A/N: Ok 3 things. Firstly apologies for the HUGE delay in getting this out some of which was due to technical difficulties which I won't rant about too much, the rest was due to my Muse legging it on holidays without leaving a note. That brings me nicely to the second thing...a HUGE FF HUG to Ace of Gallifrey without whom this EPIC chapter simply would not have made it whether it be repeated encouragment, reading chunks of it, providing squee when badly needed and lots of ideas so please send some love her way. Thirdly this is a REALLY LONG CHAPTER. You have been warned. I suggest locking the door, switching off your phone, stick on the hot chocolate (or bevvie of choice) and find a blanket to curl up under. It is June 4th 1871 and you know what that means...yup Elena Pellizzari's tying the knot. Enjoy xxx
To dance, masked or painted, is to come to know sacredness with more than just eyes or ears, but with all senses of the body and mind operating at the same time. If you want to know the meaning of the mask, you must become masked yourself.
Terry Tafoya
Chapter 22
In the days and weeks that followed Bella's party the sun stayed longer and higher and the climbing rose that twined around the patio railings burst into full bloom. It was nearly more than Erik could take, inhaling their pungent aroma made thick and heady by evening, having warmed in the early summer sun all day. Meg was everywhere it seemed. She filled his senses from dawn until dusk and beyond and though unsettling it invigorated him in a way he could not comprehend. His blood fizzed though his veins, his fingers itched to play light-hearted whimsy and they did. The fact that she had seen into the darkest part of him and had wrapped her hands around it gave him hope that perhaps there was a life for him or at least a brighter path than the one he had trodden. She somehow understood, had seen into his murky depths and still she stayed.
His current state of unfamiliar calm mixed with an effervescent nervous energy was alien to him. He had never felt this light and whimsical before, never warm or safe. He had never experienced what it was to close his eyes and eagerly anticipate the moment he would wake, anxious to see what the new day would bring and feeling capable of facing the dark. Always he had feared it; that moment where he lost control, lost consciousness. It had been an enemy that gnawed at him, subjected him to all his insecurities and deepest fears and he had always been powerless to fight it. No, this didn't resemble anything he knew of, anything like before...like Paris. That had been manic, deafening and torrid. It ripped at every fibre of his being and raged like a mythical beast. It had tasted like bitter chocolate, dizzying, addictive and left him with such constant violent headaches that he felt like he would split in two. He rarely slept in those final months and when he did he fell into those dark horrors that terrified him and wrenched him awake in a silent scream for deliverance. The only moments of peace had come when his angel had sung for him and once that was taken away he had never wanted to breathe again.
He had wanted to possess that part of Christine where her voice took flight – her soul. Her instrument had grown from the seed that had always been there but he had nurtured it, moulded it and was poised to take possession of it. He needed it for his own. Its sole purpose was to give life and light to the music he wrote. Her beauty only enhanced it, a beautiful vessel for her soaring gift. He had needed it like a lifeline, the only link from his dark existence to the brightness of life above. She was to be that link but she broke it when she loved another. The blind panic had ripped through him like a wave, desperate to claw back the pieces of her that slipped like sand through his fingers. His power over her was waning and his ownership was being challenged by a young pretender that had no rights to his creation. She had been his. HIS. Then it had become a ferocious battle for the woman and not just her voice. He began to see beyond the beauty inside to the delights without. Sensations long buried and stifled had stirred and awakened, too late to be assuaged. He had always thought of himself as a composer first and foremost but he was bitterly reminded that he was in fact a man. Yet all that she could give him was a kiss before flying away; a kiss that had sealed his dark fate.
He had always somehow assumed that love would be kinder, less brutal but instead it had ripped him to shreds and he never wanted to feel that close to his own death again.
What was this then; this unknown quantity of softness and light that whispered through him? It was not something he could identify, was not what went before. It couldn't be for it felt gentle and quiet. It smelled of fresh roses and lemons and looked like spun gold weaving hypnotically in a thick braid. It was warm liquid eyes that widened when he smiled and narrowed when he teased. Meg was not his, she belonged to herself alone and he found that she didn't need him the way Christine had so it was wholly astonishing to him that she still chose to walk along side him these past months. He knew he needed her. Not for his music or to possess her soul but to lean on, to help him live, to understand him. She was vital to his survival but yet he felt no panic to restrain her, to keep her there because she had been the one to take his hand and bring him to a place where he could heal. Meg had never showed him the reflection of his face in hers and for that he would always be eternally thankful. She stood alone in that. Her refusal to pity and draw attention to his defect had forced him to acknowledge that there might be more to him than that. He wanted there to be more to him and somehow she could see it. But what was it? He could find no name to put to it, this indefinable state he had never visited before. Wherever it was he wanted to stay.
The dreams were inconvenient to say the least and they had only intensified in nature and frequency in the past few weeks. Meg would be horrified to know where his nocturnal imaginings had taken him. They were delicious and dangerous, passionate and painful and again reminded him that before anything else he was a man, a man with lamentable urges that shamed him though he was loath to regret the glorious glimpses into another life they afforded him. But there was no place in reality for them or for the form they took in daylight hours. A watered down version of his explicit fantasies normally involved deluding himself that they were just a normal couple living a normal life, a scene of domestic bliss with him in a starring role. It was a pointlessly pathetic exercise.
Not so pathetic were the days that were filled with moments of innocent joy in the shape of Bella and her new violin. She had come several times and was proving to be an effortless student and a breath of fresh air and he seemed to take as much from her little musings on life as she did from his gentle instruction. He had been out in the city without Meg again and each time became a little easier to tolerate. He still abhorred the bustle and crush and it would only get worse as the summer brought more and more tourists but he felt he probably wasn't alone in that; most of his fellow shoppers seemed to carry a tightness about them that indicated they too would prefer more personal space. It only served to highlight the real necessity of a move to somewhere bigger, more secluded where he could feel at ease in his own open spaces and to that end he had already been to an estate agent who was currently working on his particular requirements. He was also able to organise his finances and affaires, make the acquaintance of a solicitor and of course the inevitable visit to a tailor.
He had dreaded that the most but it had proven far less horrific than he had built it up in his mind. The small efficient man with the wire framed glasses had taken his measurements unobtrusively and with minimum fuss and effort and was oblivious to his odd appearance when it came with a very large order. S. Bellini had waxed lyrical with him about the merits of this weight of silk or that fall of linen and was ecstatic at the prospect of providing him with something to attend a masquerade and had to be reigned in when his imagination ran away with him. He had no wish to stand out, only blend in and not let Meg down. On his return he had heard her chattering excitedly in the kitchen with Rosa. Apparently she had just fitted on her new dress and it was "beyond description". She had been trying to decide what mask to pick to go with it and he had had to step in and warn her that it was being taken care of. A quick word in Rosa's ear and he ascertained the colour so he could match it. He tried to ignore the blushing surprise on Meg's face and the undisguised smirk of satisfaction on his landlady's. What were they up to?
Sunday June 4th dawned bright and clear over Venice, heralding a day that any bride would wish for. Meg woke early with the now familiar butterflies already clamouring in her stomach but knew it was partly excitement in anticipation of the coming day.
She dressed simply as the ceremony itself was not until the early afternoon, after which many would retire to their lodgings to have siesta and then prepare for the reception and masquerade later in the evening. A steady stream of relatives from both sides had been coming for the past few days and she had been particularly taken with Rosa's cousin Carmella who had enveloped her in a tight hug as soon as she had been introduced. She had no children of her own but loved everyone else's in abundance and that apparently included Meg. Her husband Arturo was no different and had taken it upon himself to draw Erik out on the subject of horseflesh at every opportunity. He didn't seem to mind and she thought if he limited himself to just one or two people who didn't irritate him beyond reason then he might just be able to manage this day without feeling hemmed in.
