They Smile

When Raoul returned to Paris again, he was not alone. The Comte and Comtess de Chagny had decided that they had been greatly missing the Parisian theater and needed to return for awhile. Of course, it was the Comtess who had decided, and Raoul was well aware of her true intentions. His mother was eager to inspect the woman who had claimed her son's attention and determine just how much she needed to worry over his attachment.

Blessedly, the Comte remained unaware of the true purpose of his wife's sudden desire for the city. Raoul knew he would have enough difficulty keeping his mother from interfering, he certainly did not need his father's wretched and unyielding prejudices.

But despite the added complication of his parents, Raoul was happy to be returning. And eager to see Meg again. The past two weeks without her lively wit and warm smiles had been almost unbearable.

The morning after Raoul's return, there had had been an invitation from Monsieur LeCleur to attend the rehearsals of La Périchole at le Soliel. The opera was to open in a few nights time, and Francois was most eager to discuss some urgent business with le vicomte. Raoul was eager to see Meg before he would be forced to introduce her to his parents, so he happily made his way to the theater.

His happy mood would soon be soured, however, by the news that Francois was to relate to him.

"Raoul, your return to Paris has come not a moment to soon. I must enlist your help to save my theater."

Raoul was taken aback. "Francois? What has happened? Are you in some sort of financial trouble?"

"Bah! I wish it was financial, that would be easy enough to fix. No, my problem is far more nefarious. That blasted weasel, Ranier, is trying to steal away all my best performers."

Raoul found himself laughing at this. "I am certain Monsieur Ranier would not think himself stealing."

LeCleur narrowed his eyes at Raoul. "You may change your opinion once I tell you who his sights have been set on in your absence."

All at once, Raoul's good humor fled. "I…cannot imagine who you mean."

Francois smiled sympathetically. "Can you not? He has already hired two of my chorus girls and a stagehand, and he is very near wooing Mademoiselle Giry into accepting the position he's offered. And when I say 'wooing,' Raoul, I am not merely throwing the word around. He has been lurking about her dressing room at rehearsals, bringing flowers and chocolates. And I am sorry to say, she seems to be quite taken with him."

Raoul's breath seemed to be lodged in his throat, his chest tight and aching. Each word from LeCleur's lips was a painful twist to Raoul's heart. He struggled to find his voice. "Are…are you quite certain that…Meg is…that she…is not merely…entertaining the possibility of returning to the Opera?"

Francois LeCleur sighed. "I suppose it is possible. But Antoinette certainly does not trust the scoundrel any more than I do. Especially where Meg is concerned. I was rather hoping your return might ease Antoinette's mind, as well as my own."

Raoul shook his head, his mind still in a fog. "I cannot see how Madame Giry would think my return of benefit. She did not approve of my...friendship… with Meg."

Francois laughed a little. "Young Vicomte, you will find that a mother's good opinion is often a matter of perspective. And I believe Antoinette's opinion of you has much improved in your absence."

That would be of little consolation to Raoul if Meg had…oh, God…if she had fallen in love with another.

Jean Ranier.

Raoul had more than one meeting with the man who was so determined to secure the de Chagny family's patronage for his Opera. Ranier was bold and cunning…and Raoul had had no doubt that the man would restore the Opera to its former glory. God! Raoul had even been the one to mention the Girys to Ranier, thinking of their careers. It seemed the scoundrel had not been inclined to wait for a proper introduction!

Shaking off the dark thoughts, Raoul excused himself from LeCleur's company and went in search of Meg. He stopped in the auditorium, watching as Madame Giry instructed the ballerinas, but he did not immediately see Meg. His eyes searched the stage looking forthe familiar blond hair, and then he saw her. She was standing to the side, talking to the mezzo soprano. Raoul could see her smile from here. And then Antoinette Giry tapped her cane.

"Meg. Stop chattering and take your place."

Raoul could not help but smile a little as he watched her roll her eyes and excuse herself from her friend.

The music began, a lovely lilting piece, and Raoul watched mesmerized as Meg gracefully moved through her routine. With a start, he realized that she was dancing a very prominent role. But whatever had happened to Yvette Dubois?

When the last chord had faded, Meg held her position until her mother tapped the cane once again. "Very nice, child. We will all take a short break before we run through the ballet in Act Two. Be back in position at precisely two o'clock. Thank you."

Meg exchanged a few words with her mother, and then both women looked to where Raoul sat in the back of the theater. Madame Giry had obviously seen him and told Meg of his presence. Her face lit up in a happy smile, and she rushed forward. "Raoul! You've returned!"

Madame Giry shook her head in exasperation, but in truth, she was happy to see le Vicomte back in Paris. Perhaps he would divert Meg's attention away from the increasingly persistent Monsieur Ranier.

