Disclaimer: Own The Phantom of the Opera I do not. Not mine is La Cenerentola.

A/N: Now that school is out, I vow to answer each and every review I get. Also, there are only a few chapters to go. I'll be going away for five weeks to study Creative Writing and Literature at a real college. I'm very excited. I'll leave in the middle of June. Hopefully, I'll have this phic finished by then. While there, I hope to get started on a Labyrinth fic that's been bouncing around in my head for some time.

A/N: Three cheers for impossibly long chapter titles!

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Difference between the Love of a Brother and the Love of a Man

Erik

The Christmas season was gone far too soon for Erik's taste. It had been full of tender moments, but that didn't make it any easier to watch Danielle leave for rehearsals the first week of January. As he had anticipated, Danielle would be perfect for the role of Psyche in the opera he had written for her. They had spent hour after hour perfecting it, as well as La Cenerentola. Everyone was sure to be awed by Danielle's level of preparation. An eager prima donna was much more easily dealt with than a lazy one. There was no doubt in Erik's mind that Reyer would quickly realize the value of Danielle's talent and disposition. His loyalty would mean much to her career at the Populaire.

Of course, Danielle's absence wasn't a total loss. There were things he needed to buy that he didn't want her to know about just yet. He would, unfortunately, have to leave the opera house to purchase these important items, but he had created a few very realistic masks that would allow him to walk the streets of Paris unnoticed and, most importantly, undetected by unwanted personages, or more precisely, the gendarmes.

The third morning of rehearsals found Erik briskly striding towards his destination, a jeweler's shop on the Rue de St. Antoine. Guillaume Olivier's Fine Jewelry was one of the most popular establishments in the Parisian jewelry trade. Anything bought from that shop would cost a great deal, but it would be worth every centime. Guillaume Olivier had impeccable taste in stones and metal. The wealthy could always count on Olivier's for the best. Erik would have nothing but the best for his Danielle.

Erik stepped into the warm store from the icy cold of January, his cloak wrapped tightly around him to protect himself from the biting wind, and as a habitual precaution against prying eyes. He strode up to the counter and demanded to see the owner, Olivier himself. The excitable clerk took in the fine clothing and proud stance of this odd customer, immediately assuming Erik to be a noble. The mousy man darted into the back of the store, then reappeared with a kindly man bent with age.

"I am Olivier," the little, old man declared, squinting up into Erik's dark eyes. "What can I do for you, monsieur?"

"I wish to commission three rings," Erik answered respectfully, fully realizing what this man could do, or not do, for him. "An engagement ring and two wedding rings."

"Ah, getting engaged are you, young man," Olivier asked with a twinkle in his blue bright eyes. "Wedding jewelry is my favorite kind to make."

"Quite so," Erik answered noncommittally, pulling out a few papers from his jacket-pocket. "I have a few designs that should give you some idea of what I want, but feel free to make a few changes if you must." He handed them to Olivier, who began perusing them appreciatively.

"These are very good, monsieur," Olivier affirmed. "I see you want something modest, but stunning, like your young lady, hmmm?"

"Very like her," Erik said, reverently.

"I don't see why I couldn't reproduce these designs exactly," the jeweler noted. I could have them for you in six weeks. I would say that they will cost you about 6,000 francs for your wedding band, 5,000 for hers, and 15,000 for the engagement ring."

"I think that's a fair price," Erik agreed. Really and truly, he would have been willing to pay twice as much for three rings by Olivier. The name on the box alone would tempt a woman no matter how ugly the ring, or how awful the man.

"What name will I put this order under?"

"Octavian Gautier," Erik answered a little nervously. He had never actually introduced himself using his newest pseudonym, but he had imagined the looks he would get when it finally became necessary to use it. The man reacted in much the way Erik had expected. He started, nearly dropping the papers in his surprise at this information. No doubt he knew how very strange it was to have this reclusive composer waltz into his shop demanding an order for bridal jewelry.

"For you," Olivier amended, "I can have this done in three weeks."

"Thank you," Erik replied, gratefully. He wanted those rings in his pocket as soon as possible. "How quickly could you have the engagement ring finished?"

"In a week," Olivier assured him.

"That will be most satisfactory." Erik paid a small down-payment and swept out of the shop, the man's eyes burning into his back.

Danielle

Sometimes the new prima donna of the Opera Populaire was amazed at how fast her life was going by. Before she knew it, the opening gala of La Cenerentola was approaching…or perhaps looming was a better word. The way Erik spoke of this next performance, anyone else would think he was planning to win a war with her as the only soldier. He expected her to single-handedly change the face of the Opera Populaire forever, as well as cement her future as the reigning diva. He, of course, claimed that she could do all of this with little effort, but Danielle was not so sure. The more she thought about the gala, the larger the butterflies in her stomach grew. Now they were the size of seagulls, and they would only grow larger.

