In Twenty Words or Less

Raoul sent his coach ahead and walked to the Marseille House, hoping the air and the exercise would calm his temper. For some unfathomable reason, Meg actually seemed to like Jean Ranier. Raoul could only hope it was not more than that.

He had watched the couple closely at the gala, and while Meg had certainly seemed comfortable enough with Ranier's attention, she had not really looked to be in love with the rake. Fond of, certainly, but that particular soft light of love had not been in her eyes when she had looked at Ranier. And Raoul should know the look, as he'd seen it in Christine's eyes when she had looked at her angel on that dreadful night beneath the Opera.

Damn.

Why did he still feel the need to make that comparison? Meg was not Christine, and he did not want her to be. He loved her just as she was.

Which is exactly why what Ranier said is eating you alive, you fop!

For as much as Raoul had loved…or thought he'd loved…Christine, he had never really minded the notion of taking her away from the stage. He'd certainly loved her voice, but there had been no question in his mind that she would give up singing once she had married him. He'd intended to change her…protect her…guide her…make her a proper Vicomtess. The thought of doing that to Meg made him ache inside.

You'll suffocate her, just as you did Christine.

That was the very reason he had attempted to put some distance between them to begin with…to keep himself from the temptation to pressure Meg as he had Christine. Now his hesitation had opened the door for that…scoundrel.

Perhaps it would be best if his father were to disown him, then there would be no need for Meg to give up her dancing. At least, not yet. Not until…well, certainly…she would have to if there were ever…children.

Children.

Raoul dragged a hand through his hair. The thought of children with Meg was so sweet. She would make such a wonderful mother.

God, I am off on a tangent again. First I must win her heart, then we shall deal with everything else.

When Raoul arrived at the boarding house, Madame Marseille led him to the parlor where he was surprised to find Madame Giry sitting in the window bench.

He bowed slightly. "Good afternoon, Madame."

Antoinette stood. "Le Vicomte. We have not had the chance to speak since you've returned. It is good to see you back in Paris."

Raoul smiled. "It is good to be back. I did not see you the other evening after the performance, and I wanted to compliment you on the wonderful job you have done with the ballet."

Antoinette nodded in acknowledgment. "I did not attend the gala. I prefer to leave the celebration to those much younger than myself."

He laughed. "But Madame, you are the very picture of youth."

Antoinette raised an eyebrow. "Please, Monsieur, you do not need flattery to wheedle into my good graces. You need only promise you will not up and leave Paris again while a certain gentleman still has designs on my daughter."

Raoul's smile fell away. It certainly seems to be a day of blatant honesty, he thought. "I can assure you that I will not, Madame."

She eyed him closely, and then, unbelievably, she smiled. "Good." She moved past Raoul towards the door, stopping just beside him. "Enjoy your lunch, young Vicomte."

Raoul watched her go in disbelief. Francois had been right; Madame Giry's opinion of him had improved in his absence. And he had just been given her blessing. The day was certainly improving.

Raoul paced the parlor for another five minutes before Meg came downstairs. He nearly forgot to breath at the sight of her. Her blond hair hung loose and fell in silken waves over her shoulders. The deep blue of her dress made her sapphire eyes seem even brighter than usual.

And her smile. Lord, her smile.

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Raoul."

He took her hand in his. I would wait a lifetime for you, sweet Meg, he thought. "It was no hardship, Meg. Especially when you are such a vision."

Meg blushed, which, much to her annoyance, she seemed to do quite often in his presence as of late. "Where shall we lunch today?"

Raoul grinned. "That is a surprise, my dear."

Meg raised an eyebrow, much in the same fashion of her mother. "As long as there is food, I suppose I am game for anything."

His grin deepened. "I shall have to remember that in future."

Meg was most definitely surprised when Raoul's coach arrived at a small outdoor café on the shore of the Seine called La Belle Etoile. And she was even more surprised to find that Raoul had somehow arranged for the outdoor terrace to be open only to them.

He held her chair as she sat at a table by the water, and he pulled the second chair closer to sit adjacent to her. "It has been so long since we have really spoken, Meg. I thought some privacy would not be unwelcome."