She skipped down the stairs and sat and shared breakfast with Erik as usual, noticing he was particularly sombre looking considering the beautiful weather and the day itself. Perhaps he was apprehensive about so many people, about playing in public and for Elena. Perhaps he was thinking about the bride he had wanted and the wedding day she would now have with someone else. She had forgotten how that might be on his mind today especially as it was Elena who looked so much like his angel bride, Christine. She shuddered to think of it and how thoroughly disastrous a union it would have been. There was only so much pain and torture two people could inflict upon each other. She was better off with Raoul and he was better off...well just better off. He needed to learn to live and maybe how to love himself a little because only then could he expect someone else to.
Afterwards she moved to begin his bandages as she did every morning since they had taken the rooms above the pasticceria but when she stood behind him he placed his hand on her arm.
"My mask is finished Meg. You don't need to do this anymore." The words that came out sounded thick and strained and he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop his eyes welling.
No! I mean...NO! You don't understand...I DO need to do it! Meg wrung her hands behind his back and swallowed, forcing herself to speak calmly though she far from felt it. "But that's wonderful and just in time for the wedding! Can I see it, the new mask?" She winced as her voice sounded high and too bright. She knew this was good, this was progress. He would feel more himself, less the invalid but she could not help the sadness that flooded her heart at the loss of those precious moments she got to spend in silence with him each day.
Erik knew this moment would be a blessing and a curse. He had come to rely on her touch far too much, come to crave it and revel in it much more than he had any right to. He needed to break out of those damned bindings but he felt perhaps he was losing something he suspected might be just as valuable to him as that mask in his room. "I wasn't going to wear it until we left for the church but perhaps-"
"No. You're right. Wait until you had planned to do it and then I can show off my new dress too. I'll put the bandages on one last time just in case anyone calls here before the wedding and then you can take them off before we go?" One last time Erik and then you're on your own. Meg bit back selfish tears as she touched her trembling fingers to the back of his neck.
One last...take all the time you need. Erik nodded and closed his eyes feeling unspeakably sad and melancholy in total defiance of the happy day.
Meg struggled with the ridiculous cage-like contraption that reminded her of a rooster's tail, necessitated by the bustle on her gown. Fortunately most of her undergarments could be fixed from the front and then twisted back around so she would not need the assistance of a maid. The more elaborate gowns of the upper classes made it impossible for one to dress oneself. Rosa's cousin Carmella had begged to be allowed to assist her later for the masquerade, with her hair and the adjustments that would need to be made to her gown and if she was honest she was glad of her offer. Her skirt alone weighed a ton and knew now why a second pair of hands would have been a blessing although she managed to get it over her head and fastened without too much injury. Its train was currently tied up in voluminous bubbles behind her, only adding to the huge bustle but Carmella would let it all down later to its full length. How many layers? Chemise, pantalettes, several petticoats, corset, bustle...it was ridiculous and the June sun would remind her of it the minute she went outdoors. She reached for the little bodice that was more like a jacket and mercifully it fastened up the front so no help needed. She left her hair in a simple knot at her nape to allow for the little straw hat perched on top of her head that she would wear in the church. It was decorated with the same material as her gown and had a small net veil that would cover her eyes. Little kid boots, gloves and a satin reticule completed her outfit. Just a tiny dab of her mother's precious rose oil at her ears and neck and she was ready. Meg took a very deep breath in an attempt to quash the nausea and reached for the handle of her bedroom door.
Erik stood in front of his dressing table mirror and turned this way and that, straightening his vest, picking invisible fluff from his shoulder and smoothing down the black wig he had brought from Paris. His new mask fit like a glove and although similar in shape to the one he had always worn, it was softer, less stark. Gone was the bright, blinding white and the maniacal grimace of before; that haunted expression seemed out of place now. In its stead was a soft cream, almost pearly and iridescent bearing features that perfectly matched the smooth side of his face. It was already warming to his skin and though it felt so safe and familiar he knew he had sacrificed something precious to have it again. He was secretly impressed with his and his talents with a scissors and conceded that he looked as well as he ever had done. Black cashmere pants, snowy white linen shirt with stiff collar, heavy silk brocade vest also in black and cream silk cravat held in place with a pearl stud. His tailcoat of black superfine broadened his shoulders and gave him another inch or two of height, not that he needed it. Drawing his black leather gloves over his fingers, he took his violin case and opened his bedroom door.
Damn! He's not down yet. Meg had wanted to make a grand entrance but by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs it was obvious Erik was still in his room. She had not long to wait. Slowly turning around to face the steps, she saw bit by bit first the polished shoes, long legs, beginnings of a tailcoat, his gloves and then the rest of him. Oh! Oh goodness! He's back! Meg's hand involuntarily flew to her mouth to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape. Gone were the bindings, gone was the gloom of the breakfast table. Before her, standing taller and broader than he had ever looked before was the proud and regal figure she knew as the Phantom. Behind the piercing eyes and faint smile was the softness she knew as Erik. He was all there and the effect was stupefying.
"You...you look really quite handsome. I love the mask...it's far nicer than the old one." You idiot! What else was she to say? Oh please just let's leave so I don't have to speak again!
Erik cleared his throat and tried to grasp onto something that would adequately convey his sentiments while at the same time trying to process her compliments. "Thank you...on both counts. May I say that you are quite breathtaking yourself?" Breathtaking didn't even come close; he had almost not made it to the bottom step without tripping. Nothing would have prepared him for that vision in satin as he came down the stairs. Her skin was glowing, her hair glinting in the light from the balcony, her eyes sparkled and she was wafting that tormenting scent of roses in his direction. It was making him swoon like a damned female and now she was blushing from his comments. Was it possible she was receptive to his regard? She had after all said he looked quite handsome, hadn't she? She had begun fidgeting with her gloves and now he was out of things to say and the moment stretched infinitely and awkwardly before them. Meg saved him again.
"Shall we go then? We have to get there before the rest so you can play as Elena and Vittorio arrive."
The Church of San Barnaba was barely a five minute walk down the canal from the pasticceria. Both of them had been there before, Meg the previous day to help with flowers and Erik had slipped in on his way back from the estate agent a few days before to check the acoustics. A few guests had already taken their seats but most would wait and walk with the bride and groom and their godparents as was Venetian custom. They would assist in putting obstacles in the bride's path on her journey to test her suitability as a wife. Meg had heard stories about this in the past few days; chickens that she might have to round up, a lost child that she would have to help...goodness only knew what they had in store for the poor girl!
Meg removed her gloves inside the door and made the sign of the cross with the holy water provided, smiling with pride at the flower filled space. Roses, freesias and orange blossom released their sweet scent into the air. She drew Erik to the left walking down the outside of the main aisle to the front where they would sit, just across from the bride's family. Someone was playing softly on the organ up in the gallery, providing accompaniment to the group of local school children who were warming up with their choirmaster alongside her. They would sing the entire mass in Latin. Erik sat to her left effectively blocking the congregation's view of him. She suspected this was another coping mechanism, after all he would play today in front of an audience for the first time. He was nervous. She could tell from the sound of the leather creaking in his gloves every time he made a fist.
Meg leaned in and whispered softly "Erik, it will be alright, you know. You could doubtless do this in your sleep!" She felt him lean against her shoulder briefly and then straightened up again, pulling his gloves from his fingers slowly and deliberately as if a ritual. He had called in reinforcements and she was beside him; he would be alright.
