A/N: Another week, another chapter! Though I am a little disappointed that my reviews have been decreasing quite a bit each week, I thought that with the nice happy resolution there would be lots more comments haha! In any case... here is this week's chapter. I did love writing this chapter, and I hope you guys like it!
TierneyMacDonald: I can't believe it's almost over, either! It has been my baby for so long.
Masked Man 2: I sure had quite some fun writing Carlotta getting thrown out, and I'm glad you liked all the resolution scenes in this chapter! (And coincidentally, I did think of Macbeth when I wrote that).
Lydia the tygeropean: Thank you (:
Guest: Aww, I'm flattered that you even want a sequel! It's not very possible though, since I spent so much time and effort on this story... however, I'm so glad that you like this story! A few more chapters to go, so enjoy!
E-man-dy-S: You're welcome, and thank you!
Thank you to all new favourites/followers xx
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Chapter 59: The Perfect Moment
Paris, 1899
"I do wish you had discussed this with me earlier, Erik," Belcourt said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "La Carlotta sent a letter this morning, stating her refusal to return to the opera house, should I fail to dismiss you immediately."
Erik's lips thinned. "And… am I to leave, then?"
Belcourt looked surprised at his statement. "Leave? My good man, if I intended for you to leave within a week of your employ, I would not have hired you in the first place. No, the issue at hand now is how exactly I can win back La Carlotta's favour. The opera house needs a soprano, after all."
"Might I suggest placing someone new in the role of soprano?" Erik asked lightly, not mentioning names yet. He had no wish to rehash the past events of replacing Carlotta with Christine and cause another uproar.
Belcourt frowned. "Another soprano? Who do you have in mind?"
"Christine Daae has a good voice," Erik said, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. "She is talented beyond her years, and if you would allow me to say so, much better than La Carlotta could ever hope to be."
Belcourt eyed him shrewdly. "You know, Erik, I have only been at the opera house for two weeks, but gossip gets around, and I am not a stupid man. Christine Daae was the protegee of the Opera Ghost, was she not? A man rumoured to know everything about the opera house, a man who they say was so disfigured that he hid his face from the world under the guise of a ghost, and the façade of a mask."
Erik looked at the older man squarely in the eye, and, with a sinking heart, saw the confirmation in the man's eyes. Belcourt knew—or at least he suspected it. He knew that Erik could have been the Opera Ghost.
Belcourt must have seen the look on his face, for he laughed. "Why, Erik. You look suddenly afraid that I will toss you out onto the streets any moment."
"Monsieur, I—" Erik began, unsure of what to do, but Belcourt waved a dismissive hand.
"Things that happen in the past, Erik… are in the past. I heard the rumours, I asked around the opera house, and I put two and two together. But I choose to give you a chance, Erik, because everybody deserves a chance."
Erik felt a lump well up in his throat. "A chance, monsieur?"
"A chance to gain a place in the opera house by rightful means," Belcourt said kindly. "After all, anybody who has stuck around this place for so many years must love it very much," he joked. "And I need people who love this place, for only people who possess that love will have the determination to bring the opera house to the top."
"Thank you, monsieur," Erik said quietly.
"Do not make me regret giving you this chance, Erik," Belcourt said amiably. "I expect to see results. You want La Carlotta gone? Fine, I will allow you that. But in return, I expect an improved performance, and increased audience satisfaction. Give me that, at the very least."
Erik nodded. He stood, bowed respectfully, and left the room.
When he entered the theatre, all eyes were on him. The room was silent, as though they had expected him to be fired by Belcourt, and told to never return. Erik raised an eyebrow at the expectant faces.
"Good morning," he said pleasantly. "Is there to be no practice today?"
"Monsieur," someone blurted out. "Have you been fired by Monsieur Belcourt?"
"I am here to stay," Erik said, smiling a wide smile and baring his teeth. "I will be around for a long time to torture all of you, never fear."
There was a shocked silence at his joke, and then some of the musicians started to laugh.