Her nerves were bearable as long as Erik was helping her. He was there with her every step of the way, right up until the night of the performance, which saw the return of her absent admirer, Mathieu Latrec. This was a frustrating development to say the least. She had so hoped he had found some other rising star to pursue, but, apparently, Danielle was the only one in Paris at the moment. She even seemed to be dimming the brightness of Bianca Gambrino, the prima ballerina. The dark-skinned Italian had, until recently, been considered the most captivating member of the company with her perfect legs and nearly black eyes. Now, all of the male patrons were fawning over the silver-voiced, sweet-faced soprano.

Once opening night came, Danielle forgot all of her troubles as she took the stage. It was thrilling to be someone else for a little while, to completely become a character. The only thing more thrilling was the knowledge that everyone in the theater wanted to hear her sing, as could be seen from the round of applause that greeted her every entrance. When the performance was finished, she had to take four curtain calls. So it was every night. She basked in the glow of glory, while Erik reveled in the success of their plans. La Cenerenola ran over for two extra weeks at the command of the Administration of Fine Arts. Danielle's reputation was secure.

It was on the morning after the close of La Cenerentola that Danielle found her brother in her dressing-room. His coming was only slightly less embarrassing than her father's appearance only weeks before. At least everyone already knew about Luc's "indiscretions." As soon as Danielle's talent had come to light, the rumors began about her unsavory brother. There really was no end to gossip.

Luc was currently reclining on the sofa, as if he were there every day, and right at home in his surroundings. His blue eyes, though very like his father's, were lazy, instead of steely, as they turned towards her. He was all impudence this morning, idle impudence, at that.

"Dear sister," he yawned as she sat down at her vanity and began applying a little unneeded powder to her cheeks to hide her annoyance, "I have been waiting ever so long for you to arrive."

"How long," Danielle asked without much interest, glancing at his reflection in the mirror.

"Twenty minutes," Luc exclaimed. "I was so bored, I almost fell asleep."

"Oh, I'm very sorry," she retorted with a little edge in her voice. "I do wish I had come earlier to enjoy your company. What, exactly, brings you here, anyway?"

"I have come to discuss a very important matter: Mathieu Latrec," Luc said solemnly, though his ironic tone didn't escape her.

"What about him," Danielle shot at him, after spreading a little rouge on her cheekbones. "He really doesn't interest me in the slightest, so if he is all you have come to discuss, I would rather you leave."

"Oh, come now, Danielle," Luc urged, "Surely you know that this must all be cleared up some time."

"What must be cleared up," she asked innocently.

"His regard for you," Luc replied in that oily manner that always put her on her guard.

"How does the dog regard me, dear brother?" She may have been checking her make-up, calmly, but her irritation was betrayed. The question had come through gritted teeth.

"You know very well how he regards you; don't act so ignorant," he spat, at last showing the venom he carried when he thought it would help him.

Danielle finally turned around in her seat, facing Luc. Her defiance was palpable as she declared, "Don't treat me like such a fool, Luc D'Artoi. I know what you and father are after. But I tell you this: I will not marry that shiftless womanizer you've been trying to throw in my face. I hate him with all that I am."

"Danielle," Luc chuckled, as if he was amused by her inexperience, "Latrec has no intention of marrying you."

"Then what does he want," she snapped with exasperation.

"Why, to make you his mistress, of course," was the smug assurance.

All of the blood drained out of Danielle's face as the meaning of his words sank into her mind. So, that's what her loving family wanted of her. That's the debt they felt she owed them. That was what they thought of her virtue and honor. They wanted her to be Latrec's whore. They knew how she felt about such things, and this was their wish.

"I-I'll d-die first," she stammered, feeling sick.

"Don't you think you're being a bit over-dramatic, sister," he asked indulgently. "It really isn't all that bad. None of my mistresses have ever had pangs of guilt after I'd gotten through with them. It's all very pleasant; you'll see."

Suddenly, Danielle felt that she couldn't remain in the same room as her shameless brother any longer. But before she could leave, she had to get some of her own back. Though a little shaky on her feet, Danielle stood up, tall and proud, in front of Luc. She stepped towards him, hoping her strength would last, and then she smacked him with all of the force she could muster.

"You hit me," he stated pathetically, holding a hand to the red, irritated hand-print she had left on his cheek.

"Get out, you wretched low-life," Danielle screamed. "Get out before I call the gendarmes. I'll make sure you're never allowed in this building again."