Wordlessly he handed Meg his gloves and took out his violin and bow and proceeded to tune her. Little by little he felt the tension fall away and the background fade as he went through the motions that were second nature to him. You can do this. Just breathe and imagine it's just Meg listening. He tried to ignore the obvious fact that it was a wedding, the first he had attended and that the bride bore a painful resemblance to the one he would rather not have thought about on this particular day. Remember how she hurt you, remember it would have been madness and remember who saved you...breathe
Meg turned Erik's soft black gloves in her hands. He never wore them in the house but had always done so as the Phantom and whenever he went out. She supposed they were a part of his armour and perhaps more than that for his hands were his instrument. She slipped her tiny hand into one of them and let the warmth of his hands seep into hers, the inside feeling butter soft. It was a strangely intimate thing, what she was doing and she couldn't quite understand why, nor could she resist pulling on the other one.
"Are your hands particularly cold Meg? Or were you just afraid you'd lose them?" Erik raised his eyebrow and pulled his mouth into a wry smile. She looked wholly ridiculous, sitting there in all her finery with his much larger gloves placed delicately on her lap. But something else...he was oddly touched that she had pulled them on, his warmth wrapping her tiny hands. More and more people had begun to fill the pews and a commotion at the back alerted him to the fact that Elena and her groom had arrived. He rose slowly scanning the faces for his nemesis who was to give him the nod. Where is the little rat? Meg tugged at his sleeve and pulled him back towards her to whisper in his ear.
"You were brilliant!"
"I haven't even started yet you daft creature!" Had she gotten too much sun already? Honestly.
"I know but you will be. You always are." Meg beamed and let go of his arm, pointing that Federico was trying to catch their attention. It was time.
Erik felt his face flush and couldn't quite figure out what she was up to but he was itching to play now so he supposed it had worked. Imagining he was in the sitting room and Meg was on the settee, he began to play just as Elena Pellizzari walked through the door with her godfather. He bit down on his lip against the pain of seeing Christine's double, all dressed in white with a heavy lace veil. That would be her someday soon, if not already. Not him. The other one would walk beside her. Remember how she hurt you...remember who saved you... It had to stop, he couldn't bear it anymore.
Gradually he became aware that the choir up in the balcony had joined him and were singing the words...Ave Maria gratia plena, dominus tecum... Young sweet voices of children no older than Bella rang out in unison. He blinked moisture from his eyes as he experienced for the first time what it felt to be a part of the music with so many others. They could see him and still they sang with him.
Erik closed his eyes and pulled forth the memory of those final moments in his old home, when his love had worn the dress he made for her. He played for her, let the pain come through his fingertips onto the strings and with the bow he set it free, set her free, as he had decided he needed to, on this particular day. The voices that sang with him took it high into the roof and dispelled it in the scented air.
Meg sat choking back tears watching as Elena and Vittorio made their way to the chancel steps, her heart full to bursting for Erik, who stood playing his soul through every note with a full choir behind him. God how he needed this! It hadn't been planned or rehearsed, they just began to sing. As Erik sat back down and put the violin back in her case at his side, she leaned against him again.
"I told you" she said sniffing into her handkerchief.
Rosa and Marcello both turned, teary eyed to transmit silent thanks for the entrance Erik had given their daughter. At one point during the communion Bella had slid across her pew and sat beside them, squeezing in beside her new favourite person, so she could tell him how much he'd made everyone cry. She complained to a very sympathetic Erik about not being allowed in the choir because she was a girl and only went back to her mother before the end as she had the extremely important job of throwing petals out of a basket when the newlyweds came out the doors. Meg sat back and listened to the unfamiliar words of the Latin vows, thinking how beautiful they sounded, so magical and supposed that during that moment the entire world fell away from Elena and Vittorio, until it was just the two of them.
They had kneeled, sat and stood along with the congregation throughout the ceremony and when the priest pronounced the couple married; Meg slipped her hand into Erik's. She knew it would be hard for him and there was little else she could do to take the pain away. He squeezed back and gave her a ghost of a smile letting her know he was alright.
Afterwards they left the church behind the last of the guests, only pausing so Meg could light some more wishes at the bank of candles before the Virgin; five this time, with two additional for the bride and groom. The bright afternoon sun blinded them as they came out into the air and rice littered the steps where it had been liberally tossed over the newlyweds. As they walked slowly back towards the house Meg paused and turned to Erik.
"Are you alright? I mean it was a wedding and it was Elena and well-"
"I'm fine. Really. I mean she's still in here somewhere," he placed his hand over his heart, "and probably always will be but I tried to let her go if that makes any sense."
Back at the house Meg divested herself of hat and gloves and went to the kitchen to make coffee. It would be a few hours before they would need to leave for Palazzo Convertini, where the reception and masquerade would be held and she was starving. Erik had disappeared to his room, no doubt to put away his violin, but not before talking to it for half an hour. That instrument of his was like a living being and so it wouldn't surprise her in the least if he did actually speak to it. Shortly Carmella would arrive to help her with her hair but first she needed food.
Erik sat on his bed with his arms wrapped around his violin case, marvelling at how much she had helped him today. She was always his port in a storm but today she took the poisoned thorn from his heart and let him use her to banish it, let it go. She got to sing with many voices just as he did, for the first time today. The mass was beautiful, all sung by those little children in Latin. All boys as Bella had lamented earlier, some as young as four or five; they had all leaned over the balcony to wave at him as he and Meg left the church. He removed his coat and shoes and stretched out on the bed, hoping for a few moments of calm before he changed and all the madness of the masquerade began. A knock on the door broke his peace.
"Erik, are you decent?"
"No, but come in." He smiled wickedly to himself. It had been a strangely emotional day so far and he was drained so perhaps it was time to have some fun with her. A quick glance at his dresser reminded him that Meg's mask was safely wrapped in tissue in one of the drawers, along with his new one and she wouldn't see it until the very last minute.
Meg nearly dropped the small tray she carried and stared unblinking at his door, not knowing whether to obey and face mortification or stay put and have him laugh at her for being a coward. Well she wasn't a coward and certainly wouldn't start now. Besides, she was curious and it would be his own fault. Balancing the tray on her left hand, she turned the knob and pushed with the right, averting her eyes from the bed. Setting the tray down carefully on his dresser, she whirled back around, planted both hands on her hips and stamped at him. "Oh for goodness sake, Erik! Must you tease? You said you weren't decent! And I almost dropped the tray!"
"Yet you still came in and yes, I must! What did you bring me that you were so diligent not to drop?" All of the earlier anguish in the church has been effectively dispelled with one glorious stamp of Meg's right foot.
"I brought coffee and there's some baguette with mozzarella and tomato. Not that you deserve it." Meg crossed her arms under her bust and stuck out her chin and pouted at him. "I'm going to change now because Carmella will be here soon so I'll see you later." With that she whirled out of the room and barely resisted the urge to slam his door off its hinges.
Grouchy little gattina! Erik knew a few hours with that bubbly cousin of Rosa's would put the smile back on her face. Imagine! She still came in!
Dusk was just beginning to fall over Venice when Erik stepped out of his room and stopped outside Meg's door.
"Meg? Are you decent?"
Carmella was pinning her hair and she was sitting in her chemise, having removed the heavy skirt, cumbersome frame and petticoats to lie down earlier.
"No I am not and don't even think about coming in because I'm deadly serious." I'll kill him. If he as much as looks at the doorknob, I'll kill him.
"I wouldn't dream of it! I have your mask. Shall I leave it downstairs?" Erik smirked to himself at the cross little face he knew was on the other side of the door.
"No, Carmella's coming for it." And then almost as an afterthought she added, "Thank you."
