A/N: Ok, wow, second last chapter. I never imagined that this day would come! Now, I must clarify that these are epilogues not meant to go into much detail, just flashes of happy future scenes in the Chevalier family, so it's a little jumpy in terms of time. Also, since I have zero experience with the whole kid-announcement-and-birth everything's from my own imagination, so I'm sorry if any of it sounds weird!
Also, some self announcement/promotion! Soon I won't be on this platform anymore, but you'll be able to find me on whimsicalstatements. blogspot. com. (: If you guys like fashion/reading fashion blogs, pop by to say hi!
Tierney MacDonald: Hehe I'm glad you like the feels!
PumpkinKitten: The announcement will definitely be coming! -wink-
marial0789: They most definitely will!
Masked Man 2: Hmm, I don't think Erik will be reacting badly to Christine having an understudy? When I wrote it, I somehow imagined Erik appointing Fleur as the understudy; he seemed to recognize her abilities. I'm glad you liked Christine's prayer to her papa, I know I was almost in tears myself while writing it! (:
Writer For Christ: Thank you very much!
E-man-dy-S: Glad you liked it (:
lydia: Thank you!
Skyila: Well if anything, I'm glad that the new chapter helped to make your lousy day better -hugs- The pitter patter will definitely arrive (;
michellecariveau: Haha, so many people commented on the frilly apron! I guess it must be a funny sight to imagine the phantom dressed up in an apron. I'm so glad you enjoyed the story! I doubt there will be more stories from me (sobs) but please do enjoy the remaining 2 chapters!
Guest: Thank you very much! (:
And a big thank you to any new favourites/followers, and all those who have reviewed! It means a lot to me now that we have reached the second last chapter (:
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Chapter 64: Epilogue I
Paris, 1900
Amélie wandered around the Palais Garnier, wondering where Erik had disappeared to. They had agreed to meet at the foyer at three o'clock, and it was already twenty past three. Erik was almost never late.
She had just about almost given up on her search for him when she heard soft crooning noises coming from one of the last few ballet practice rooms. Edging closer, she pressed her ear to the door of one of the rooms.
She could hear excited giggles, and a soft, melodic voice that was weaving words together into a beautiful story.
Stories about knights and dragons. Stories about handsome princes.
A story about the ugly knight and his beautiful Rose.
Amélie placed her hand on the doorknob and pushed the door open slowly.
A crowd of curious little faces turned to look up at her from where they were seated on the floor, and Amelie had to cover her mouth to muffle a giggle. Erik sat on a chair, his long limbs contorted to fit the small piece of furniture, and balanced on his lap was one of the younger ballet rats, her face rosy with happiness.
Amélie raised an eyebrow. "What's going on here?"
The exposed side of Erik's face had turned a rather becoming shade of crimson, and Amélie wanted to laugh at how adorable he looked.
One of the ballet rats volunteered an answer. "He was telling us stories! Stories about princesses and dragons and knights!"
"They were lovely stories!"
"We want to hear some more!"
Amelie laughed. "Monsieur Chevalier has to go now, and you all have ballet rehearsals in ten minutes, but he will be back to tell you more stories. However, you have to promise him that you will practice hard during ballet practices! Madame Giry would be extremely happy to see you do so. Now off you go to practice."
Eager to hear more stories, the ballet rats nodded enthusiastically and filed out of the room, clamouring for Erik's attention as they waved their goodbyes and promised fervently to practice hard.
When the last ballet rat had gone, shutting the door behind herself, Amélie turned to Erik, who had his hands in his pockets, and was looking everywhere else in particular except her.
"So…" she began mischievously. "Stories, huh?"
Erik coughed awkwardly. "I met them loitering around in the corridor, waiting for their next ballet practice. They were bored, and they wanted something to entertain themselves with, so I thought it would not hurt for me to tell them a story or two."
"I thought I would be the only person to be ever allowed to sit on that lap, though." Amélie said pensively, pretending to look a little sad. "I thought I was special that way."
Erik looked horrified. "You are special."
Amélie laughed and gave him a quick hug, squeezing him around the waist. "I know, I was just teasing. Besides… someone else will get to sit on that lap soon enough," she said mournfully. "I guess I'll just have to take my turn."
"What?" Erik asked sharply, taking her by the shoulders. "Someone else? Who?"
He had gone very stiff and rigid, as though he had guessed her answer. She looked up hesitantly at him through her lashes.
"A little boy or girl?" She whispered, her eyes darting about warily. "Our little boy or girl."
He stared at her silently, and she felt as though she had suddenly grown another head.
"You—you're not angry, are you?" She asked hesitantly, thinking that she would not be able to bear it if he were.
He stared at her incredulously. "Angry? Whatever for?"
