Somewhere Sometime

For the next two days, Meg could think of little else but Raoul. She had not seen him since their lunch on Monday and she could not help feeling anxious. Had she read too much into that little kiss? It was only her cheek, after all. A perfectly friendly action. What if Raoul had not intended it to be more? And how was it that she had once possessed such wisdom to impart on Christine's complicated love life, but now, when she most needed the talent for herself, it had abandoned her?

These thoughts kept rolling about in her mind, even as she once again sat across the table from Jean on Tuesday evening for supper. She knew she should tell him the truth of her feelings for Raoul, but found it a difficult subject to broach when she was still so uncertain if her feelings were returned.

One thing was certain, she did not wish to lead Jean on any longer. Meg was here tonight only because this dinner had been arranged the night of the gala, before Raoul had asked to see her again. Jean's attention to her was flattering, and Meg could not deny that she had enjoyed every minute. But she knew his interest was fueled more by her refusal to fall at his feet than any deep emotional attachment. He was a man used to getting what he wanted, and being unable to seduce Meg into his Opera and his bed was a novelty to him.

That fact did not diminish her guilt at having played along with this game for so long. In truth, she had been hoping that she might have been able to feel something for him that would have eclipsed her feelings for Raoul. And, much to her shame, she had even briefly considered giving into his gentle seduction. But the thought of being his mistress held little appeal to her.

"Marguerite, tell me what is troubling you this evening?"

Meg looked into Jean's emerald gaze. "I suppose…I am wondering just where this is going, Jean."

His eyes darkened as he studied her. So the young vicomte has been to see you, has he? "Wherever you wish it to go, my dear."

"Jean, please. Can you not just answer me honestly; without the charming lines?"

"I want you, Marguerite. In my Opera. In my…life. I had thought I made that very clear."

"No, indeed, Jean you always manage to veil your true meaning with carefully chosen words. So for once we will both say what we mean. I will not be your mistress, Jean."

"I should have known your Vicomte would make you believe the worst of me."

Meg's eyes flashed. "Raoul has nothing to do with this."

"No? Has he not told you of my dishonorable intentions towards you? That I am a ruthless lothario not to be trusted?"

"He has said no such thing! We hardly spoke of you at all. And I certainly would not need Raoul to inform me of your reputation, Jean. I have heard enough of it from other sources!"

Jean slumped back against his chair, regarding her momentarily. "And if I were to tell you my intentions toward you are more…honorable. Would it make a difference? Or have I no hope at all of winning your heart?"

Meg shook her head sadly. "I really do not think it is my heart you desire, Jean."

He looked away. "Perhaps it was not always my main interest." He turned his gaze back to her. "But I think you are a woman I could be very content with, Meg."

She gasped a little. Jean had never called her 'Meg' before, and the name sounded strange passing his lips now. Even more strange was that she somehow believed he meant what he said. "Jean…"

"No. Listen a moment. You want the truth, and I shall give it to you. I desire you. I am intrigued by you. I think I could come to love you very dearly, given time. And you know I can make your dreams of being a prima ballerina come true. I can offer you my Opera, Marguerite. He can only offer you regret…a life of settling for less than you deserve."

Meg gasped. "I-I…d-don't know what you mean."

"Yes, my dear, I believe you do. Can you really give up the dancing that you love so dearly to be a replacement for your friend, Mademoiselle Daae?"

Meg stared at him in shock, pain and anger shimmering in her teary eyes. "How dare you?" Her voice was only a whisper, trembling with sorrow. "You have no right to say such a thing to me."

"I say it because I do not wish to see you swept up in some childish fantasy when I am offering you something real. Vicomtes do not marry chorus girls, Marguerite, they take them as mistresses."

Meg gritted her teeth, searching for something to defend against his accusations. "Raoul is not like that. He would have married Christine."

Jean sneered. "But you are not Christine, my dear."

Meg couldn't breath, her vision began to grow hazy around the edges. She was only vaguely aware of standing, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. She blindly reached for her glass of wine and threw it in Jean's scowling face.

One step, two, three… She was running before she reached the doors of the restaurant, mindless of the stares and talk going on around her. She made it only a little ways down the street before she could no longer see where she was going through her tears.

Only then did she stop, turning into the doorway of a small shop as she let her sobs overtake her. Jean's words tormenting her.

You are not Christine.

It was a long time later before Meg finally flagged a hansom cab and returned home.

xXx

The Wednesday evening performance if La Périchole was not one of Meg's better ones. She made no obvious mistakes, but she did not feel connected to the opera that night. She was simply going thought the motions. Jean Ranier's cruel words had haunted her all day, even more so because they echoed her own dark thoughts.

As much as Raoul might think himself over Christine, she would always be there between them. Nothing would change the fact that Raoul and Christine would well be married now if Christine had chosen differently.

And he would not even know you are alive, little Meg.

Being in Christine's shadow was nothing new to Meg. She had accepted it long ago, mostly because Christine was so dear to her. Though there was always a twinge of jealousy when Meg thought of everything Christine had been given in her young life. So much tragedy, yet she had always landed on her feet. Taken in and loved as a daughter by Meg's own mother, tutored and loved by her angel of music, and, of course, Raoul. Even after everything that had happened between Erik and Christine at the Opera House, she had still managed to find love and happiness. And now a family of her own.

What would Raoul say if he knew? Would his heart break for what could have been his? Or would he smile and wish Christine well? The question would always be there.

If he sees her again, if he had another chance?

Meg didn't think she could live like that.

Damn it! Why did Jean have to remind her that she would always be second best with Raoul?

The shadow of Christine is creeping back in on poor Meg...