A tiny crack in the door produced Carmella, who squeezed out pulling the door shut tightly behind her, lest he get even a sliver of an indecent Meg. She had changed but wasn't yet masked, so he could see several levels of astonishment cross her face all at once as she gaped up at him.
"Oh well, you're all ready then. I almost wouldn't recognise you!" Carmella had never, in all her forty-eight years seen anything like him. She had met him a few days before and of course seen him play at the church earlier when she'd had to beg Arturo for his handkerchief. It had been so beautiful and then when the children had joined in...he was quite something. Rosa had told her all about the sad man and his lovely blonde companion from Paris and how oblivious the pair of them seemed to be about what was quite obvious to everyone else. Well, wait until the Signorina caught an eyeful of this!
"That is the idea I believe," Erik acknowledged silkily, handing the older woman the tissue wrapped package.
"Thank you Signore. You know you look just like a-"
Erik stopped her with his finger to his lips and then leaned down to whisper, "Not a word Signora, it's a surprise!" Meg didn't hold the patent on those and he wondered if she would remember.
"Ah of course! Don't worry, my lips are sealed. We're not quite ready but my Arturo's downstairs reading the paper. We might be a while yet so perhaps you two might want to go on ahead? You know, so we girls can make an entrance?" Carmella winked at the tall, handsome Frenchman that towered over her and shooed him down the stairs towards her husband. She knew he was awkward with people, presumably because of his face, but her husband seemed to be able to draw him out, having a shared love of horses. They would no doubt bore each other to tears about Arabians, colic and saddle soap.
Meg spun on her chair as her door opened again admitting a flushed and flustered Carmella, who now had her back pressed to the door, her left palm flat to her as if her ribs were about to fall out. "Are you quite alright Signora; you look a little...breathless?"
"Please called me Mella; this signora nonsense makes me feel quite old! Oh and your mask."
Meg took the white package she hadn't noticed and smiled at the black ribbon tied around it, Erik's signature. "Thank you Mella and you must also call me Meg since you're helping me dress! So, how does he look? I assume he was ready?" She was dying to know what mask he had picked, what he was wearing.
"Oh, if I was twenty years younger...but I am sworn to secrecy so you will just have to wait."
Meg crawled onto her bed to open her package, sitting cross-legged in the middle. She was dying for more details of Erik but it seemed Carmella had pledged allegiance to her infuriating friend. Whatever she had seen on the other side of the door had put the older woman into something approaching a swoon, so she figured he had outdone himself again. She tugged on the bow he had tied and pulled back the tissue, holding her breath as she revealed the mask he had made, just for her. Oh Erik! So much work, so much detail and all for her! Reverently she lifted it and held it aloft for Carmella to see. It was ivory, to match her bodice and in the shape of a cat, or kitten to be more accurate for the features were far too dainty to be anything else. Tiny pearls accented gold macramé lace around the ears, forehead and tiny nose. Gold leaf rimmed the slightly slanted eyes like shimmering kohl and black silk ribbon attached to either side. She loved it and already it was her most precious thing.
"Oh Meg, it's beautiful, just beautiful. Put it on, let me see!"
Meg tied the ribbons and climbed off the bed to look in the mirror on her dresser and smiled. It was perfect! It just came to the tip of her nose and hugged her cheek bones but came no further. The top covered her entire forehead with the ears right back where they should be, at the start of her hairline. It fit like a second skin and this should have surprised her but didn't. Erik was meticulous. It looked just like her, except feline. How did he do that? Her stomach tied in knots of nervous anticipation of the night ahead. Perhaps he would dance with her? She leapt back to the centre of her bed and stretched right to her toes, her whole body fizzing with excitement, causing Carmella to tease her about how apt Erik's choice had been. He obviously watched her movements and mannerisms a lot more than she was aware of, but then that really didn't surprise her either. What else has he noticed?
"We'd better get you dressed Meg, or we'll leave those poor men standing all night and I need to finish your hair!" Carmella reached for the dreaded bustle frame and bent down, waiting patiently for the younger woman to take off her mask, noticing how carefully she placed it back in the tissue, completely unable to tear her eyes away from it. Oh dear, the poor thing was lost! All this surprise and excitement was taking years off her and she couldn't wait to see Meg's face when she arrived at the reception.
Almost an hour later Federico pulled his gondola alongside the dock in front of Palazzo Convertini. They'd had to wait for a position behind several others and it gave Meg the time to take in the Grand Canal by night and calm her nerves. Light blazed from every window, reflecting like flickering stars on the water. Music poured from the open doors on the balconies above and all around her caped, masked figures alighted from little boats just like the one they were in. The air was heavy from the day's heat; the only relief coming from the slight breeze off the water. It was magical scene and she thought she hadn't looked forward to the masquerade at the Populaire half as much; this was where the custom started and she felt privileged to be a part of it. Erik had been there that night too only this time he was invited. This time he would be like everyone else. This time there was nothing to distract and anger him; he could just enjoy it. She couldn't remember the last time she had attended anything where she hadn't stood just behind and to the right of her best friend, essentially forgotten. She might have been part of the scenery that night but she'd had a bird's eye view of the grand staircase and what transpired at the bottom. She saw the look of pure longing in the Phantom's eyes, speaking louder and clearer than any words could. He had wanted Christine, had scorched the air around her. Everyone could see it, feel it. It had made her knees melt just a little before things had gotten decidedly out of hand. Not that she had ever begrudged Christine any of the attention but she was a person too and tonight she would have something to write home about. She knew she looked as well as she ever had and only wished her mother could have seen her.
"Signora, Signorina, save me a dance later!" A smiling Federico handed the two women onto the dock and pushed off, tipping the brim of his tricorn hat. He had one or two more trips to make and then would be joining the festivities, no doubt making full use of his Casanova guise.
"Well Meg, shall we?" Carmella offered Meg her arm and a dose of moral support which she suspected she needed. The poor thing suddenly looked as if she wanted to run and hide. She remembered that feeling, the butterflies, and the blood rushing to her cheeks and now she couldn't wait for the fun to begin.
From the first floor balcony where he stood watching, Erik spotted the young Casanova pulling up to the dock below and suppressed the urge to make a fist. He knew Meg had no interest in the little rat and had effectively rebuffed him but it still made his skin crawl to see him within ten feet of her.
He and Arturo had spent the past while trying to guess who everyone was underneath their elaborate masks, not that Erik knew any of them anyway but Carmella's husband had given him the insider's unedited synopsis on every merchant in Venice. It was odd having a conversation with another man, having only been used to Meg but it was not unpleasant and the older Italian was sincere and friendly. He supposed he liked him. Now it seemed the ladies had finally arrived. He couldn't really see Meg from this distance as she had donned the traditional masquerade cloak, long and black with a hood but it still couldn't hide the vivid peacock blue of her skirt, just peeking out from beneath her hem or the mask he had made.
Coming to the bottom of the first flight of steps, Erik could hear the chatter that heralded Meg's approach. Slightly apprehensive, he adjusted his mask, straightened his coat and took a deep breath only barely noticing the older man bringing up the rear to his left. As he came to the top of the porch steps he saw Carmella fussing about a cloaked figure, spreading the yards of skirt behind her like an ocean. Pulling himself to his full height, he waited for the moment she would remove her cloak. Her hood dropped, someone's hands came to take the garment from her shoulders and his stomach turned fully over. He was speechless, awestruck and glued to the floor. No part of him would comply with orders to move and greet her. His jaw dropped and his eyes were transfixed, feasting on every detail from her tiny waist upwards. Gattina...
