If you're not in love with Belmont yet I think this'll do the trick…

Rave, this one's for you.

Paladin95

The house was stifling. While everyone else went about their day, Erik cracked open his bedroom window and rubbed his forehead. His stomach was in knots.

With a frown, he stood in the place he loathed most: Before a mirror. He'd changed clothes three times before he finally decided on a dark brown overcoat and matching brocade waistcoat. He slipped his hands into soft leather gloves and stood back.

Imperfect.

He tugged at his sleeves and smoothed his fingers down the length of each arm. Frustrated, he looked at his reflection once more, despite knowing it would make little difference. Perfectly tailored to fit his long legs and slim waist, his trousers had nothing to do with his flawed appearance. His dress shirt matched his measurements, his waistcoat and overcoat impeccable. Even the gloves enveloped his hands like a second skin.

But it was all imperfect.

He turned away from the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair. One last article of clothing and he would be complete, yet incomplete.

"Don't you look beautiful this afternoon." Citrine's voice stopped his hand inches above his mask.

"This old thing?" Sophia said with a laugh.

"Old? It looks like you've never worn it before."

"A time or two."

He craned his neck and glanced through the curtains to see them walking across the yard toward Sophia and Philippe's house. A breath hitched in his throat as he caught sight of Sophia in a blue dress with matching bonnet. Her hair was pulled back in a silver clip, and when she turned to the side he took notice of her crimson cheeks and shapely profile.

"Your brother won't like that neckline."

"My brother wouldn't be happy unless I was wearing a burlap sack." She clutched a beaded reticule in her hands and hugged it to her body, which made her appear stiff as a board.

"Nervous?" Citrine questioned.

"Why should I be nervous?"

Citrine gave a little shrug. "You're running away together."

"Oh, hush."

"Afraid Philippe will hear me?"

"No…" She raked her fingers through the end of her hair and sighed. "I'm merely going to support Monsieur Belmont in his endeavor."

"Ah. Silly me, thinking you've dressed up to impress him."

Both of them jumped as the front door to the Dupree residence opened and Philippe stormed out. He glanced at his pocket watch and scrunched his shoulders several times.

"Well?" He pulled at his cravat.

"You have such a way with words, Monsieur," Citrine replied.

"Where is Gabe?" Philippe asked.

"He's preparing the carriage."

"It's nearly three."

"What time are you supposed to leave?"

"A quarter after the hour."

"Then he has twenty-five minutes until he's due to bring the coach around. Would you like a brandy? Perhaps it will help you regain your patience. I do believe it's a virtue you've never had."

Philippe checked his watch again before he started to pace. "Where is he?"

Sophia caught him by the arm. "Calm down. You're driving me mad."

"What is all of this about? They believe he's in India. Why disrupt them?"

"Philippe, perhaps you should remain here."

He glared at her. "Absolutely not." He paused beneath the open window and grabbed hold of the white gate. Head bowed, he grumbled to himself. "I know precisely what will happen the moment he shuts the door."

Sophia crossed her arms. She turned toward the window, and Erik found himself disappointed that she covered her breasts. He leaned farther forward and studied her, noticing the way she smoothed her hands down her hips.

After years of seeing dancers with their flat chests and slim, unshapely hips, he marveled at Sophia's figure.

"Then take a deep breath and settle yourself, Philippe. Really, I don't know what has you upset. Did breakfast disagree with you?"

"Breakfast is the least of my worries."

Erik stepped away from the window and exhaled, wondering what had placed Philippe in such a foul mood. Not that he was naturally pleasant, but he was more high-strung than usual, which even Erik had noticed. He hadn't seen Philippe since he'd stormed out of the house earlier in the day when his butler had been caught mumbling to himself outside of the parlor.

"A pleasant afternoon," Erik muttered.

With one final look in the mirror, he donned his mask. It took all of his strength to ease his arms and legs, drop his shoulders and relax his back. When he was no longer standing rigid enough to be a corpse, he turned away from the mirror and descended the stairs.

Anne Giry was waiting for him in the hall as she gazed at a rather oversized and garish painting. He paused, his hand strangling the banister.

"Madame," he said stiffly.