Erik clapped his hands. "Now, shall we begin practice? It is Reyer's day off, but that does not mean that we shall let ourselves dally around and waste precious practice time. There is much to be done."
"Monsieur," a chorus girl said shyly, "will Carlotta be back?"
"No, La Carlotta has, in a way, tendered her own resignation. She will not be back, at least not in the short run. As I have discussed with the manager, there will be a new soprano to replace La Carlotta in Die Fledermaus, and auditions will be held. I expect all of you to practice hard for the auditions, regardless of whether you think you might have a chance or not."
Erik took to the conductor's stand and raised his baton, preparing to conduct the orchestra in the day's practice.
At the end of the day, he was packing his scores and baton away into his bag, when one of the younger musicians approached him. Erik looked up curiously.
"Monsieur," said the musician shyly, "would you like to join us for dinner? A few of us were just about to leave for this little diner somewhere in town; it's nearby, and it serves good food."
Erik stared at him, shocked, for it was the first time any of them had ever approached him to ask about anything besides music. In fact, it was the first time a stranger had asked him out for a meal together. The man must have taken Erik's silence for refusal, for he turned a bright red, and mumbled, "I'm sorry to have disturbed you though, monsieur, if you were busy…"
"No, no," Erik said hurriedly. "I would be honoured to join you for dinner."
And so Erik found himself ensconced in a cosy little diner in town, sitting with three violinists who introduced themselves as Audric, Georges and Louis. They turned out to be very pleasant company, and kept Erik entertained throughout dinner with stories about their families and their ambitions. Interestingly, Audric, the youngest of the three, turned red whenever talk of the ballet de corps arose, and after much jibing, he reluctantly admitted that he had had something of a crush on a certain blonde ballerina. Erik filed that little tid-bit of information away in his head for the future. Erik, in turn, shared with them his plans to publish a second manuscript. When they found out that Erik was the composer of the widely successful Musique, their mouths rounded into comical circles, but Erik waved off the praise with a red face, unused to such comments. It was a good dinner, and Erik was surprised to find that he had enjoyed himself, after the trio had bowed and made for home, leaving him standing outside the diner contemplatively for a few moments. He decided to take the short walk back to Eustache's house instead of hailing down a hackney, wanting to enjoy the brisk air as the sky darkened.
"You are back late," Eustache observed as Erik stepped in through the door. "Did something happen at the opera house today?"
"I had dinner with some of the musicians," Erik said. "It felt nice, Eustache."
"They're a good lot, most of them," Eustache said approvingly. "My brother's waiting in the living room, by the way—he mentioned that he had some business to discuss with you."
Erik made haste to the living room, knowing that the conductor's brother must have been waiting for quite some time, for Erik normally reached the house much earlier. Eugene Reyer stood upon seeing him, a wide smile on his face. He looked like a much younger version of Eustache, albeit a more cheery version. Erik greeted him warmly.
"Ah, Erik," Eugene said. "I've come to discuss the launch of your second book. I received the manuscript you sent last week—it looks just about complete. When should you wish to launch it?"
"A second book?" Eustache asked, joining them with hot tea and biscuits. "Amélie-Rose?"
"That one's not complete yet," said Erik, looking embarrassed. "Besides, I cannot launch that without the world asking questions that I am not ready to answer yet. No, I am planning to launch Musique II. I do not mind any launch date, Eugene; I trust your business acumen."
"The customers will wish to know this mysterious composer," Eugene said. "Have you not thought of book-signings or such publicity events, Erik? It would boost sales tremendously."
Erik shook his head, wincing. "I do not think I am ready to face the public yet, Eugene. There is too much at risk; it has not been too long since the incident of Don Juan. I do not wish for anybody to discover anything about me just yet."
Eugene shrugged. "Very well, but I will not be able to hold off the vultures for too long; you know that the reporters will pounce on any chance to interview the mysterious composer behind Musique. I shall see you when the books have been printed and are ready for the launch, Erik." He stood, and collected his coat from the coat rack. "I shall see myself out, Eustache."
