years die from the attentions of these so called gentlemen? It may be in childbed, or from some loathsome disease, or even occasionally when one who tried to dispose of the child before it could be born, but the number has been far too many to count. Those who do not die, become whores, and eventually the men grow tired of them and leave. Perhaps one girl in a hundred finds a man who offers an honorable marriage. If I cannot have that, I want no part of passion," she concluded.
"So if I was offering you marriage, came to you on bended knee with a ring, then you no longer resist," he returned, debating with her.
"Erik if you asked me, I would never accept you. First, I know next to nothing about you. What I do know is that you are a murderer and capable of doing almost anything to gain what you desire. In that way, you are like a small spoiled child who will cry until its mother gives him the treat he wants. I also know that what you feel for me is only lust, although only God knows why you seem to be so determined to be with me. I know I am big and plain. The woman you want is the one in those drawings. I could never be with a man who is using me as a substitute."
"Is there nothing I can do to convince you that I want you as much as you desire me? You gave me a glimpse of those luscious curves of yours last evening. You are far more voluptuous than Christine ever was. I have dreamt of no one but you since we met. Allow me to show you all the things I have dreamed about us doing together," he said, leaning forward in the chair, getting as close to her as possible without getting up.
His hot words penetrated Gia to her very core, and she had flashes of them, bodies entwined amongst black silk sheets, their pale bodies in stark relief, rocking. Heat suffused her center and her thighs were damp.
Gathering what little mental strength she had left, she added, "Erik, I had not finished. The truth of it is, it matters little to me that you want me. I am not at liberty to be the focus of your desires."
Wryly he remarked, "Have you become engaged recently, then? Tell me who the lucky man is. I shall have to congratulate him on snapping up a woman like you. I wonder what he will say when I tell him about how much you liked it when I hurt you."
Once again he sought to bring out her temper, but she answered evenly, "You know there is no one. Must you always insult and humiliate me! Just once, couldn't you act like a gentleman?"
"As you so astutely pointed out, my dear, gentlemen rarely behave like gentlemen where sex is concerned. I must admit though, I am very interested for you to tell me why you are not worthy of me. What dark, terrible secret have you been concealing from me?" his voice taking on that mocking tone she had come to despise.
"I am not a virgin! Does that make you happy, knowing that I am soiled! I can never be clean again. I will never marry. No man would have me," Gia spat at him.
Her confession stunned Erik, and suddenly coaxing her into bed was the last thing on his mind. It was not that he particularly cared that she was no longer a virgin. It was that she did. What had happened to her that she felt so unworthy of ever finding physical closeness with a man? He had to choose his words with care, he did not want her to think it was her maidenhead that attracted him, but rather her passionate nature that simmered just below the surface. The only thing that came to mind was, "I would still have you, Gia," which he said softly, almost tenderly, his eyes a soft grey blue as he spoke.
At this, Gia could no longer contain her tears, "I will not become a whore! My mother taught me better than that!"
"What she taught you was to shut out life! Why? Because once you allowed your emotions to get the best of you? Because just once you allowed yourself to taste the sweetness that men like me would kill for? There is no reason to keep punishing yourself."
"But it was my fault! She told me. She warned me that men would think I was just like those other girls if I lurked in the hallways. And by God she was right! I deserved it." By now, Gia had become hysterical, and she was weeping opening, mourning for a meaningless scrap of flesh that she had been taught was her greatest worth to a man.
Slowly Erik realized what she was alluding to. It had not been some eager tumble with a stable boy that went too far, but instead she had been raped. What kind of mother would make her daughter believe it had been her fault? Suddenly so much about Gianna Burnside made sense, and somewhere deep within, Erik wanted to make the hurting stop. Not because he was hoping to bed her, but because this woman's soul was perhaps as twisted as his own. Looking at her, her eyes red from sobbing, her face wet with tears, Erik could not tamp down a desire to comfort her. She needed to know that a man's touch could bring more than just pain or pleasure.
He rose and edged up to the bed where she was sitting. He sat next to the broken woman and put an arm around her. Instead of shying away, Gia found herself burying her head against his chest, pouring out tears that she had not been allowed to shed ten years ago. She clung to this man, trying to absorb his strength as he stroked her hair, and murmured into her ear that everything was alright and that she would be safe with him, that he would never hurt her.
Amidst her tears, he heard one word as clear as fine crystal, "Buquet."
The mention of the dead stagehand's name could only mean one thing. He had been the man responsible for what she perceived as her ruin. Erik had to be sure it was not a mere coincidence.
"Gia, do you mean Joseph Buquet? Was he the man?" he asked softly, training his eyes on her, willing her to look him. As he had hoped, she extricated her head from his chest to peer up at him.
"Yes," she choked. "Do you know him? Madame Giry told me he was dead."
Erik was relieved that she had shared her secret with Madame Giry. That woman was far better equipped to deal with her emotions than him. Should he tell her about how he knew Buquet? He had never trusted the stage hand who had peep holes strategically placed into the corps de ballet and chorus dressing rooms. He had plugged more than a few holes over the years, and still they sprung up like unwanted weeds. When Erik had learned the man had been telling tales of the Phantom to the ballet girls and had been attempting to figure out how Erik accessed the flies, he had no compunction about killing him. It seemed that this man's blood was worth less than even he had imagined.
Looking into her shiny wet eyes, he uttered the words that might cause her to push him away, to serve as a final rejection, "I know Gia. I killed him."
Her lip quivering response was, "Thank you. Thank you, Erik," as she collapsed against him once again.
Gently, he laid her down, all the while keeping her in his arms, and softly he began to sing to her, a lullaby he had long ago thought he had forgotten. Gia stopped crying, and feeling safe for the first time since her mother had died, she fell asleep in the tender embrace of a man she knew to be a thief and a killer. Once he was sure she would not awaken if he moved her, Erik dropped a soft kiss against her lips and retreated from the room.