a/n Here's the end! Tell me if I dare do a sequel or not—I will admit, I'm a bit tempted. Love you all!

EPILOGUE

"I'm not going back there." The little girl shook her head furiously. "You can't make me."

"Dad can." Heaving a sigh as the six year old clung to his pant leg, staring up with pleading brown eyes, the young man found he was powerless. "Fine," he muttered. "You can come today, but that's all." As the girl squealed with delight, he quickly added, "We're not making a habit out of it. Mother would kill me."

"Shoulders!"

Laughing, he swooped his sister up onto his shoulders. "You can't make a habit of this, either, Angelique."

"I promise, Gustave."

As they walked the chilly streets of Vienna, Angelique chatted about how much she hated her school, wishing she could spend all day with Gustave and Jean as they worked. "You all have much more fun than I."

"Not true," Gustave said, swinging in the door and lifting his sister up, then down to the floor. "Mathieu and Tristan go to school every day, and they don't complain."

"That's because they're boys. Eve doesn't have to go to school."

"Eve's a baby." Gustave paused at the entrance to the auditorium, kneeling in front of Angelique. "You have to be quiet," he said. "If you interrupt anything with your loud voice, it's right back to school with you."

Jean passed just then with an arm full of costumes, stopping long enough to roll his eyes and say, "Can't resist her baby face, can you?"

"Shut it," Gustave said, taking a good-natured swipe the older boy. "Neither can you. If I remember, you were the one giving her candies during the Mass on Sunday."

"Guilty as charged." Jean shifted his load to reach down and tousle Angelique's messy curls, so like her brother's. "Keep quiet, bel ange."

Angelique beamed at the pet name her father had given her so many years ago. Grabbing her hand, Gustave quietly led her into the grand auditorium. He raised a finger to his lips as a woman exited the stage, looking cross. He could hear his parents talking.

"Really, darling, she wasn't all that bad—"

"I'm not having that woman take over for you." His father's voice was muffled through the newspaper that he had rested over his face, a common gesture of exasperation. Their mother always joked that he was making faces and muttering curses under there. "Were you even listening? I want her to make angels weep, not my children."

Gustave was not able to entirely stifle the laugh that broke from his lips. The woman in the row in front of them turned. Frowning, she said, "Why isn't Angelique at school?"

"I don't want to, mother," she said, pouting.

Frowning at this, she turned to her husband for support. "Erik, talk to your children."

"Take your sister back to school." The paper did not even move.

Christine Dusek reached out a hand to catch Angelique as she tumbled over the seat next to her mother to sit beside her. "Please, mama, I hate my school. The teacher is mean to me."

Exasperated, Christine shook her head. Not to be defeated, Angelique climbed across her mother's feet to tug at her father's pant leg. "Papa, don't make me go back to school."

A weary sigh came from under the paper. Count Dusek peered down at his daughter from under the newspaper. This proved to be an unwise move, as the pleading brown eyes that so seldom failed her gazed up at her father. "Do you promise to be quiet?"

"Erik!"

"Oh, yes, Papa!" Angelique climbed into Erik's lap, lifting the paper to kiss his left cheek. "Thank you, Papa!"

"Shush," he said, but he smiled. Looking over, he gave his wife an exasperated look. "The eyes, Christine! No one can resist the eyes of my bel ange."

Christine raised her eyes to the ceiling, muttering what could only be a prayer under her breath, and gestured to the stage. "Call the next victim."

"Next!"

"Still no luck finding Mother's replacement?" Gustave asked, sitting down next to his father.

Instead of an answer, Erik simply put the newspaper back over his face. The next "victim" turned out to be a voluptuous woman in her forties who sang high pitches so tightly that Gustave cringed. The next four women were equally bad, and Gustave found himself becoming bored.

Just as he was about to go find Jean to find something more entertaining to do, a curvy blonde walked on the stage. If nothing else, Gustave decided, she'd be something to look at.

"Name," said Erik unenthusiastically.

"Bella," she said tentatively. She looked petrified. A good sign, Gustave thought. The last few women had looked overbearingly pompous and confident. This girl looked ready to faint.