Raoul returned Meg's happy smile, pushing away his own disturbing thoughts regarding Ranier. He made his way towards the stage and met Meg halfway, clasping both her hands in his and bringing them to his lips. "Meg, I have missed you."

"And I you, but I did not expect you back for some time. You had said the end of the month."

"The business was concluded earlier than I expected. And it seems just in time to see you dance the lead. You were…wonderful, Meg."

She blushed quite prettily. "Thank you, Raoul. Of course, I only have the lead because Yvette is…well…she is…indisposed at present."

"Indisposed?"

Meg leaned close and lowered her voice to a playful whisper. "It seems she was caught in a compromising position with the lead tenor and is taking a…much needed holiday. To avoid his jealous wife, I am certain."

Raoul laughed. "Well, I am certainly sorry for her…but happy for you, Meg."

"And I am so happy to have you back, Raoul. So much has happened in your absence."

Raoul flushed. Meg sounded so genuine in her happiness, but if what Francois had said was true, then it was only a friend's happiness. He could not bear this again.

Not again, please, Meg.

Meg frowned a little, seeing Raoul's face darken. "Raoul? Is something wrong? You look…suddenly pensive."

He tried to shake himself from his mood. "It is nothing, Meg. I...would very much like to hear everything you've been up to these past weeks. Perhaps we could have dinner this evening?"

And then he saw it. Meg's eyes clouded with guilt and she looked away from him. "I…I am afraid I…cannot dine with you tonight."

In his pain, Raoul could not stop himself from baiting her. "A previous engagement with your mother?"

Meg glanced at him briefly, then away again, then finally met his eyes. "I…am dining with Monsieur Ranier this evening. I am certain you remember him."

Raoul dragged in a deep breath and lied. "I…was not aware you had made his acquaintance."

"He offered me a job at the Opera."

Raoul nodded, trying to keep his tone even. "Of course. How could he not? Have you accepted?"

"Not yet. I am still…considering."

Raoul chose his words carefully. "Is…your dinner with him…a matter of business?"

And here Meg dropped her gaze again, her cheeks growing red. "N-no. Jean and I are…friends. We have had dinner on several occasions."

Raoul schooled his features and concentrated on keeping his voice light. "Only friends, Meg?"

Her stormy eyes came back up to meet Raoul's clear blue ones. There was something indefinable in those dark sapphire depths. Almost as if she was searching for something. Then a sad little smile turned her lips. "It seems always to be my role."

All the hopes that Raoul had held for himself and Meg died on those words. The sadness in her eyes, her smile…he had seen that look before. Seen it on Christine's face when she'd been thinking of her angel. To see it on Meg's now was more than he could bear.

Raoul steeled himself against the pain, straightening his spine and forcing a smile he did not feel. He was determined that she would not see the pain she had unknowingly inflicted.

"Do not fret, little Meg. I am certain Monsieur Ranier means for you to play a far greater role in his life."

Meg seemed to wince a little. "Raoul…"

He couldn't bear to hear her say the words he knew were coming, so he cut her off. "We will catch up some other time. I'm afraid I have some business that needs my attention, and your rehearsal is about to resume. Until we meet again."

He bowed tersely and made a hasty retreat before Meg could stop him.

Tears sprang to her eyes unbidden. She had so hoped that she had been wrong, that Raoul had not been trying to distance himself from her. But it seemed she was exactly right. He cared nothing for her beyond friendship, had practically given her his blessing to continue seeing Jean.

What choice did she have but to accept that her silly dreams of a future with Raoul had been merely that? And it was far past time that she let them go.

xXx

Raoul slammed into his house without care. He ignored his butler who tried to tend to him and headed straight for the study, closing the door forcefully behind him. With shaking hands, he poured himself a brandy and brought it to his lips, feeling every drop as it burned down his throat. But it did nothing to ease the pain within him. He grimaced, and in a burst of anger, flung the glass against the far wall. He watched it shatter--watched the brown liquid splash and drizzle down the paint to pool on the mantle. And then he sank to his knees, head in hands, fighting back his tears. Anger and grief warred within him, both centered around one name.

Meg.

He could not lose her! Would not allow this to happen again!

Not again.

One month. He had been gone from Paris only one month. How could she come to care for this other man in such a short time?

Because you left her, you damned fool!

Raoul exhaled a painful breath, feeling as though his very soul was being ripped from him. "My sweet Meg. I cannot let you go."

And there, in the quiet of his torment, Raoul de Chagny finally came to understand the emotions that must have driven the Phantom into madness--the rage that woke the demon and launched him into action. For in that moment, Raoul fought against the dark temptation to steal Meg away from his rival by any means necessary.

And lost.

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