Author's Note: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera.
48
"Abbots."
Kayla shifted under the covers, screwing her eyes shut and ignoring the voice.
"Abbots."
Letting a squeak of annoyance slip out, she nuzzled her head further into her pillow.
"Abbots."
"Nein."
"Abbots."
"Nein."
The quilt was ripped unceremoniously from over her face, and with a squeal of pure rage, Kayla opened her eyes and squinted against the pale light.
And was immediately met with the sight of Carlotta's brown eyes hovering inches from her own.
"I'm getting married today," the diva whispered.
Kayla grabbed her pillow and slammed it over her face. "Carlotta, give me a minute. I'm not quite sure who I am currently."
"Identity crisis?"
"No, I'm still asleep, you idiot."
A muffled thump and a dull ache alerted Kayla to the cushion Carlotta slammed against her stomach. "No time for sleeping or identity crisis! I'm getting married today, Abbots! Up, up, up!" The pillow yanked from Kayla's face was immediately whipped against the top of her head.
"Du smyga! Vad i Guds namn tror du att du gör din idiot! Vad fan?!"
"You will 'ave to try dat in italiano if you want me to understand."
"Vi maledicono."
Carlotta laughed. "No curses can hurt me today! I'm getting married, Abbots!"
"So you've said." The stage manager slowly sat up, rubbing the back of her head. What day was it? Was it the second week of March already? The days, full of rehearsals, building, sewing, and semi-regular meetings with Erik had served to blend the days together until she could tell none of them apart. Except, of course, for the days when she was alerted to Raoul's presence in the opera house, during which she retreated exclusively into the lair. Those days usually ended in some sort of drinking contest with the Opera Ghost… at least, Kayla treated them as one. Erik was generally reserved in his alcohol consumption.
What had happened last night? She was at Carlotta's, so obviously there was some sort of revelry. A quick glance around the room showed a number of slept-in cots, so probably the cousins were here? She vaguely remembered dancing on a table.
"You really let yourself go last night, didn't you, my leetle puttana?" Carlotta crowed, punching her shoulder good naturedly.
Oh. Right. The 1870's version of a bachelorette party. "Please, please, Carlotta, tell me I didn't completely embarrass myself or my departments."
"It was just us girls! And you didn't do anything untoward, you just started telling da most fantastic stories. Something about a girl and a restaurant and a leetle slimy creature. And you did some sort of jig on da table."
"Excellent. If you could just smother me with that pillow there, Giudicelli, that'd be awesome."
"Den we woold be one girl short!" Allegra's Italian accent seemed even smoother than usual as she swanned into the room, followed by the remainder of Carlotta's female cousins. "We need all da bridesmaids to be perfect!"
"Which is why you have to get up now. We 'ave a bride to prepare!" Delfina cheered, clapping her hands together.
Kayla was immediately put in charge of makeup, no questions asked, while the rest of the cousins worked around her, painting lacquer onto her nails, curling her bright red hair, holding up different pieces of jewellery for the diva to inspect. They kept up a continuous stream of conversation, sometimes in what Kayla always heard as English, sometimes in fluent Italian, but their tones were so expressive and their laughter so contagious that it did not matter either way. As she smoothed blush over Carlotta's cheeks, Kayla marveled at how fast the weeks had gone by. Rehearsals had progressed with feverish, stressful perfection. The set was built, costumes fitted and completed, orchestra undergoing strenuous rehearsals under the unseen eye of the composer, and lyrics memorized with almost religious zeal. Firmin and Andre had stayed well out of the way, as had been requested, though the same could not be said for the patron. Despite Raoul's continuous interference, the opera was to premiere in a fortnight, and Erik, continuously monitoring his work through the column in Box 5, had deemed the opera almost ready to perform. Emphasis on almost.
A hand slapped her wrist, and Kayla almost dropped the brush as she jolted back out of her thoughts. "Ai, ai, ai, what is da most important thing 'ere? Me! None of dis daydreaming!" The lead soprano's voice was teasing, despite the harsh words.
"Bloody hell, Giudicelli, self-centered much?" Kayla returned in a mock-snarl, tapping the soft brush against Carlotta's elegant nose. "I mean, for heaven's sakes, what are doing, getting married or something?" Much to Kayla's satisfaction, the cousins burst into laughter instantly.
Carlotta's dress was not white.
Instead, it was blue, in shades as varied as the clear sky outside the window. The underskirt was velvet, hemmed with a thick stripe of darker silk. Layered over top was an incredibly intricate overskirt of snowy lace, rings upon rings of which looped around the short sleeves as well. A cerulean sash was knotted around her waist. The sleeves hung off her shoulders, the neckline cutting a considerable distance down her chest before looping back up to her arm again. Against her red hair, the fabric shone. In short, she would be the only thing anyone's eyes were on today.