Luc jumped to his feet and ran to the door. As he fled down the hall she yelled after him, "You'll be arrested if you come within a hundred feet of the door. You and Latrec. I hope you both choke on your champagne!"

Weeping, Danielle collapsed onto the sofa, satisfied that, at the very least, she had made the coward wet himself.

Erik

Unbeknownst to Danielle, Erik had been listening to the whole exchange, just as he had overheard her conversations with Latrec. His blood had begun to boil from the moment Latrec's name was dragged into Danielle's notice, but when Luc had made that disgusting remark about Danielle becoming Latrec's mistress, he had nearly crashed through the wall to wring Luc's neck. He had been frenzied by the cavalier attitude of the man attempting to sell his sister's virginity to the highest bidder.

His anger had turned quickly to desperation as he saw what that pronouncement had done to Danielle. He had been worried by her sickly-looking skin. He was sure she would faint.

And then, Erik looked on with shock and pride when she slapped her brother with everything she had in her. He had never seen her so angry, nor had he seen her raise her hand in violence. She was glorious, her threats superb. She was standing up for herself, and doing a good job of it, too.

Now, he was running down a passage that would open near her door. He only hoped no one else would come to see what was wrong with her. That could prove problematic. He or she would scream, and cause great commotion running through the opera, alerting everyone that the Opera Ghost had come back to haunt them. After that there would be searches of the cellars, mobs gathering to find him… Generally speaking, it would create a good deal of trouble for him.

Luckily, no one was around when Erik cautiously stepped out of the passage, and toward Danielle's dressing-room. She was still in the same position as before, sitting on the sofa, her face buried in her hands.

Erik gingerly made his way over to the weeping girl, fervently wishing that she didn't feel the need to cry every time her family dropped by. He was sympathetic, but there was only so much he could bear. It pained him greatly to see any woman cry. It was torture to see her doing it. He cleared his throat by way of telling her he was there.

Danielle lifted her head, managing to look both grateful for his presence and ashamed because she realized that he had heard her disgrace. He answered her questioning look with silent nod.

"What am I going to do, Erik," she asked miserably. "I've never really defied my father. I always give into him in the end."

"You won't give in this time; I won't allow it," Erik assured her, crouching down in front of her. "You're too good for what they have in store. And I'm not just saying this as your teacher. I'm saying this as your friend," he said, raising a hand to wipe the tears off of her wet cheeks.

"I don't know anymore," Danielle whispered, not meeting his gaze. "If my own family thinks I'm worthless, I can't imagine what you see in me."

"I see everything good in the world," Erik declared, taking both her hands in his. "I love you, Danielle."

Danielle's bowed head suddenly snapped up to search his eyes, as if hunting for any sign that he meant, or didn't mean, what he had just said. Meanwhile, her own eyes were filling up with tears yet again, as well as a fearful sort of hope.

"Marry me, Danielle," Erik pleaded urgently. "I'll never expect anything of you. I'll do everything within my power to make you safe and happy," he promised. "All I want is to know that you'll be with me, that I'll never lose you."

Erik's heart was pounding as he reached into the coat pocket that contained the ring he carried with him everywhere he went. He opened the tiny box, displaying the solitaire diamond inside it. He heard Danielle's sharp intake of air. Erik's eyes never left hers throughout all of it.

"Oh, Erik," she breathed before throwing her arms around him. "I love you so much," she gasped through joyful sobs. "Of course I'll marry you."

Erik pulled away from her; it was his turn to ascertain the truth of her words. Danielle was beaming. Not even she could have feigned the love in those emerald pools.

Danielle

Danielle's heart was bursting with ecstasy at the thought that Erik, the man for whom her beat, love her, wanted her to be his wife. She had imagined and dreamed of this moment so many times, but she had never begun to imagine the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

In a daze, she realized that she and Erik were standing up and that he was slipping the small diamond ring onto her left ring-finger. It was very small, and the band was highly decorated with music notes. It was perfect for her dainty hand, and the notes represented their relationship and personalities completely.

When she glanced up, Danielle suddenly became aware of how very close they were. She found her gaze alighting on his lips, the lips that had never touched her in any way, not even her hand. They were close enough to touch, but still too far away for her, in her infinite modesty, to meet. She longed to kiss him, but couldn't bring herself to make the first move.

Danielle's eyes widened when she realized that Erik was closing in the gap.

A/N: Gotta love cliff-hangers.

A/N: I finally got to honor Lawrence Olivier with a character! I love him. Too bad he's dead, and all. He was an awesome actor. Has anyone seen the really old version of Shakespeare's As You Like It with Lawrence Olivier? The sets, acting and costumes were really bad, but Olivier made that movie worth it.