"This painting is drab," she concluded without glancing in his direction. "Dark and cluttered."

He looked it over once but couldn't bring himself to agree or disagree. He'd never been fond of still life paintings or chrysanthemums, which meant he walked past it every day without so much as a second glance. "It was on the wall when I arrived."

She grunted and turned to face him. "You're so quiet. I thought you'd left already."

"Soon," he replied, glancing past her at the front door.

She took a step forward and blocked his path. "To meet her?"

With a curt nod, he glanced down and fidgeted with his cufflinks. Trepidation made it impossible for him to grasp the tiny pins, which angered him. He had no reason to be worried or anxious. She should have been worried, not him. He hadn't left her. He hadn't abandoned her in a crowd full of unfamiliar people.

"Perhaps you should write her a note first," Madame suggested.

"I've grown tired of writing notes," he answered. He paused, waiting for her to add a snide comment to her otherwise pleasant conversation.

Instead she nodded and pursed her lips. "They returned home today?"

"This morning."

"Do you suppose they're settled in by now?"

"I shall see for myself," he snapped.

She studied him briefly, her gaze more scrutinizing than his own as he studied the reflection in the mirror. "Best of luck to you," she said quietly.

Lips parted, he stared at her, uncertain of whether or not she was being sincere. "Why?" he asked suddenly. "Why would you say that?"

His words seemed to surprise her. "I've always wanted what was best for you, though you never seemed to attain it."

"Excuse me?"

She sighed. "Of course you wouldn't have seen it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Monsieur, you've always been preoccupied with—"

"You came into my home acting as though I owed you the world and now you want me to believe you've wanted the best for me?"

"Keep your voice down!"

He gritted his teeth and heard his pulse drum through his ears. "In my house I will do as I please."

"Very well." Her shoulders dropped and she tilted her head. "Let's hope this is a new beginning where you discover fresh possibilities…or look at people in a different light and see how much they've always cared for you."

"Such as yourself?"

"I've always…been fond of you. But of course, why would you acknowledge that coming from me when you had designs on Mademoiselle Daae?"

His brow furrowed, anger escalated, but she walked away before he could question her.

-o-

Sophia convinced herself that Philippe was upset over Sabine. It was the only logical explanation for him to huff and stomp around the yard—a dramatic display if ever there was one. Once he shrugged off her attempt at soothing him she turned away and wandered to a large, leafless maple tree as she continued to rake her hand through her hair.

She was giddy with butterflies fluttering through her belly. Sympathy butterflies, she said to herself, hatching on Erik's behalf. Her romantic mind envisioned the perfect scenario: A reunion of joy and understanding.

Suddenly the butterflies dropped like lead bullets. From what she understood he hadn't seen her since he was a small child. Perhaps she wouldn't want to see him. Sophia wrung her hands, realizing she had no idea why a mother would abandon her child.

Clearly her brother's sullen mood had rubbed off on her. She shook her head as though it would clear the thoughts. Taking a breath, she turned in time to see Erik stroll through the front door.

He squinted as the light hit his green eyes. Fidelio bounded up from the stable, his deep bark echoing across the yard. With a firm "sit", the dog obeyed the command, though Sophia was certain his tail would propel him off the ground.

"Here, my precious bag of fleas," Citrine cooed. She waved a bone in the air and tossed it across the yard when he came bounding toward her.

Sophia walked up to Erik and offered a smile. "You survived another day spent with my aunt."

"Barely," he replied under his breath.

He seemed distracted, which worried her. "You look quite handsome," she said lightly. "The brown suit compliments your eyes."

He looked her over and returned a nervous smile. "You look as you always do."

Her mirth faded and she nearly dropped her reticule. Two hours of standing before her wardrobe had earned her nothing in return. She may as well have donned a burlap sack.

"Oh. Well…"

"You look perfect."

The butterflies returned for a completely different reason and she covered her mouth with her gloved hand. "Th-thank you," she said with a giggle.

Philippe cleared his throat and garnered their attention. "Shall we?"

With Gabe in the driver's seat, he opened the carriage door and motioned for Sophia to enter first. She glanced back and saw Erik staring at the open door.

"Come on," she said gently, fearing he would change his mind.