updated 08-03-21
FEBRUARY 1915
GUSTAVE
When I arrived at the house, I had to double-check the note Lara had given to me with her address. Needless to say, I was shocked by the beautiful three-storey manor that stood before me, and it went without saying that it did nothing for my nerves. Nevertheless, I couldn't be late. First impressions were everything, weren't they? I made my way up the front steps and knocked on the heavy-looking door. I straightened my tie and jacket one last time in the polished glass panes before the door opened and a sweet-looking lady appeared, her deep red curls meticulously tied back and complemented by the dark colours in her evening dress.
"Hello there. You must be Gustave. Please come in," she said as she stepped aside to let me pass through into the foyer. I could feel her eyes raking me up and down, though I wasn't exactly sure what she was scanning me for. "I am Lara's mother, Marguerite. It's lovely to finally meet you."
"I assure you, the pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Thomas," I replied as I extended my hand.
Lara had come to the front hall just in time to hear her mother burst out laughing after I spoke. She had gone pale and I couldn't hide my obvious confusion brought on by both reactions.
"So is that the name she's using now?" her mother asked in between laughs.
My confusion only seemed to intensify as I looked between the two ladies, silently praying that I would receive a proper explanation at some point that evening. "You'll have to forgive me but, what do you mean by that?" I inquired.
"Oh, of course. Lara doesn't want to be treated differently at school because of her family name, so she rarely gives her real one," her mother explained, still seemingly finding the entire situation much more entertaining than I did. "Though I thought she would have told you her real one, considering what I've heard about your...relationship." The way she said the word made me feel uncomfortable; I couldn't explain it but I could tell that I had already somehow made a mess of this.
"I see." I was only looking at Lara at that point, but she couldn't seem to look me in the eyes. I could tell that she wasn't going to say anything, so I posed my question to her mother instead: "Well, if that is the case, I hope you don't mind me asking what your family name is?"
"It's Chagny," Lara said, finally having decided to speak up. In all honesty, though, after hearing what she said, I wished that she hadn't said anything at all. I felt my heart sink to my feet, the blood drained from my face. I must have heard her wrong; that had to be what happened. There was no way Lara was from that family, it just couldn't possibly be true. She was the opposite of that family name, of him. It made no sense to me that she could be even remotely related to him. There had to be some other family with that name that I was unaware of, they couldn't be connected.
I only half heard her mother when she asked me to follow her further into the house; my feet moved but my mind didn't, as if I was some sort of automaton. Lara walked by my side, but I couldn't look at her, could make no move to take her hand as I normally did when we walked side by side. I still wasn't sure what to make of the entire situation. I felt a sting of betrayal and pain in my chest that I couldn't seem to shake and she was the last person I wanted to be the cause of that.
Eventually, we arrived in a sitting room of sorts, where I saw two men sitting in the corner by a table with some drinks. One of them had their back turned and didn't seem to be fazed by our presence; the only thing I could see was his blond hair. The other man, however, was in the complete opposite position, facing us straight on before he walked right up to me and shook my hand. He was blond like the other man with a mustache and thick sideburns to match, while his sharp blue eyes seemed to pierce right through me.
"Hello there. So you're the boy that my daughter is so taken with," he said. He had optimism in his voice as he spoke, which was more than I had in my whole body at that moment. Better yet, he didn't have the same scrutiny written on his face as his wife had. "My name is Philippe de Chagny, and this is my younger brother, Raoul."
The other man turned at the mention of his name and I stopped breathing for a moment or two. At that moment, I locked eyes with a man I hadn't seen since I buried my mother. The look in his eyes is one I hadn't seen except for in my nightmares, like he was going to have fun seeing me squirm for the rest of the night. In a way, he was exactly as I left him; with a glass of whiskey in his hands.
"Are you alright, Gustave? You look pale," Lara said, and I noticed her face was painted with concern and her warm hand was a welcome feeling against my cold, numb one. Without thinking, I took the hand her father outstretched to me and shook it, then dropped it to my side like a ton of bricks. Once I was finally able to look at the girl beside me and really see her, and I could feel myself remembering how to breathe. Though I hadn't seen her walk up to me, her being there seemed to help me refocus on what was happening around the room. I nodded in response to her in order to calm both her nerves and my own. The Vicomte appeared to have rejoined reality as well just in time for all of us to be called for dinner.