"You didn't say anything, and you had no expression, and I just… I just thought…" She trailed off, her voice trembling.
"You thought I was angry because of this?" He finished her sentence for her, and she nodded dumbly. Sighing, he took her face in his hands, making her look him in the eye, and kissed her gently.
"I was not angry, Amélie. Merely… surprised. But never angry. How could I be angry at this?" He sounded aghast. He pulled her into a hug, and was surprised to feel her arms hug him tighter than usual. He could feel her shaking slightly, and he supposed that she must have been quite hurt at his lack of a response.
To be perfectly honest, Erik had no idea how he should have responded. When he had first guessed what she had been about to say, his heart had leapt with an emotion he could not quite place. Happiness, perhaps, but also a bit of apprehension, for he suddenly found himself worrying for her health, and for the child.
There was also a little wonderment. A father? Him?
He had never truly entertained the thought before. He did enjoy being around the children in the opera house. The younger ballet rats and chorus girls were always milling around him, clamouring for stories, and Erik had developed a habit of sneaking sweets into the opera house for them, knowing that Antoinette had strict rules on the consumption of sweets. As the Opera Ghost, he had had only been able to stay within the shadows, watching the younger children play, and feeling pangs within his heart for what might have been his childhood, had he had a happy one. As Monsieur Erik Chevalier, he had been able to speak to them, to hear their childish lisps as they chattered to him, and he had often wondered what it would be like to meet a child who reminded him of Amélie. It seemed as though he would be able to find out soon.
She pulled away from him to look up at his face wonderingly. "You're not angry? Truly? I'd thought perhaps you did not like children…"
"I am very, very happy, Amélie," he said in a rush. "I may not show it, but I am. Worried, yes, but never angry."
The tension in her face disappeared, and she relaxed with a small smile. "What are you worried about?"
"That the child will…" he made a gesture at his face, unable to articulate his words properly. "While I do not think it is heredity… My mother, well, she was a beauty, and the photos I saw of my late father painted him as rather handsome man… but there is still a chance…"
Amélie squeezed his hands tightly. "I do not care about that, Erik. I only hope that the little one will inherit his or her father's talent for music. And if… if it happens… we will take it in our stride. You know that."
"I am lucky to have you," he said, enfolding her within his arms again. "Thank you, Amélie. For this child."
She hugged him back, praying, with all her heart, that this child would come into this world safe and happy and healthy, and that the three of them could be a happy family together.
"I hope he has your eyes," she found herself saying. "And your black hair. Oh, and your height. And definitely the voice."
He laughed and pulled away, grasping her arm gently as the two began to walk to the door. "Well, I hope she looks like you. Your hair, your face, your smile, and definitely that damnable curiosity."
She smiled widely at him. "You're going to regret that when she starts asking you questions."
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"How exciting!" Meg clapped her hands gleefully. "Oh, Amélie, I am so happy for you!"
"Thank you, Meg," Amélie said, beaming at her as she put down her cup of tea. "I could not be more excited."
"When is the baby due?" Madame Giry asked.
"Erik and I made a visit to the doctor's yesterday, and he estimates perhaps six months more. I'd suspected earlier, but I wanted to confirm it before I let anyone know. The baby will probably arrive sometime in June."
"Erik must have been happy," Madame Giry said, smiling. "I can hardly believe it!"
Amélie laughed. "He was shocked at first, I think. I thought he was angry, even. But I think he is more worried that the baby will… look like him, to put it lightly."
"Ah," Madame Giry said wisely. "It is not an unfounded worry, but nevertheless, Amélie, do not worry yourself over things like this. It is not good for you and the baby."
"I will not, Madame," Amélie assured her.
"Will you still be around the opera house?" Meg asked curiously. "I do not suppose you will be, now that you have a baby on the way."
"I tendered my resignation with Monsieur Belcourt earlier today," Amélie said. "Besides, after the baby arrives, I will be at home taking care of it. But have no fear, Meg—I'll be around to watch rehearsals with Erik, and I will most definitely make it for your debut performance as prima ballerina."
Meg blushed with pleasure. The little blonde ballerina had been chosen as prima ballerina just last month, after La Sorelli had retired from the stage, and Amélie had been pleased to hear the news. She knew Madame Giry was delighted as well, though she would never show it; she had merely maintained a strict face and told Meg that she had done well. Amélie stifled a giggle as she remembered Madame Giry's horrified expression as she witnessed Meg telling Audric the good news, and the young man looking so happy that he had kissed Meg on the cheek right there and then.
"I shall take a break from my duties as ballet mistress for a couple of weeks to help you with the baby after it arrives," Madame Giry offered, breaking into Amélie's thoughts. "I expect Meg will be able to take the classes on her own for a short while."
"Oh, Madame, thank you so much!"