She couldn't stop the fullness that suddenly bloomed in her chest. Why did he torment her so with these little moments when there could never be more?

Friends. You are friends. Remember Christine. And, oh God…Jean.

Meg took a deep breath. "It was very thoughtful, Raoul. Now we can talk openly without worrying who might overhear our wicked gossip."

She smiled cheekily, trying to make light of the moment, and didn't notice Raoul's soft smile drop a little at the corners. He sighed resignedly. "Of course." So much for his romantic gesture. "Tell me all the Parisian news I have missed these past weeks."

Meg studied him a moment, feeling once again that she had somehow said the wrong thing. Why was talking to Raoul suddenly so difficult? "I would much rather you tell me how your business went. I trust all is well, or you would not have returned ahead of schedule?"

Raoul sat back in his chair, mildly surprised that Meg would care to ask him about business. "Yes. Business is…" He smiled again. "Boring, Meg. My father and I spent days discussing family holdings and investments. I have no wish to put you to sleep with such mundane talk."

"But I do not find it mundane, Raoul. I would like to know exactly what a Vicomte does when he isn't supporting the theater."

He laughed. "Surprisingly little, really."

"Come now, Raoul. Tell me. Please?"

"My family has investments in France and England; a shipping company, an orchard in Chardonnay. And of course our ventures into the theater. Honestly, Meg, I am not even entirely certain of half the deals my father has made."

"Do you enjoy any of it? Other than the theater, of course."

"No. I cannot say that I do. But I have little choice in the matter, being the de Chagny heir."

"Well, it cannot be all bad. If nothing else, you can afford to buy half a café for the afternoon."

Raoul laughed again. "I will confess a certain enjoyment to being le Vicomte de Chagny."

Meg smiled. "Well, you are very good at it."

"Am I?"

Meg caught her breath at his sudden seriousness. "Y-yes. Very…noble and…heroic."

Raoul studied her. Noble and heroic? Were those good things? He had believed them to be once. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with sarcasm. "And those qualities have worked so well for me in the past."

Meg's heart sank.

He is thinking of Christine again, of course. Foolish, foolish girl.

"Raoul, you mustn't think like that. You are a good and honorable man, and I am proud…to be your friend."

Friend, he thought. And just what does that make Ranier?

Raoul was tempted to ask; to reveal the depth of his own feelings for her and demand to know hers. But he did not want this day to turn sour. There would be a better time and place to speak of such things. He smiled and placed a hand over hers. "Your friendship is precious to me, Meg. I cannot begin to express how much these moments mean to me."

Meg's heart began to flutter madly, and her breathing grew uneven. "I…am glad of that, Raoul. You mean a great deal to me, as well." Then she realized her slip and blushed furiously, dropping her eyes and dragging her hand away from his. "I mean…your friendship, of course."

Raoul's smiled broadened into a happy grin. "Of course."

Too late to take it back, sweet Meg.

Taking pity on her flustered state, Raoul turned the conversation to more frivolous matters. The rest of their lunch passed in happy conversation that flowed from subject to subject with ease. It was hours later before Raoul escorted Meg back to the Marseille House. He walked with her into foyer, and she turned to thank him.

"I had a wonderful afternoon, Raoul."

"As did I. Tell me when I might see you again, Meg."

She frowned a little. "The theater will not be dark again until La Périchole closes. Between rehearsals and performances and…" Jean, but she could not bring herself to tell Raoul that. "I will be free Wednesday evening, after the performance."

"No, you will not be free. You will be dining with me."

She smiled softly. "Yes. I will be."

Unable to resist her one moment longer, Raoul bent forward a placed a lingering kiss against Meg's cheek. He heard her quick, tiny intake of breath, and it took all his control not to capture her lips and kiss her as he longed to.

Not yet, sweet Meg. But soon.

Raoul straightened, finding his voice hoarse when he spoke. "Goodnight, Meg."

She watched him leave, the door closing quietly behind him, and she raised one trembling hand to her cheek where his lips had been.

Then her mouth curved into a smile and her heart took flight.

A/N: Hey...progress in the relationship. How about that?