We were all in place at the dinner table within moments and I couldn't help but gawk at the beautiful design of everything in the room. The symmetry of the moulding on the walls was astounding, and everything from the colours to the furnishings seemed to fit together so perfectly. Papa would be like a child on Christmas morning if he ever saw it; I found myself thinking of all the things he would point out. Not that I believed he would ever come to visit once he found out whose family lived there. Those thoughts helped to distract me from the fact that the man I loathed the most in the world was sitting across from me and the girl I cared about more than anyone was next to me at the same time. The first dish of the meal was eaten in silence; one could cut the tension with a knife, but only he and I truly knew the source of it.
Despite the fact that my eyes were wandering, I couldn't escape the burning gaze of Lara's mother. "Is there something wrong?" she inquired.
"Nothing at all, you have a grand home, Madame," was the only thing I could think to reply without going on a rant, which would only have ruined my chances further.
"Have you been reading the paper, Raoul? All this nonsense going on with Germany and Belgium," Philippe asked his brother, who obviously couldn't care less, given that his reaction was a simple shrug of his shoulders. Even I, a seventeen-year-old boy, was more interested in what was happening on the world stage than him, apparently.
It was no surprise to me when Lara inserted herself into the conversation: "With things as tight as they are, it will only take a small spark to set off some form of large-scale conflict."
"Hardly a suitable subject for a lady," the Vicomte chuckled, obviously underestimating his niece's intelligence. She had made a completely valid point, yet he clearly wasn't planning on paying it any attention.
"One must first master the ways of a gentleman before he attempts to remind a lady of hers, don't you think?" I inquired. I had to say something, though I will admit that the bitterness was partially unintentional. He needed to know that I would not be pushed around, that I was not a scared little boy anymore and I was ready to fight for who I cared for. However, my comment brought silence over the room. Clearly, nobody had been expecting me to speak as forcefully as I had.
After a long silence, it was once again Philippe who made the effort to create a conversation out of thin air: "So Gustave, what are your plans for the future?"
"Well, one day, I hope to take over the business that my father owns," I replied with a small smile. "I already work closely with him so I can learn from him."
"He runs a business now. How quaint," Raoul mumbled under his breath. He seemed to be trying to maintain a running commentary without my knowledge, but I heard him regardless.
"Interesting. What does he do?" Marguerite inquired. It was then that I realized why she was staring daggers into me. It all made sense, the house, the name, the apparent wealth; she wanted to know if I was an appropriate suitor.
"He owns an architecture and design company. He started it when I was about eleven."
Once again, a mumbled remark came from the man across the table. I wasn't able to make out most of it but the beginning was clear: "Of course that devil does."
I wanted to say something so badly, but somehow, Lara beat me to it: "Is there something you'd like to contribute to the conversation, Uncle Raoul?"
"No, I don't. And I'd appreciate it if you stayed out of this," he snapped at her. The anger in my chest was getting to the point of boiling over. I needed to say something to him or I'd lose my mind, but I was well aware that I had to do my absolute best to keep a straight face at the table.
"Well then, your mother must have her hands full with two like-minded men at the dinner table every night," Lara's mother remarked with a little laugh. I knew that she meant no harm by it, but I could feel the jab at my heart at the mention of my mother.
"Actually, my mother…well , she's-"
"She's dead, Marguerite," Raoul said rather abruptly. That man truly did have a death wish, it seemed, and he would not have to look far to have it fulfilled.
Everyone was shocked...well, of course, everyone besides me. They just looked between myself and Raoul for what felt like an endless amount of time. Someone had to say something, but it wasn't going to be me because I knew that if I did speak up, I would end up saying things that would probably lead to me not being welcomed back to Lara's home, especially considering that her mother was to be my judge, jurors, and executioner. I was seething; the lack of feeling was unimaginable for a human! How could he have just blurted that out with not even a hint of sadness or regret or any emotion?
Lara must have seen how angry I was getting because she took my hand under the table and rubbed her thumb in small circles on the back of my hand. She seemed to be the only thing keeping me grounded.
The silence persisted particularly near Philippe's end of the table, I noticed, but finally, Marguerite asked the question that was obviously on everyone's mind: "How do you know that?" Such a simple question, yet it allowed for so much potential chaos. Not only did he begin to panic, because he must have realized what he'd done, but Philippe seemed to start growing uneasy as well.
"Well, you see, Marguerite, I was…well-" he began. The regret on his face was perfect, and I couldn't wait to make it worse.
"He was married to her," I said, repaying the favour of cutting him off. Though I had been enjoying watching him stumble, it felt a bit like karma for what he had done to me only minutes before. He glared at me as though he wanted to bury me on the spot, and although I was doing the same, the look did bring back some unsavoury memories.
"I was about to get to that if you had given me a moment, Gustave," he said through gritted teeth. He was getting angrier by the second, but from what I could tell, he wouldn't lay his hands on me. Now that I could, I would make sure he never touched me again. "What did I teach you about interrupting me?"