"Think nothing of it, Amélie… after all, it feels as though my own niece or nephew is about to arrive. I couldn't be happier."
"I cannot wait," Amélie said, beaming. "I've started preparing the nursery… one of the rooms on the second floor next to our bedroom is to be the nursery. The one with the large windows? Erik will be painting the room a warm shade of amber, and building the cot for the baby, and I'm going into town to purchase beddings and bottles and… oh, I'm rambling again, aren't I?"
"I don't blame you," said Meg excitedly. "I cannot wait to see the nursery! And the baby!"
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Paris, 1901
Months later
Erik paced the living room floor in a frenzy, clenching and unclenching his fists.
"It's taking too long," he grumbled. "What's taking them so long? What if—what if something happened to Amélie?"
"You need to relax, Erik," the daroga chided. "You'll wear a hole in the flooring, what with the way you're pacing about."
Erik rounded on him with wide eyes. "Relax? How can I relax? My wife is up there, screaming like a banshee and trying to force my spawn into the world. Relax?"
The daroga laughed, wiping his eyes. "Oh Erik. You always had a way with words. I wish you could see yourself now, honestly. Now do stop behaving like a fool and sit down. There is nothing you can do by walking up and down the living room."
Erik shot him a deadly glare, and threw himself into one of the armchairs.
The daroga reached over and patted him on the arm. "She will be fine. The doctor is up there, along with Madame Giry. Amélie will be fine."
His words calmed Erik a little, but they did not stop Erik from clenching and unclenching his fists throughout the wait.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Erik's ears detected the wail of a baby, and he shot to his feet instantly, running up the stairs. He almost crashed into Antoinette as she opened the door and stepped out of the room.
"Goodness, Erik!" She cried. "Whatever are you doing—"
"How is Amélie?" He demanded. "Is everything fine? How is the baby? Can I see them?"
Antoinette smiled suddenly, a very wide smile that he had not seen on her before. The look in her eyes was gentle. "They're fine, Erik. You're now a father."
"Thank you, Antoinette," he said, his eyes threatening to tear up. "Thank you."
"Go in and have a look," she urged him, pushing him in gently. "They're waiting for you."
Erik stumbled into the room nervously. The first sight he saw was Amélie, her hair slightly dishevelled and her face pale, but otherwise looking at ease and happy. Her face broke out into a brilliant smile when she saw him, and Erik rushed forward to her side.
"It's a boy," she said softly, looking at him, and for the first time since he had entered the room, he looked down at the bundle of blankets she held in her arm. He stared at the bundle, unbelieving.
"Congratulations, Monsieur Chevalier," the doctor said kindly. "Both mother and son are safe and healthy."
"Thank you, sir," Erik choked out. "Thank you."
The doctor nodded at him, then buckled up his workbag and went out of the room to speak to Antoinette.
Finally alone in the room with Amélie and his new-born son, Erik sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.
"Thank you, Amélie," he said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek gently. "Thank you."
"Would you like to hold him?" Amélie asked softly, and Erik held out his arms silently.
Carefully, gently, Amélie placed the bundle within his arms, and Erik cradled his son for the first time.
"He's beautiful," Amélie said. "Just like you."
As though the baby had known that Amélie was referring to him, he shifted slightly in his blankets, and Erik saw that the baby's face was not marked like his. He could have cried in joy.
Erik ran a finger slowly down the baby's smooth cheek, and at that instant, the baby opened his eyes to reveal eyes as green as Erik's ones.
"He has your eyes," Amélie whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Just like I'd hoped for."
"Babies' eye colours often change as they grow older," Erik said, but he was smiling anyway.
"What would you like to be named, little one?" Erik crooned at the baby.
"I was thinking of Constantin." Amélie said, leaning back against the pillows. "I've always liked that name."
"Constantin," Erik repeated, the name rolling off his tongue smoothly. "I like it."
At that moment, little Constantin opened his mouth and began to wail loudly, and Erik handed him back to Amélie, before hurrying out of the room to call for Antoinette.
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Paris, 1903
"Constantin? Constantin, where are you?" Amélie called, bustling through the house. She poked her head round the door of the nursery, hoping that Meg had brought the little boy back to his room to play. The room, however, was empty, the curtains fluttering in the slight breeze coming in through the open windows.
As Amélie went down the stairs, she heard tell-tale voices coming from the music room, along with accompanying bursts of music—if it could be called music, for it was not much more than a jumbled mess of many notes being played together. She raised an eyebrow at the door.
"Oh, there you are, Amélie," Meg said from where she was standing at the kitchen door. "I was a little thirsty, so Erik volunteered to look after Constantin for a short while."
Amélie smiled at her. Meg and Madame Giry had arrived for a short visit that very day, and Constantin had been clamouring for their attention every single moment he had been awake. Amélie supposed it might have been because Meg had come with pockets loaded with sweets and toys for the little boy.
