A/N: There is a link on my website to my very first official interview concerning Phantom stories and my Viking stories, which come out August 1st.
Paladin83
"How long have you known Erik?" Sophia asked as she slid into the dining room chair across from her aunt.
Erik had decided to finish his music for the night and then—at her persuasion—join them for supper at the table. She had no idea how long he would spend on his music, since she'd walked into his room in the past and heard him grumble he was almost finished. She learned swiftly that he didn't like to be interrupted—and that it could be two hours before she saw him. With an old friend in the house Sophia hoped he would allow his music to wait.
"Oh…years. Since I was fourteen, I believe."
Sophia's eyes widened. "You've known him a long time."
Aunt Anne stirred her tea. "Honestly, no."
"But you said—"
"I should say I have known of him for a long time."
"I don't understand."
"We met a long time ago, but we didn't stay close friends."
"Why not?"
She shrugged. "Different people, different lives."
"But you both lived within the opera house, didn't you?"
"Yes, but I grew up with ballet while he grew interested in his music."
"I would have thought music and ballet would go hand-in-hand."
Aunt Anne paused and took a deep breath. She glanced at the doorway, then lowered her voice. "Ballet involves an entire troupe of little dancing girls, all giggling and playing games. We practice, live in the dormitories, and share our meals. Composing, however, is a lonely occupation well-suited for those who do not enjoy large gatherings."
Their conversation dwindled as Sophia considered her aunt's words. Aunt Anne seemed bitter, though she never offered a concrete reason.
"How did you first meet?" she asked suddenly.
Aunt Anne sipped her tea. "It's been too long, Sophia. You cannot expect me to remember such details."
Erik entered as she finished speaking and paused in the doorway.
"You have finished for the evening?" Sophia laced her fingers together and smiled. "Perhaps you would play for us after supper?"
"I have merely stopped. Momentarily."
"Your muse is hungry," she teased.
"Perhaps." He kept his eyes trained on his guest, despite Fidelio and Citrine on his heels.
"No, no no! For once you shall have manners and eat your supper in the kitchen," Citrine scolded the dog as she held fast to his collar. Despite her words, the wolfhound trudged forward, choking himself with each step. He dragged the cook around the table until he sat between Sophia and Erik.
"We have a guest," Citrine huffed the moment Sophia reached out to pat his head. "For one night he can behave like a dog."
"Most likely tomorrow," Sophia chuckled. She glanced at Erik, but he was still closely watching her aunt. She crossed her ankles under the table and nervously rearranged her silverware. "Unless you would like us to take him into the kitchen." She waited again for a response. "Monsieur?"
Erik looked at her suddenly. "He'll lay at my feet," he answered at last.
"Monsieur," Citrine protested.
"I said he will lay at my feet."
Citrine hesitated a moment, glancing from the dog to its master. At last she gave an exasperated sigh and stormed off.
"Sophia," Aunt Anne said suddenly. "How is your eye?"
The question caught her off guard and she nearly knocked her wine glass off the table.
"My eye? Oh, it's fine. Better, I think. The same…I suppose. It's…it's fine," she stammered. "Thank you for asking."
"Can you still see?"
Sophia stared at her napkin. "Yes, I can still see," she muttered.
Citrine appeared and Sophia sighed in relief of the distraction. For better or worse she had forgotten about her vision. Too many other concerns—and delights—had taken her attention away from her condition.
She started to rise and help Citrine, but her friend issued a sharp glance that kept her seated.
"I worry about you constantly," Aunt Anne said under her breath as beef and vegetables were passed around the table. "Sometimes I think it was a mistake for Philippe to keep you here rather than send you to Paris."
"Eating three ounces of horsemeat per day?" Erik grumbled without looking up.
"She would have been in the presence of her family," Aunt Anne corrected.
"Family, indeed," he mumbled.
All three of them paused and exchanged looks. Sophia pursed her lips, the bitterness in his voice forcing her to lower her eyes.
"Three ounces in rations, you say?" Sophia chimed in. "That doesn't seem like very much at all."
"It's not," her aunt replied.
"I believe Sophia only eats three ounces, what with all the food she sneaks to this beast." Citrine nodded at Erik, then grinned and nodded at Fidelio. "My sincerest apologies. Wrong beast."
Sophia managed a smile, appreciating Citrine's effort to break the tension. "I believe I consume four ounces if you count the dog hair."
Aunt Anne wrinkled her nose. "Please, Sophia, we're eating."
"It's like seasoning in this house," Citrine said with a sly smile. "You are fortunate you're sitting on that side of the table, Madame Giry. The farther from the source, the better."
As if he were offended, Fidelio stood and stretched. With a groan he followed Citrine into the kitchen, his rear end swinging back and forth as he trotted along. Before the door closed, Sophia saw Citrine reach into her pocket and give Fidelio a chunk of beef fat.
With the dog and the cook gone, Sophia, Aunt Anne, and Erik sat in silence and enjoyed their meal.
"Tomorrow you and I will take a long walk," Aunt Anne said at last. "You look as though you could use fresh air."
"She has lessons tomorrow," Erik interrupted.
Sophia felt her heart stutter at his words. "I-I do?"
His expression softened and her heart went from palpitating to melting when she met his gaze.
"Months of learning shouldn't go to waste," he answered sternly.
"A new student?" her aunt questioned as she cut through her meat.
"My first," he replied. "For the piano."
"What else have you taught?" Sophia asked, finding a way to continue the conversation. She sat up a little straighter, proud of herself for keeping the topic on music, which she knew Erik loved and her aunt knew well. It was the perfect conversation.
Her excitement was cut short when she saw Erik and her aunt staring at one another briefly before they both quickly looked away.
"Voice lessons," Erik muttered under his breath.
"Ah." She nodded, struggling to keep the conversation flowing. "I remember you asked if I could sing. Did any of your students perform in your operas?"
Her aunt placed her fork on the table. "Only one of his works made it the stage."
"It must be quite impressive to not only teach a student but to have the person you've taught perform your work. I can't imagine anything more uplifting. Was she the lead?"
"Yes," Erik answered at last.
The room grew quiet and Sophia sank into her chair. She had no idea what she'd said, but apparently she had misspoken. Determination fueled her to keep the conversation running, even if it did sputter along.
"You must have been quite proud."
Aunt Anne promptly folded her napkin and tossed it on the table. "If you both will excuse me, I believe I will lie down for a while."
Sophia stood and started to follow. "You're not feeling well?"
"Not at the moment."