"Bella," said Christine kindly, "what are you going to perform for us today?"

"'The Last Rose of Summer,'" she said nervously.

"God," Erik muttered. "This will either be fantastic or fantastically horrible."

"Erik!" Christine hissed.

The girl nodded to the pianist, who played a short introduction before she opened her mouth and began to sing. Gustave had been slumped in his seat, half asleep, but when Bella opened her mouth and began to sing, he sat up and paid attention. Christine stopped writing in her notebook to watch her, entranced, and even Erik took down his newspaper to stare at the girl in wonder. She could not possibly be any older than Gustave, but she sounded as if she had trained for twice as many years as she had lived.

By the time she finished, everyone in the theater had stopped what they were doing to listen to Bella sing. She stood for a moment, looking about nervously, then gave a small curtsey, said, "Thank you for your time, Count Dussek, Countess Dussek," and began to walk from the stage, head bowed.

Erik jumped to his feet. "Don't move!" he shouted at her.

She jumped. Erik did not move toward her—he stood with a hand outstretched for a moment before he asked, "How old are you?"

"I'll be seventeen in a few months, sir," she said.

"Sixteen," he whispered. He looked back at his wife in amazement. "Christine…"

"Erik, if you don't hire her, I won't touch you for the rest of the week," she said in one breath.

He laughed. "Do I look like a fool?" Turning back to Bella, he gestured her over. When she stood before them, Erik smiled at her. "Do you have any family, Bella?"

"Yes, sir," she said. "It was my father who sent me here. I've always wanted to be on the stage, but my grandmother did not like the idea." She smiled for the first time since entering the room. "He said that I am old enough to make my own decisions and that he would support me fully if I chose to take to the stage. So here I am."

"I see," he said slowly. He looked at Christine, who was staring at Bella with a furrowed brow. "Is it Isabella?" she asked.

"Yes," she said, giving a small curtsey. "Isabella de Chagny."

Erik and Christine looked at each other again, and suddenly, Christine began to giggle. "It's little Bella," she managed to say.

"Isabella," Erik said, "I would like to welcome you to the Vienna Opera."

She smiled brilliantly.

Six weeks later, she was still smiling, only now to thunderous applause as the lead in Alinaregina di Golco. As she came off the stage, she was rushed by her fellow actors and the ballet, all of whom were dying to congratulate her. Dropping down from his perch overlooking the stage, Gustave rushed toward her.

"Come on, Bella," he said, grabbing her hand. He pulled her toward her dressing room and shepherded her inside. When he finally managed to shut the door, he leaned against it, grinning. "You!" He pointed at his friend, and she laughed.

"How did I do?"

"Fantastic!" He swept her up in his arms and spun her around. She was beaming up at him, her face flushed.

"Was I really?"

He felt the smile slowly fade from his face as he looked into her brown eyes. "Yes," he said softly. "You're always beautiful."

She giggled.

"Good! I—I meant good. You're always good. You've never missed a—"

But then his stuttering was silenced by a pair of soft lips and two arms wrapping around his waist. Had he not been so preoccupied with her, Gustave may have noticed the side door to the dressing room open, and his parents nearly fall over each other in an attempt not to interrupt. Pushing her husband out, Christine just managed to stifle a laugh.

"He'd never forgive us if he found out we knew," she said, giggling.

Erik pulled her up against his chest. "Wouldn't he."

"No." She smiled as he tilted her chin up and kissed her deeply. When he pulled away, she was still smiling. "We should go see to Eve. She's probably driving Eva up the wall."

"Oh, you know Eva loves her." Erik kissed her forehead. "She loves having someone named for her."

"The boys?"

"With Jean." He was moving down her neck now.

"Erik, not here," she murmured. "We're behaving like common theater folk."

"I have news for you, my darling," he said, pulling her into an unused dressing room. "We are theater folk."

And he locked the door.

a/n That's the end! That's the whole kit 'n' caboodle. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did—now I just have to decide if I want to do the sequel. If I do, it'll be a bit—I need a break. I don't normally write this fast! I adore you all!