Meg realised in a panic that she had no clue what Erik was wearing or what mask he wore. How would she know him? Carmella was adjusting her train – it had been let down to its full length since the ceremony - and as she drew her hood back from her face she felt the vast vaulted porch shrink and the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. Only one person could do that to her. He's here. Heart pounding in her chest, feeling the shiver rising from the base of her spine, her eyes climbed the steps before her.
Long black boots just like the ones he'd worn on New Year's Eve, muscular thighs clad in some sort of cream material with a dull sheen, more impressive than anything she had ever seen in or out of the ballet studio. Oh god! She swallowed and was almost afraid to look further but her eyes went on their own journey upwards. Narrow hips were framed by the edge of a navy silk velvet tailcoat, edged with elaborate gold braiding and a cream and gold silk brocade vest covered the expanse of his chest. He stood, resting his weight on his left side, his hands behind his back, impossibly tall. Lifting her head to meet his gaze, she almost stumbled and was transported to several places all at once; her mother's bedroom, San Marco, the dome of the Salute. Carmella rushed forward and took her right hand to steady her.
Waves of heat poured over her as her feet mounted the stairs of their own accord. Erik. Phantom. Prince. How was she to bear it? He was magnificent, like something from Napoleon's court.
She found his eyes, shining out from behind another of his exquisite creations. Her heart skipped as she realised where he must have gotten the inspiration for it. The mask covered almost as much of his face as the Red Death mask had, revealing only his lower jaw, mouth and eyes. He looked easily as dangerous as he had that night and had fixed her with a look that thrilled and terrified her.
His mask was the same ivory colour as her own but shaped to embody the creature he had become for the night, the one she had first imagined when she had seen his mask out of the corner of her eye, that first awful night. The nose was hooked and painted gold. The same gold macramé lace picked out the unmistakeable features and like hers, gold leaf rimmed his eyes making them shimmer. Above his eyes was moulded into a deep vee giving the impression of the predator about to strike and this culminated in two points, almost like horns on the top of his head. If it was possible, it made him look even more dangerous. The overall effect of it was stunning and her brain struggled to take it all in at once.
Meg had come within two steps of him and had been reeling him down from the top of the stairs with that look in her eyes. They had turned almost like when she got mad with him, all fiery and molten, except she wasn't angry with him now. And the roses were killing him. That revealing bodice she had changed into was doing all sorts of delicious things to him and he ached to pull her close, like in the dome at the Salute. Vaguely he was aware of Carmella at her side and she stepped forward now to speak to him.
"Signore, I believe I have something that belongs to you!" Carmella smiled sweetly, handing Meg's hand over, pinning him with a knowing look.
Scheming wench! Silently he thanked her and since he wasn't about to argue, he reached out and took the tiny hand in his, woefully unprepared for the jolt it sent up his arm. Rosa's cousin gleefully skipped up the stairs behind him to meet with her husband, leaving Meg virtually trancelike in her wake.
She couldn't speak. Her hand was tingling and getting hotter by the second. Erik smiled down at her enigmatically and she cursed him silently for the havoc he was wreaking inside her.
"Hoo-hoo, beautiful creature." Erik teased, hoping to break the thick, hot silence between them.
He was poking fun at her again, reminding her that he had heard everything she said that day in the dome. Except maybe he had meant the part where he said she was beautiful. "Thank you, I mean M-meeaow, I suppose. You look...like a prince I think, far nicer than before, than the Red Death but why do you always have to tease me so much?" Really, even tonight he couldn't resist. He was like a big child sometimes, always pushing and testing to see how much he could get away with.
A prince? Really? Prince of Darkness maybe. "Because Meg, you secretly love it. Shall we go up, do you think?" He stepped down beside her and put her left hand over his right arm and steered her up the stairs. He was almost sure he had nearly hypnotised her without even trying. He could if he really wanted to.
Meg moved automatically, led by the Owl Prince, who had her hand in the crook of his arm. Did she secretly love it? It certainly irritated her but then he always seemed to smile in that enigmatic way of his, like he was enjoying it far too much. She liked that smile. It made her breath catch.
Together they walked up the second flight of stairs, her gown flowing like a river behind her, and finally made it through the huge double doors of the ballroom. The strange haze that clogged her mind cleared in the face of such animation. What seemed like hundreds of people milled around the huge ballroom, all of them in various levels of disguise. Some, like her, had dressed in eveningwear and donned a half mask. Others had come in full costume and were virtually undetectable. She couldn't even tell which were male and which were female! Huge trestles lined two sides of the room, heaving with food, both savoury and sweet. Suddenly her stomach growled. It had been hours since she'd eaten.
To her right Rosa appeared, in a more elaborate version of the olive green dress she had worn earlier, having also switched her bodice. A green and gold columbina hid the top half of her face but could not mask the huge grin on her face. She held her hands out to embrace Meg, kissing her carefully on both cheeks and drawing her aside, lowering her voice. "I'm so glad you've finally arrived. You look absolutely beautiful and I only recognised you because I know every glorious inch of that gown, that and the fact that I knew the signore wouldn't have anyone else but you on his arm! He is causing mayhem already. Everyone keeps asking me for an introduction but I knew he would hate that, so I've had to break a few hearts and assure them he is already spoken for."
"Oh Rosa!" Meg tapped her friend on the arm with her fan. She couldn't believe her friend was getting almost as creative with the truth as she. "You're right, he would hate it. But now they'll all assume that I am his intended thanks to you!"
"My dear, I only speak as I find. No one who watched you walk in here this evening will misinterpret it. You belong to him. It is plain for all to see and no one in their right mind would stand between you. I saw what happened at Bella's party when my foolish young son tried his luck." And she'd had words with him about it too. Her only son was no match for Meg's protector.
"Don't be ridiculous! And no one owns me. I won't allow it." As if! Meg was outraged at the very idea of being owned by anyone, let alone Erik. No one would rule her. She would make her own way, unanswerable to anyone but herself. She had spent long enough doing everyone's bidding in Paris.
"Listen to me mi amica, because this is important. Our hearts rarely obey, despite our best efforts to the contrary and you might also like to consider the possibility that he belongs to you? I doubt he knows it but I can see it. Now, I strongly recommend getting a plate, filling it and taking your Principe off to a quiet corner where my lady friends won't annoy him!" Rosa leaned in to kiss her again, squeezing her arm before leaving her standing, open-mouthed to greet some new arrivals.
No! Not possible. But then she had to consider the way he had looked at her when she arrived, on the stairs. She had seen it before and knew just what it meant then; only this time it lacked the undercurrent of revenge and instead had held something softer, which made it infinitely more dangerous to her. He couldn't, shouldn't but maybe... did? She couldn't, shouldn't but-
"Meg! You look liked you've swallowed something decidedly unpleasant, and even before you have waged war on the pastries!" Erik wondered if Rosa had said something to upset her. He didn't want to see her looking glum tonight, or ever if he was honest.
The ugly truth, perhaps? Really it was laughable. No, Rosa was daft, a hopeless romantic and reading far too much into Erik's overwhelmingly possessive aura that he seemed to be projecting. He just didn't want anyone monopolising her in case he might have to be social.
"I'm fine, really, just hungry I suppose. It's been a long time since lunch." She was starving and really thought a glass of something to settle her nerves was in order.