"Nothing that I have to listen to now. You had no parental rights over me in the first place! Though it's not like you were much of a father," I retorted. If it was to be war between us, then so be it; he had no power over me anymore. "And I'm surprised you remember our time together at all or even your marriage to my mother. Most of my memories of you involve a bottle of some kind."
"Well, well. Look who finally developed a spine." He was smirking, and looking at it, I almost wished he'd go back to scowling. "Seems like I did influence you after all."
"And it looks like you still choose to live in a drunken fantasy. The only lasting influence you've had on me is in my nightmares. I'd like to make the same thing clear that I did at Mother's funeral - I never wanted to see you again."
"I suppose the feeling is mutual." The words were practically spat out of his mouth, and I could feel my rage returning. "But I would like to remind you of who is actually tied to this home by family, my boy."
"Don't you dare call me your boy!" I exclaimed. I was exploding and it felt so good. There was so much I didn't get to say the last time I saw him; so much I had wanted to say but didn't have the words to do so. "You lost all rights to me when you left me and Mother on Coney Island. You have no right to act all high and mighty now because I know what you are really like behind closed doors. I may have been a child but I remember. All the screaming, the crying, the constant thick long sleeves and the makeup Mother used on her cheeks. I did not come here for you and I did not come here to hear you mumble insults about my father, so get that through your thick skull."
I hadn't realized it but I had gotten out of my chair in the middle of my verbal attack, my hands balled into fists at my sides. But I felt nothing. In fact, if I did feel anything, it was power; I had control over him and I would be damned before I gave it up again. It felt good to see the shock and fear in his eyes. A deep-rooted part of me was elated with what I had done to him. It was a part of me that I didn't let out often, because I scared myself with the person I became.
Once I had gotten everything out of my system, I was able to look around at the faces of the people around me, but doing so only made my heart sink; Marguerite was horrified and Philippe was awestruck, while Lara's face was painted with such confusion that it hurt me to look at her. I had never meant for her to see that part of me.
There goes any hope of a first impression, I thought as I sat down, my eyes glued to my plate. I couldn't bear to look at anyone at that moment. The same silence from before fell heavy on the table, with nobody being quite sure how to react to what had just happened.
Lara was the first to speak, but I knew it would be her. She hated not having the answer or being left out of the loop of information: "Could someone tell me what just happened?"
"It is none of your concern," Raoul said through gritted teeth. He hated that I was the one in control and was grasping for any chance he could get in order to regain it. I was tempted to stand up and finish what I'd started at the funeral, but I felt I had done enough at that point. "Like I said before, stay out of this."
The way he looked at her...I couldn't do it anymore. I could not sit at that beautiful table, in that magnificent dining room with that monstrosity sitting across from me. I knew that look; he had given Mother that look, he had given me that look, and I knew what it was designed to do. I still had nightmares about that expression and the fear that followed, the pain that followed and most importantly, what could never happen again. Now he was doing that to her, and that was the last straw. I may not have been able to protect my mother but I damn well was going to protect Lara, no matter what.
"I need some air. Lara, would you show me back to the front door?" I requested. A lame excuse, to be sure, but it was the only way that I could think of to try and get us both away from the table at the same time. We both stood before I took her by the hand and we left the dining room. No doubt her parents and Raoul would be discussing the outburst the second I left, spinning the story a thousand times over until it was nothing that resembled the truth. But I didn't care; all that mattered was getting her out of that room.
When we finally made it back to the front hall, I let go of her hand and spun her to face me, then gripped her forearms and ran my eyes up and down her frantically, checking to see if there was any discoloration on her skin by her cheekbones and neck. "Are you alright? Has he ever laid a hand on you? I swear if he has, I will kill him myself," I said firmly. I could tell that the underused part of me was on board for the idea.
"What are you talking about? Who are you talking about?" she asked as she looked at me like I was positively mad.
"Please just answer my question," I pleaded out of sheer desperation. I shook her arms to keep her attention on me as she looked back towards the dining room. I needed to know that he had done nothing to harm her because, in all honesty, I didn't think I would be able to control my actions if he had.
"Gustave, please. I still don't understand." She was searching my eyes for answers to her questions. She looked afraid, and rightfully so; my thoughts were beginning to scare even myself.
With a deep sigh, I realized she was asking valid questions and knew I had to clarify if I wanted an answer. "Your uncle. I need to know if he has ever threatened to or has ever laid a hand on you."
Her face was still painted with confusion as she looked down at her arms, then winced. I followed her gaze and gasped; I hadn't noticed my grip on her arms tightening. I lifted my thumb and saw the red imprint it left behind. Immediately, I let go and stared down at my own hands in fear before my knees buckled and I was on the ground.