When Eustache and Erik were alone in the living room, Erik spoke. "I have imposed on your hospitality for far too long, Eustache."
Eustache clucked his tongue. "I do not begrudge you any hospitality, Erik. After all, it is a pleasure to hear music in my house. I must say my housekeeper is quite tone deaf, and it gives an old man joy to know that there is another musician in the house."
"And I am grateful for that, Eustache, but I shall leave soon," Erik said firmly. "I intend to look for a new house on my free day. I want to keep it a secret from Amélie until I have confirmed the purchase of the new property."
"Ah," said Eustache, with a knowing gleam in his eyes. "That is the real reason you want to leave this house. And have you proposed to the young lady yet?"
Erik turned red. "I have not yet figured out how or when, but I worry, for I have nothing to offer her yet."
"The girl's too besotted with you to care about any of that," Eustache laughed. "But I wish you all the best, Erik."
"Thank you," said Erik distractedly, his mind already wandering off to mentally scour a list of properties he wished to visit before deciding which one to purchase. It had to be a perfect house, one that Amélie had always dreamed of living in, one that she would be happy in. He knew what he had in mind—he had asked her about it before. She wanted a swing in the garden, and beds of roses all around, with grey brick walls and a large brown door, and he would do anything to give her what she wanted.
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Musique II was launched in a cloud of mystery a couple of weeks later, and the musical world descended upon the book with vigour, demanding to know who the mysterious composer was. If anything, Musique II sold out even faster, bought by collectors and musicians who had enjoyed the first volume of the manuscript, and by those who had missed out on Musique and were determined to own a copy of the second manuscript by the strange composer of the scores. Eugene talked about reprinting new copies to be sold, but Erik declined; he wished to maintain a certain level of exclusivity, to keep up the level of excitement about his books as a form of preparation for the launch of Amélie-Rose. He would be able to launch it as soon as his relationship with Amélie was made public, but he wanted to be cautious about the matter.
It took Erik a couple more weeks, but he managed to whittle down his list to just one single house, slightly on the outskirts of the busy town. It was a short twenty minute journey by carriage to the Palais Garnier, and stood in a row of similarly built houses in a small, cosy road. As Erik signed the contract and paid the money for the house with a large portion of his profits from Musique II, his heart jumped in anticipation of living in that very house, with its grey brick walls and homely atmosphere. He thanked the realtor, and made his way to the opera house, his heart thumping within his chest. He had made plans to meet Amélie there, and he would take her to see the new house before finally asking the question he had been waiting a long time to ask.
It was such a surreal dream, but one that was coming true.
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The two of them had long given up sneaking around the opera house like a pair of criminals, and most of the opera house employees already knew that there was something going on between Erik and Amélie. Enough time had passed since Don Juan for the plausible connection between Erik and the Opera Ghost to be put aside, and they had deemed it safe enough for their relationship to be made public without anyone deducing that Amélie had known the Opera Ghost. It had taken them some time, but Erik had been more than happy to show the world that Amélie was his, and he in turn was completely hers.
As he waited outside the ballet rats' dormitories, he heard whispers from ballet rats walking in the corridors. Years of honing his ears to detect the slightest differences in tunes had made his hearing extremely sensitive to even the softest of whispers, and he heard these remarks quite clearly.
"He's waiting outside her room for her."
"Can you believe it? He's been here barely two months and already she's clinging onto him like the sticky sap on a tree."
"He's too good for her."
"Is he not dreamy, though? So talented, and tall, and those eyes! I heard him directing the orchestra around last practice, and that voice! I almost swooned. How I envy that silly girl! She has him twined around her little finger. Waiting outside her room for her, imagine that!"