"They sound busy, though," Meg remarked, gesturing at the closed door of the music room.
"They must be fooling around with the piano again," Amélie agreed. "I keep trying to tell Erik that two years is too young for him to start teaching Constantin music, but he insists on doing it anyway."
Meg laughed. "It cannot be helped, I suppose. But since you're down from cleaning up, I might as well help Maman with the evening meal. You go along and join Erik and Constantin."
"Thank you for helping with dinner, Meg," Amélie positively beamed. "It's been tiring having to keep up with Constantin and making sure the house stays presentable."
"It was the least we could do," Meg said cheerily. "Besides, Maman insists that I should learn how to cook before I get married, if I ever do."
"And are you?" Amélie asked with raised eyebrows. Meg giggled.
"I will when Audric decides to finally ask me," she said. "But maybe I'll say no, just to keep him on his toes." She winked at Amélie. "I do still want to retain my prima ballerina position for quite a few years before I retire and settle down, though."
Amélie laughed. Meg had never stopped being mischievous, but she was glad that the little blonde girl had grown up to be a vivacious young lady over the years, and perfectly deserving of her spot as La Marguerite, prima ballerina of the Palais Garnier. Amélie waved Meg back into the kitchen as she walked toward the door of the music room.
She turned the doorknob and went in quietly, taking in the sight. Erik sat at the piano, with their son on his lap, where he had been presumably been the cause of all the sounds echoing from the piano before. Erik was playing a few short bars of music, humming softly to Constantin, and then pausing for Constantin to attempt to play a few notes with his chubby little fingers. Amélie could not stop a smile from spreading across her face. There was Erik, the expression on his face so filled with love for his son that it made Amélie love him all the more for it. He had been apprehensive about being a father at the start, wondering if he was perhaps able to be a good one, but Amélie knew that he loved being around Constantin.
Erik looked up at her, with a suitably guilty look on his face. Upon seeing her, Constantin's face broke out into a wide smile.
"Maman!" He cried. "Maman! I play… mu—music! Music!"
He demonstrated by banging a few of the keys on the piano loudly, and Amélie had to stifle a laugh at Erik's wince.
"You deserve it," she told him affectionately. "I did tell you he was too young."
Erik scoffed. "That's where you are wrong, my little Rose. Watch."
He turned back to the piano, pressed a random key on the piano, and asked Constantin solemnly, "What note is this?"
"E!" Constantin piped up cheerily, and accurately.
"That's right, little one. And this note?"
Again Constantin volunteered the correct answer. Amélie gaped in shock, and Erik levelled her with a superior look.
"Our son is a musical genius, see?"
Amélie laughed and shook her head. "Well I'd rather you be teaching him his words, but I can see he is definitely a chip off the old block."
Constantin yawned loudly then.
"Come on now, Constantin needs to take his nap."
Erik rose from the piano seat, carrying Constantin in his arms. Amélie noted with a very warm feeling within, the very distinct similarities between the two. Constantin's eyes had barely changed colour from when he was born, and he still had the same piercing green eyes, like his father. His head was crowned with an adorable mop of unruly black hair that had the tendency to fall into his eyes, and the mulish way he set his mouth whenever he did not want to do something reminded Amélie exactly of Erik.
Erik carried Constantin back into the nursery, where he placed him gently back into his cot. He fiddled with the mobile hanging above Constantin's head, and wound up the mechanism that would start it up. Within seconds, the mobile was tinkling gently with a soft lullaby that Erik had composed for the toy, the little wooden charms moving slowly in a circle.
The nursery was filled with little toys and trinkets that Erik had made for Constantin. Just like how the young Erik had created the little tin ballerina music box for Amélie, Erik had taken pride in making as many toys as he could for his young son. The cabinets in the room were stuffed to the brim with music boxes, wooden soldiers that moved, and many carved wooden figurines. Erik had painted the nursery in a warm shade of amber, and had drawn little musical notes in a strip along the wall, much like the staves in a music score. Wind chimes hung in front of the windows, each one ringing in a unique song as the breeze blew.
Amélie and Erik stood beside the cot, watching as two and a half year old Constantin Erik Chevalier fell asleep, his lashes fluttering over his rosy cheeks.
Erik put an arm around Amélie's shoulders, and squeezed her shoulder warmly. "Let us go down. Antoinette will most likely have dinner ready."
Together, they left the room.
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A/N: One last chapter, guys! If anything, please do leave me a review if you have been reading this story, I would love to hear from you! There won't be any more replies from me after I post the next chapter (the last), so technically this is my last chance to know what you think about it and for me to reply! Or, if you don't want to review, please do leave a final comment on my last chapter. It would mean the world to me (: Thank you! xx hazel