"I am no better! I am no better than him. Who am I?" I whispered to myself. My hands were shaking and I felt a stray tear fall down my cheek. I had vowed never to be like him in any way, but it seemed I had done a horrid job at preventing that. It was then that that part of my soul shriveled back into the shadows once more, leaving me to deal with the mess it had made, the emptiness in my chest and the shaking hands.
Within seconds, Lara had joined me on the ground, but I couldn't find it in me to look her in the eyes as I said, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I should have done better."
"Gustave, it's okay. I am okay, look at my arm," she whispered back, wiping the tear away with her thumb. When she lowered her arm to my gaze, I was eternally grateful for the fact that the outline of my hand had vanished. "What's wrong? Please tell me."
Still unable to meet her gaze, my wave of emotions took away my filter and I simply blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "The problem is that I love you, but I hate him and I don't know what to do. And I can't let him hurt you or be the one who hurts you."
There was a pause before she spoke again, her voice breathy: "You...you love me?"
Fully registering what I had said, I was able to reply without a doubt: "How could I not?"
"I love you too," she replied, her hand resting on my cheek. With that, she leaned forward and kissed me. My heart grew wings and flew away at that moment; time slowed to a stop and all that mattered in the world was her. Everything that had happened leading up to that moment suddenly seemed pointless. A warm feeling spread through me right down to the tips of my toes. Everything was perfect.
We separated a moment later but kept our foreheads pressed together. "Now, please tell me what happened," she said softly, brushing her thumb against my cheek.
Her plea was so full of emotions I couldn't describe that I could no longer deny her the answers she was after. "Alright, I'll give you the shortened version of the story. I owe you more, but I don't know how much longer I have until your mother comes for us. Your uncle and my mother were married, and despite his own belief for years, he is not my father. Not long after I was born, he took up drinking and gambling, he became less patient and developed a short temper. When he was in an especially bad mood, he would get...violent towards my mother and me. Everything I said there was true. My mother was strong so she hid what she could with makeup and thick clothes, but I can never escape the tears, the screaming that echoed through the halls after my mother locked me in my room to keep me safe. He had abandoned us the night my mother was killed; he is ultimately responsible for the chain of events that lead to her death.
"Lara, I love you, but I will never forgive him. The things he did to us still give me nightmares. The only way I will ever forgive him is if he is able to apologize to my mother and I am able to hear her response for myself. Though I doubt they would ever meet; I don't believe they would allow the devil himself into the realm of angels."
She had no response for what felt like forever. Instead of speaking, though, she stood up, helped pull me to my feet, pressed a kiss to my lips, then took me by the hand and began walking back to the dining room. I wanted to ask her what she was doing but I knew the look on her face; that was the expression she wore when nobody was allowed to stand in her way.
We walked right back into the dining room and, without missing a beat, Lara stepped right over to her uncle and looked him dead in the eyes as she gave him a demand no person could easily ignore: "Get out."
"Excuse me?" he stumbled out, flabbergasted at the direct orders he had been given. Philippe looked just as confused, but stayed silent, almost as if he had no desire to reprimand his daughter for what she was doing.
"Lara, what on Earth are you doing?" Marguerite asked, obviously quite shocked. She had clearly never seen that part of her daughter before, but I had and I knew better than to distract her.
"I will explain later, Mother," Lara replied, still not breaking eye contact with her uncle. I realized something he hated even more than me having power was her having all the power in the room. "Now, I know you heard me properly, so get out."
"So you've chosen your beau over your family," Raoul sneered as he stood from his chair and began making his way to the door. "Word to the wise, my dear; be careful with that lot. To them, love doesn't always mean they'll be faithful. Isn't that right, Gustave? Your mother certainly proved that."
"How dare you! She was nothing but a saint for you," I exclaimed. He could go after me, he could go after my father, but Mother is where the line was drawn. I was about to go after him for that comment, only to stop when Lara put her hand against my chest to stop me.
"He isn't worth it," she said softly.
I felt my heart calm down and the red left my vision as soon as he left the room and I heard the front door close. "You're right, love. He isn't," I replied.
The two of us turned around then to see the confused faces of Lara's parents; Marguerite looked appalled, and I knew that any hope of proving myself to her was lost. Though to be fair, I probably lost her vote of confidence the second she found out my salary.
While Philippe seemed baffled, I thought I saw a glimpse of something in his eyes...was that pride? Even still, I knew there would be a flood of questions and I had a lot of explaining to do. People said you didn't get a second chance at a first impression.
I sincerely hoped they were wrong.