"Dude. You're about to make vows of commitment, you sure you want that much cleavage out there?"
Carlotta smacked Kayla's shoulder with her fan. "It is my wedding, everybody is going to be looking at me!"
"Is this because Piangi's seen it all anyway?"
Allegra swore in Italian, dropping the ribbon she was supposed to be tying into Carlotta's red braids and taking a few steps away, hands over her face. Delfina shrieked and hurled a hairbrush against the wall. The others had similar reactions, jolting back in mock horror before melting into laughter again. Carlotta was as close to blushing as Kayla had ever seen her.
"You're regretting ever associating with me, aren't you?"
"At da moment, yes, Abbots. Yes I am."
Sighing dramatically, Kayla grabbed the tin of kohl and began applying wing-tipped eyeliner. "But think about all the makeup opportunities you have to take advantage of now!"
"Dat is da only reason you're still here."
"Of course."
They stared at each other for a disproportionately long time before Carlotta's embarrassed face cracked and she grinned up at her blonde friend. "You are un ragazza stupida, no?"
"Thank you. I try."
"Okay, okay, so we just walk down the aisle?"
"Si, si, in front of Carlotta."
"I've never done this before. I don't walk down aisles. I don't think I've ever actually been to a wedding, let alone been in the party."
"It is all right, it is… how you say? Molto facile."
"Very easy?"
"Si, si."
"If it's not as easy as you say, Allegra, I'm haunting you from beyond the grave."
The beautiful Italian tossed her head. "I shall welcome your company, leetle Abbots."
Kayla hefted the bouquet of red roses – she'd be happy if she never saw the flower again, to be honest – in her lace-gloved hands, the stems strangely cold against her skin. "Your flippancy in regards to my threats is both infuriating and entertaining, I applaud you."
"I woold not let Carlotta 'ear dat, Abbots. Dis is 'er special day, after all. Save da compliments for da bride."
"If you insist."
Carlotta was so stunning that Kayla would have been almost jealous if it had not been for the subtle little gold glimmer of happiness in the diva's brown eyes. Holding a bouquet of yellow roses, the soprano practically glided after the procession of bridesmaids, as confident as a queen in court. Her pale neck looped with pearls, her crimson hair braided intricately with white roses and blue ribbon, she was the perfect picture of period elegance. Where had this been in the movie?
It must have been an unplanned happy ending.
The ceremony was mostly in French, for the benefit of the scores of fans and friends in the congregation. The Vicomte and the managers were seated in the front row, next to Carlotta and Piangi's parents, who – having greeted Kayla and the rest of the bridesmaids fluently in French-slash-what Kayla heard as English before waddling to their seats – were apparently pretending to speak nothing but Italian. Raoul looked extremely put out with the whole situation. Carlotta and Piangi said their vows in musical-sounding Italian, both perfectly composed and both grinning widely. The bridesmaids stood on one side of the altar, with a perfect view of the couple and the – mostly – handsome Italian groomsmen. To her shock, Kayla saw Enrico waving subtly at her, dark eyes flashing with delight. Built in protection from Raoul at the reception. Perfect.
After what seemed like an eternity of speeches and vows, the newly married opera stars waltzed back up the aisle to thunderous applause. The bridesmaids and groomsmen paired up and followed. "You look beautiful, signorina." Enrico's gaze was warm and soothing, very unlike the men she had been exposed to more recently.
"You look quite dashing yourself!"
"I am very glad you're pleased to see me."
"Hell right I am. You would not believe the three months I've had."
"Not excellent company? Shame…"
"Enough about that, free up your card or whatever you use to pick partners, you're dancing with me."
"I thought you would never ask."
Author's Note: Well, that was a short one my friends! I've been pressed for time, what with papers and research and all the joyous terrors that plague English majors on a daily basis. Next one will be longer, promise.
Now for all of you wondering about translations, I've included them here:
Du smyga! Vad i Guds namn tror du att du gör din idiot! Vad fan?! - You bastard! What in the name of god do you think you're doing you idiot (Swedish)
Vi maledicono - Curse you. (Italian)
un ragazza stupida - a silly girl
Thanks to everyone who read, favourited, followed, reviewed, etc, and to Liandra2428, Guest, Anonymous, Guest, and Guest for their (wait for it) guest reviews. So sorry again about the itty bitty chapter, the next ones will be longer as we get closer to Don Juan.
Hugs to you all!
Tierney