With heaped plates, they found a vacant alcove and sat to eat and watch the spectacle around them. To the right of the main doors, the long windows were open to the night, leading onto a long balcony which overlooked the Grand Canal. Elena, her new husband and what Meg assumed were the rest of their immediate families, sat a short distance away. A small orchestra were tuning their instruments at the opposite end of the room on a raised dais, presumably in readiness for the first dance. She noticed Elena had changed her dress; having worn her mother's for the ceremony and now had a beautiful ivory silk gown with a huge skirt, overlaid with lace. She too was masked; a plumed columbina in white and quite similar to what she herself had worn to the masquerade in the opera house. Her normally straight hair had been teased into curls and piled up at the back of her head, interwoven with orange blossom. She had never looked more like Christine and although Meg thought she looked very beautiful, was secretly concerned it would be a bridge too far for Erik. Had he not already said he had tried to let her go earlier? This would be like a slap in the face.
Erik saw Meg worrying her lip and knew she would be frowning under her mask. He followed the direction of her eyes and knew instantly why. She would no doubt be drawing comparisons with her friend, especially as the bride had curled her hair tonight. He had already seen her, having arrived almost an hour before Meg. While initially and momentarily assaulted with an image of Christine the first time she had taken the stage, he was quite capable of seeing the differences between the two. He wished Meg wouldn't worry so much on his behalf but was also touched by it. No one had ever cared before. Did she think he would have a nervous breakdown? The closest he would come to that would no doubt be induced by the woman sitting on his left, looking more beautiful and tempting that she had any business being. He leaned over and put his hand over the one she was wringing the life out of her napkin with.
"Meg, don't you think if I was going to collapse in a corner over the bride's curls, it would have happened by now? Personally, I think it suits her better straight but you women seem to have a thing about manipulating your hair in strange and wondrous ways."
His hand was huge over hers. As he spoke he was gently prising her fingers from the napkin she had twisted and bunched and tried to bury her nails in, finally succeeding in curling his own fingers under hers. Whatever he was doing with his thumb was delivering strange signals to nerve endings a million miles from the centre of her palm.
"How do you always know what I'm thinking? Are you psychic? It wouldn't surprise me." It fascinated her how some people could read others so well, although she was getting better at figuring out what went through his mind at times. At most others, he was an enigma.
"No, not psychic. And I don't always know but sometime you are quite easy to read; you wear your emotions, others hold them in. It's in the way you move or carry yourself, on your face, in your eyes. It's easy to do if you watch people enough." Unconsciously he drew lazy circles under her hand with his thumb.
Meg wondered, and not for the first time in the past few hours, just how much he did notice. Tonight he was emitting some kind of magnetism that had started the minute he had come down the stairs, before they left for the church and had been growing in strength ever since. Now it was intoxicating and considering she'd only had one glass of wine, she was feeling quite inebriated. Could he know what he was doing to her right now? Had he any idea of what it felt like to sit beside him, what is was like to be in his presence?
"What am I thinking now then?" Boldly she decided to test him and damn the consequences. If by some miracle, he actually guessed how many butterflies had joined the party in her stomach then she could just lie, couldn't she?
Erik felt the almost imperceptible movement of her palm towards his thumb as he removed it momentarily and read the challenge in her eyes. Slowly he smiled, looking directly into her pupils. She was so sure she could fool him but her hand had betrayed her. Again he pulled his thumb back a fraction and waited until he felt her palm press down."Somehow I doubt even you know what you're thinking, but shall I tell you anyway?"
No! Suddenly she wasn't feeling quite so bold and courageous anymore, and judging by the way he was looking at her, was putting the jigsaw together faster than she could jumble the pieces again. How she wished he wouldn't look her directly in the eye like that, his thumb stirring all kinds of madness inside her...oh God!
"Buona sera Signorina Gattina, Signore Gufo! Guess who?" A tiny butterfly burst forth and executed a courtesy before them.
Oh thank God! Bella had come skipping across from her sister's table to see them. She was never so glad to see child. Slowly, to avoid detection Meg slid her hand from under its torturous hiding place and glared pointedly at Erik.
"well it's the Butterfly Queen obviously!" Erik winked at Bella, giving her a smile and pushed his chair back, to let her in to show off her wings and matching mask. Over the little girl's head he narrowed his eyes, forcing Meg to look at him. When she did, with a flush that started somewhere below the lace of her bodice, he curled his mouth into a smirk. You can run but you cannot hide. He could hear the orchestra tuning up again and saw across to where Elena and Vittorio were being toasted liberally to shouts of "Evviva gli sposi", followed by rapturous applause. "You're wings are very pretty; can you fly?"
"No silly! Only real butterflies can fly. I love your mask, did you make it? It makes you look very clever," Bella decreed seriously and crept past the back of Meg's chair and began to stroke the fabric of Erik's coat down along his left arm. "I like your coat too, it's really soft."
It was always a constant battle to remember how many questions Bella had asked him and there was so much happening tonight, she was in her element. "Yes I made it and thank you, I think. It's so soft because it's silk velvet. Who made your wings?" Fascinated, he watched as she manoeuvred herself around his left leg and hopped up, balancing herself with her left hand on the table and her right on his shoulder. He put his arm around her tiny waist, careful not to crush her wings, so she wouldn't fall and that seemed to encourage her closer. She leaned up to the side of his face and began in a whisper, "Mama did. She can make anything but my mask came from the mascherera. Signorina Meg looks really pretty. Did you make her mask too?"
"Very pretty and yes I did. Do you like it? Does it make her look clever?"
"Don't you know anything? Gattinas aren't clever, they're playful and fluffy. I got one for my fifrht birthday and she really liked lying on her back and being tickled but then sometimes she would scratch and bite me." She rubbed her arms vigorously as if remembering the sting.
"Did she really?" Erik's mind was all over the place, several highly inappropriate thoughts swirling around his brain. Then just as deftly as she had climbed onto his lap, Bella slid off again turning her attention to Meg, who had been sitting back watching the crowd.
They were getting louder and more boisterous, presumably from all the toasting and the refilling of all of their glasses that it necessitated. As long as he wasn't expected to join them he would be alright. Being masked along with everyone else made him less conspicuous, so consequently he didn't feel as many eyes on him as usual. Essentially he was anonymous. It was quite a liberating feeling. Only the Pellizzaris and Arturo and his wife knew who he was and Meg was the only one who really knew. It was as far away from the New Year's masquerade as he could imagine. There was more colour, no tension; everyone was enjoying themselves, no one was nervous...well discounting Meg and that was entirely his doing.
Meg had had to turn around and face the ballroom to hide the silly tears that came every time she watched Erik and Bella. For a man so awkward with everyone else, he always seemed so at ease with her; although the little girl possessed an uncanny ability to disarm and charm absolutely everyone. Now she was making a thorough inspection of her bustle, sliding her fingers over the heavy satin, making little comments about how it was just the exact colour of a peacock and did she know that Signore Erik thought she looked very pretty? Did he really? He had her tied in knots this evening, in fact since breakfast. One minute she wanted to weep, the next stamp her foot and then when he looked at her that way and did that thing with his thumb...well she wanted...oh! A loud cheer rang out as Elena and Vittorio took to the floor for their first dance; the orchestra striking up a waltz. Small arms came around her neck and Bella pressed her face close, cupping her hand over her mouth just as she done with Erik. She obviously had something important to tell her.
"I think he looks like a fairytale prince. I really like his mask. Do you think he would dance with me? This is my first grown up party but I'm too small so everyone forgets me and my stupid cousins are all playing hide and seek under the tables but I don't want to dance with them anyway because they're disgusting, always chasing me with creepy insects." She stuck out her lip in a pout and had a positively forlorn look on her face. Meg was undone. The poor thing had obviously developed a huge crush on Erik, not that he would ever believe it and every man for years would fall very short of the hero Bella had in her head. "Why don't you ask him? I'm sure he would be honoured to dance with the Butterfly Queen." Perhaps it was pushing him too far tonight but she thought Bella had the best chance of anyone, as she knew he wouldn't refuse her.
As couples flooded the dancefloor – bautas and columbinas, jesters and Casanovas – Meg sat and watched with a lump in her throat as a seven year old girl put a thirty four year old former Opera Ghost through his paces. No one in Paris would ever have believed it, least of all her mother. With good grace he had taken the little girl's hand and walked with her to the very edge of the floor, away from the more crowded centre, and allowed her to teach him the waltz. She suspected he knew very well how it went, having no doubt spied on enough parties in the Populaire and it didn't take a musical genius to pick up the simple steps. She also suspected it was taking more effort than he was showing to be out there with all those people. He had never been a part of anything before, always on the fringes of society and humanity and it was a daily struggle for him to cope with things that others took for granted, like being in a crowd. However, Bella was chattering away to him the entire time so she thought perhaps that was making it easier for him to keep his insecurities at bay.
From that moment on Meg had been pulled to her feet by a slightly merry Arturo and passed from one masked reveller to the next. Waltzes, polkas, folk dances and country dances kept her moving further into the crowd and further away from Erik. She was supposed to be protecting him from all of this madness, keeping everyone away from him so he wouldn't feel so overwhelmed. He seemed to have been stolen away from his diminutive teacher by first Carmella, then Rosa and goodness knows who else. She couldn't believe he was still out there but every time she caught sight of the regal looking owl he was twirling yet another papier maché faced beauty expertly across the floor and judging by the looks he was getting there was a queue forming. If she didn't know better she would say he was in his element, soaking up the attention.
Currently being led around the floor by Marcello – at least he was someone she recognised – she noticed the hungry eyes of several masked beauties waiting at the edge of the dance floor. Clenching her teeth in irritation she turned her attention back to Marcello who was beaming at her. "Signorina, your Owl Prince is causing quite a stir and consequently so are you. You see them look longingly; patiently waiting their turn but you do not see the daggers shooting from their eyes! They all want to be the Gattina that leaves with Signore Erik."
"What does that mean? Bella said it earlier too."
"Ah, it means kitten, although we also use it as a term of endearment like cucciola mia or tesorina. So you see you are Signorina Gattina tonight and making half of Venice green with envy!"
"Oh. I doubt that somehow but it's nice of you to say so. Do you think we could sit the next dance out, I think I'd like something to drink; it's so incredibly hot in here?"
Erik's tolerance for being part of the human race was waning fast. Once Rosa and Carmella had got their claws into him on the dance floor, he hadn't been allowed to leave it. One after the other, women passed through his hands like horses on a carousel. Well, he wanted to get off now. The roof seemed to be getting lower, the walls nearer and he was dizzy being in such a crush but there was no way to extract himself without making a scene. Not that it had ever stopped him before. He came and went as he pleased but this was not his night. This was not his opera house. Where the hell was Meg when he needed her? All it would have taken was for her to cut in and then he would have been saved. The last time he caught a flash of the back of her head she was with Marcello but now she had disappeared entirely. His current partner curtsied demurely as the dance came to an end, only to be replaced by the bride. Oh god! It was all very well seeing her from a distance but now he would have to dance with her. It was expected. Everyone danced at least once with the bride apparently. Personally he thought it was a ridiculous custom and if he were in Vittorio's place he wouldn't have let anyone else near her for the entire night. She looked so happy, radiant in fact.
"Signore I want to thank you for playing so beautifully. The signorina told me that you never play in public so I know how much of an honour it was. I don't think my mama has ever cried so much!"
"It was my pleasure and may I congratulate you on your marriage. I hope you will be very happy." He was not used to making pleasantries like this but it sounded much like what everyone else had been saying all evening and he supposed it was the appropriate thing to say. He hoped Christine would be happy, even if it was with that idiot with the overly extravagant hair and perfect breeding, since that had been her choice. If anyone could be happy after what he had done, it would be a miracle but Meg Giry was proof that stranger things had happened and that anything was possible. It was entirely her fault he was dancing a waltz, with a bride, at a masquerade in Venice and no one had run for the exits yet. Elena was really nothing like his angel apart from an innate kindness that they both shared. Christine had lost it when she had ripped off his mask but he had seen it from childhood in the way she spoke to the smaller children and fervently hoped she would find it again. It still hurt, would always hurt to think of that betrayal but sometimes desperate people did desperate things. It was the only possible explanation he was comfortable with. He was living proof of it.
I can't believe it! He's dancing with her! Meg had to blink several times lest her eyes were deceiving her but no, Erik was leading Elena – Christine's doppelganger – around the floor. And with a smile on his face. It was the smile that did it. She knew it would be awkward and probably bittersweet but did he have to look like he was enjoying it so much? Was he lost in a dream world, the impossible alternate land where he and his angel lived happily ever after? Would he ever come back? Spotting Federico lounging casually against the buffet table, she made her way across to him purposefully. She knew Erik couldn't abide him anywhere near her and if she wasn't desperate she would never even have considered this. But she was terrified he would do something silly or worse, regress back to the way he was when she had first found him and then all these past months would have been for nothing. She couldn't just sit back and watch him fall into oblivion, while that gaping wound her friend had left wept again, festering and septic.
"Signore Casanova, I don't believe you have claimed your dance yet."
"Signorina my mama would not think it wise and I think your friend, Signore Erik would not like it." His mother had filled him in on the happenings at his sister's party, how the older man had looked positively murderous when he had gotten too close to her, had warned him to keep his distance. He had had no idea and really didn't want to upset anyone, least of all him. His mama would kill him.
"Oh nonsense, he's far too busy dancing with your sister to notice. I insist." She was banking on the fact that he would notice. She hated mind games but it might be the only thing that would jolt him out of his current state of inebriation. She also hated the nasty, gnawing feeling that persisted as she watched Erik with Elena. She hadn't felt it quite as much when he had danced with all the others. That had just been irritation but this was violent. She wanted to rip the poor girl out of his arms and slap him. She wanted to stamp her feet and...but that could only mean one thing. She was jealous, bitterly and ferociously jealous. She wanted to be where Elena was, she wanted to dance with him and have him smile down at her. It almost looked like avoidance that she was practically the only woman he hadn't danced with so far.
Erik spotted Meg immediately. She had appeared out of nowhere on the arm of the rat. What was she doing with him! Involuntarily, his entire body tensed and he tried to keep it from his hands lest he crush Elena's fingers. As he spun her round and round he craned his neck like a hawk, tracking the rat's progress at every turn. She was laughing far too much, enjoying it far too much. Suddenly she looked directly at him, burning him with eyes full of fire. She was glaring at him! What had he done to deserve that? She was the one dancing with that gondola poling imbecile. Casanova indeed! He held her eyes, softening his in an attempt to break whatever silent argument she was having with him. Slowly the determined set of her mouth slipped, the corners turning down and he could see she was biting down on her lip; her eyes glistening with unshed tears. What's wrong Gattina? No sooner had he thought it than she had torn herself out of Federico's grasp and fled, heading in the direction of the open windows that led to the balcony. He couldn't leave Elena standing until the music finished, but he could still see Meg. She wouldn't get very far.
Gulping lungfuls of air, Meg stood, both hands gripping the stone balustrade and stared unseeing into the Grand Canal below. Why does it hurt? Why can't I make it stop? Her stomach was in intricate knots, her chest ached and her hands were shaking uncontrollably. The only way to stop it was to grip harder to the railing. All day and night he had been turning her over, stirring her insides and making her want things she definitely shouldn't. For weeks this madness had been waging a war inside her and for the same length she had been fighting it. He was her friend; she was supposed to be helping him. Now, everything was all over the place and upside down. She was falling where she shouldn't, aching where she shouldn't and it all boiled down to wanting what she couldn't have. What she wanted belonged to someone else, to the same someone who had gotten everything else; her mother's affection, the beauty, the spotlight that was never hers and the undivided attention of one Phantom. It killed her to hate her friend but right now she did.
She was rigid, bent over the railing, staring out at nothing and everything. The place was empty, everyone having flooded back inside for some popular local tune that had them all clamouring for space on the floor. It was still warm, balmy even from the earlier sunshine and a faint breeze wafted up from the water below so perhaps that's what caused her to shiver. Erik could pick out the tiny goose bumps across the back of her shoulders and neck. Such a beautiful neck, like a swan. He could see the faint shadows cast by her vertebrae and counted one, two, three, and four before they disappeared below her bodice. His fingers itched to trace them all the way down.
"Meg, are you alright?"
She spun round and faced him, wet streaks falling below her mask to bead precariously at the edge of her jaw. Unconsciously she swiped them away. "You've been busy. Every woman in Venice has apparently had the privilege of a dance with the great Owl Prince, including the bride." Stupid, stupid Meg! She hadn't meant for it all to come out like that, sounding like a spoilt child. She hadn't danced with him either. She could have cut in but she hadn't, had wanted him to ask her.
Unbelievable! She was green with envy and something else he was afraid to categorise but it had obviously upset her. "Everyone has to dance with the bride, Meg. It's custom apparently and I could have done without half of Venice dragging me round the floor for the past few hours. I couldn't breathe. Somehow I think Rosa and her cousin had a hand in that. But there's one woman in Venice I didn't get the privilege of dancing with." Holding his hand out in a combination of apology and invitation, he hoped she wouldn't turn and run again.
Slowly she inched her left hand across the void between them, tears and frustration forgotten and let him catch it in his right, pulling her towards him. "I don't want to go back inside, there are too many people and it's far too stuffy." He had moved it onto his shoulder, wrapped his arm around her and she felt his fingers burn into her back. She gave up her other hand and he folded it in his much larger one, pulling her closer so they were almost touching.
"We can stay out here, there's no one else."
"They're playing a polka. There's not enough room for it and I'm not very good." Stop thinking about his hand on your back, stop wanting him to pull you closer. Stop, Stop...
"Ssh...ignore them. We don't need the orchestra, just follow me." He led her in a slow waltz, playing the music in his head, revelling in the feel of her in his arms. She had begun to relax, the tension gradually seeping away from her fingers until they softened in his hand and at his shoulder. His eyes travelled over the top of her head and he inhaled the scent of her mixed with that rose oil that tortured him so much. He noticed a tiny mark, a beauty spot on her right shoulder, just peeking out from underneath her bodice. He was having difficulty enough keeping his eyes away from everything below her neck without the urge to go searching for more of them. And the roses...
"What are you looking at? Have I spilled something on my dress?" Every time his eyes fell on her skin she could feel it like the rays of the sun when it came out from behind a cloud.
"You have a beauty spot on your shoulder. I was just wondering if you had more?" Oh you idiot! Couldn't you have just said you were admiring her dress?
"It's a mole actually and I've got several. One on the back of my knee, one tiny one between my second and third toe on my right foot, one under my arm – see – and a birthmark." She twisted her arm so he could observe the rather unspectacular mole above her elbow, normally hidden under her everyday clothes. She knew she was chattering but she couldn't seem to stop. He wouldn't want to know this stupid nonsense she couldn't seem to stop it coming out of her mouth. It was just that she couldn't think properly anymore. Her entire world had shrunk to the circle of his arms and she wanted to curl up inside his coat and never come out.
"Where is it Meg, or is that a secret?"
Meg coloured and dropped her chin to her chest, unwilling to meet his eyes. No one knew of it apart from her mother, not even Christine. And no one would ever see it, well except if she married she supposed. Then someone would eventually find it. "Yes it's a secret and no, I'm not telling you."
"It must be somewhere very interesting, to make you blush?" His mind was racing with possibilities. All of a sudden it was the most important piece of information in the world. He was desperate to know and secretly, equally desperate to see it for himself. It was too much, that rose oil she always wore and her own unique scent, so much soft skin beneath his eyes. She was bewitching.
"Like I said, it's a secret. Please don't ask me again." Mortified that he might actually guess, she tried to change the subject entirely. "Bella was your first dance ever wasn't she, though I suppose there's bound to be lots of firsts, isn't there?" She doubted the little girl would ever forget it. She wouldn't forget this either, her first dance with the Phantom.
He could think of quite a few."Yes actually, but I've saved the best for last." It reminded him of what Marcello had said to him at Bella's party, how it wasn't the first but the last that was important. Now he knew it was true.
Meg noticed vaguely that the music from inside had stopped but they were still moving, swaying gently like tall grasses in a breeze. Their bodies now touched almost completely from shoulder to toe and she felt his thighs move gently against hers as they moved in a slow circle, no longer paying any heed to the steps, moving to music neither could hear but both could feel. The heat from his skin, just above his collar permeated every one of her pores and his scent tickled her nose, sandalwood and something that was his alone. It was intoxicating. Her head felt heavy and all she wanted to do was let it fall on his shoulder. She knew it would fit, all the rest of him seemed to mould perfectly against her; no hard edges and no unnecessary spaces. She tried to focus on the snowy cravat tied at his throat to avoid his eyes, so didn't notice that he had moved until she felt his forehead touch hers, her mask pressing against her skin. He gathered her closer still, his hand at her back moving up to meet the exposed skin just above her shoulder blades, his fingers splaying across her back, sending shivers along her neck. She curled her fingers into his shoulder and felt him draw her other hand into his chest. She had only ever been this close to him once before, in the dome. Dare she look up?
Erik couldn't stand much more of it. This was where he should have been all night, instead of being party to Rosa's scheming. He had felt trapped by one woman after the next, unable to escape; too many people and none who knew him, none who understood. And all the while he should have been out here, in the air, with Meg. He bent his head and rested his forehead against hers and pulled her closer, desperate to feel every inch of her. Look at me.
Oh no! As her eyes met his, she knew she'd made a mistake. Her knees wouldn't hold her if he didn't stop looking at her like that, like on the stairs, like he wanted her, like he wanted to...
"Gattina..."
It was barely a whisper and the last thing she heard before life as she knew it changed forever. She tried desperately to keep her eyes open but they wouldn't obey; her eyelids fell and she slipped into the darkness. Light exploded behind her closed lids as she felt Erik's lips touch hers, so soft and sensual. That beautifully provocative mouth that had fascinated and taunted her for weeks, months was requesting permission gently, but persuasively of hers and she was powerless to deny him. Please don't stop! He released her hand only to capture her neck and she felt his long fingers beneath her ear, that masterful thumb tracing across her jaw.
My beautiful Meg...Erik felt as if he had truly died and gone to that paradise he had only ever dreamt existed. Her skin was softer and smoother than the silk of her gown, than polished ivory and he felt her pulse jump beneath his fingertips. That first touch of her lips, soft and tender beneath his left him reeling, swimming in sensations that sent delicious messages of intent to every nerve. He wanted more. Both of her hands had twined around his neck, pulling him to her. God he wanted her! He heard a soft moan trying to escape, low in her throat, just as he ran his thumb across her chin. Swallowing it at it reached her mouth, he crushed her against him, intoxicated by the feel of her breasts pushed up against his chest and took everything she offered him, his tongue boldly seducing hers out to play.
A/N Sorry, I know it's a really evil place to chop this but what can I say I'M EVIL - See my smirk!