Erik had to chuckle inwardly at that one comment, for the adjectives they had used to describe him were far from what people had used to call him. A little fame, a rumour of quite a bit of money in his bank accounts—that was all it took to make the silly ballet rats fall at his feet in adoration. Of course, he had no doubts about their reaction should they ever see behind the mask. He had merely built up a façade for himself, an idealistic looking one that made the ballet rats think of him as attractive even, but he knew that if any of them had even the slightest inkling of his true appearance, he would be left in the dust, broken once more. He laughed at their foolishness, and drummed his fingers on the wall impatiently, wishing that Amélie would hurry out of her room so that they could leave the gossipmongers behind.
"I saw him waiting for her when I came up, do you think they are just innocently going out for a walk on the streets?" A new snide voice sounded from a ballet rat within a neighbouring room.
"Oh, surely not. Whatever else would they be doing?" Another voice said sarcastically, and the group of ballet rats within the room burst into giggles.
The door to the room clicked open, and the offending ballet rats stepped out, all snide remarks and biting comments.
"She must be working some womanly charms on him; after all there is no way somebody so rich and successful would want a lowly ballet rat."
"Men are all the same… they go for any lifted skirts, after all."
"What a little whore! Who knew she had it in her? She was always so prim and proper around the place…"
They stopped short when they saw him there, leaning against the wall, looking dangerously close to strangling somebody. Their faces flushed a bright red and their mouths gaped, but they recovered quickly and curtsied prettily, greeting him. He looked to the left, and realized that Amélie had been standing at the open door of her room, and from the look on her face, she had most likely heard the bulk of what they had said. She was angry; he did not blame her. And yet she held that anger in, the feeling evident only in the way her lips were closed tightly, the corners pressed down in a small frown.
Erik stepped up to her, offering his arm. She took it, allowing herself a small smile at him, though it did not quite reach her eyes. As they passed by the ballet rats who were waiting silently in the corridor for them to pass, Erik halted. "Good day, mesdemoiselles."
They giggled and dimpled prettily at him, fingers combing through their hair hurriedly in flirt gestures. Erik merely raised an eyebrow and gestured toward Amélie. "Mademoiselle Amélie is engaged to be married to me, and I would thank all of you to keep your nasty remarks to yourself."
His voice ended on a low growl, and the ballet rats squeaked in fright, looking suitably chastened. They curtsied quickly, their faces stained a bright red as they murmured apologies and rushed away. Amélie turned to look at Erik curiously, an enigmatic smile upon her lips, and he coughed awkwardly, before dragging the two of them out of the building.
Once they were out on the street and safely out of earshot, on the front steps of the Palais Garnier, with the sun shining on their faces, he grasped her wrist urgently.
"Thank you for saving me, Erik, but you did not have to do that and—"
"Amélie," he blurted out. "Amélie, will you marry me?"
She started to laugh. "Erik, the announcement usually comes after the proposal."
He shoved his hands into his pockets, his face burning red, wishing that he could take the moment back and bury it somewhere. She laughed, and squeezed his hand.
"But Erik, you know that you don't have to marry me just because you said it to save me from the gossip. It is only just that we now have to figure out how to get out from this situation—"
"I want to marry you." He said quickly, taking her by the shoulders. "Why would you ever think otherwise? I did not say those words as a jest; I want you to be my wife. I want you in my life. I… I love you. You know that."
She looked at him for a few long moments, and he feared the worst.
But then she smiled a small smile at him, and the next moment, she had thrown her arms around his neck and was kissing him.
In broad daylight, in front of the Palais Garnier where they were both employed.
In full view of passer-bys and on-goers, some of whom were gawping quite openly at them. Erik did not care.
He kissed her back.
It was not the proposal he had dreamed of. The ring box still sat in his coat pocket, unopened, its gleaming contents snugly resting in the cushion. They were not at a romantic location, he had not bought flowers, and nothing had gone as planned.
Still, it was perfect.
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A/N: -giggles- As usual, please do read/review/fav/follow! Only a few chapters left, so if you're reading this, please leave a small review to let me know what you think! It would make my day. (: