Author's Note: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera.

49

The bride and the bridesmaids easily drew the most attention at the reception, Carlotta with her bright blue dress and dramatic red hair and aura of total bliss, the Italian cousins with their wide eyed beauty and beautiful white dresses, and Kayla, as the only non-Italian, and therefore the only blonde, in the wedding party. Which was really quite a detriment, since it seemed to draw Raoul's attention like moth to flame, and she couldn't exactly hide. Carlotta had intended that her bridesmaids would be just as pretty, though not as gaudy, as herself, and at least she could immerse herself in the crowd of the wedding party, out of earshot of the Vicomte. The bridesmaids were like white petals surrounding the bright blue flower that was Carlotta. Kayla tugged at her tapered ivory sleeves, the skirt swishing around her ankles. Her shoulders were completely exposed, and the neckline was fairly low; though it was the most modest, period accurate dress she had yet worn, Kayla had never felt more vulnerable. Whether it was because of the Vicomte's predatory stare or the presence of the stain-worthy glasses of wine was a moot point.

"You look so beautiful in your leetle white dress… like a leetle eengleesh Madonna."

"If the Vicomte tries cornering me one more time, this little English Madonna is going to go full Lucifer."

Carlotta chortled and took another swig of champagne, smacking her lips. "What is a woman without a leetle of the devil in 'er, no?" Kayla chuckled, clinking her glass against the diva's as Allegra proposed yet another toast. She had had three glasses already; she was more than a little lightheaded, but she could feel her confidence and poise improving – that would be useful if she had to deal with Raoul. Screw it. She drained her flute and swapped it for another from a passing waiter.

"Dere we go, leetle Abbots!" Delfina cheered, slinging her arm around Kayla's shoulders. "Our leetle proper manager es loosening up!"

"Loosening up? Del, I'm wound up tighter than a cannonball!" Another swig of champagne.

"Dat is what 'appens from 'aving to deal with da Vicomte ev'ry day," Carlotta mock whispered as she squeezed through the circle of girls to where her brand new husband was waiting. They all immediately burst into laughter.

"May I inquire as to what is so amusing, ladies?"

"Ah! Parla del diavolo, eccolo." Allegra winked at Kayla.

All the bridesmaids erupted into giggles. Kayla did not understand the full sentence, and knew better than to ask for a translation, but she caught a couple of words. The tone was perfectly clear.

"Naw, not really. Unless you speak Italian. Skrämde mig, du piccolo puttana." Though her companions did not understand the Swedish, they understood the Italian portion perfectly.

"You truly are talented, aren't you mademoiselle? I had no idea you spoke Italian. Would one of you beautiful women care to translate?"

"She says dat she thinks your coat woold look perfecto on 'er; it es perfectly fitted for a feminine form, after all."

Raoul imperceptibly bristled at Delfina's incorrect yet beautifully insulting translation. However, he brushed it off with a charismatic grin. "I was hoping I could borrow your beautiful companion for a…"

"Kayla, darling! There you are, I've been looking all over for you!" Enrico swept up from behind, planting a friendly kiss on the top of Kayla's head. To say Raoul was visibly irate was an understatement. "Ah, the Vicomte! A pleasure!" Enrico bowed gracefully, his arms sweeping out to the side in an elaborate fashion. "Please excuse us, we were going to join the dance. I'm sure such an influential man as you would have no problem at all finding a partner; there are scores of molto belle French girls at this reception." Kayla smiled at the seamless switch from French to Italian, his accent perfect in both languages; he was clearly educated. As educated as a nobleman. Raoul raised his chin defiantly.

"Pray pardon, but I have already secured Mademoiselle Abbot's hand for this dance."

Kayla cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. "I dunno if you're at the same party I am, 'cause there isn't a single universe in which I would've said yes to a dance with you."

Raoul ignored her. Again.

"Well la signorina appears to object, signore. The lady told me that she would like me to dance with her for the entire evening."

"It would be highly ill advised to reject a proposal to dance with a member of the Parisian aristocracy. Etiquette must not be ignored."

Draining her new full glass again, Kayla handed the empty flute to Allegra and stepped forward, poking Raoul in the chest with her index finger, hard. "I already refused one of those. Proposals, that is. Remember that, de Chagny?"

Raoul grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, their faces inches apart. "That too was ill-advised, Kayla." His voice was deceptively sweet.

"Ehi! La signorina ha detto di no!" Enrico stepped up and shoved Raoul back. "Are you a gentleman or no?!"

Stumbling back, Raoul's head snapped up, blue eyes sparking. "How dare you?"

"I dare when a noble man has so little nobility as to lay a hand on a lady who does not wish it!" Anger thickening his accent, with his hands curled into fists, Enrico's fiery Italian nature rose to the surface.

"You have no right to –"

"The lady said no, signor!"

Delfina gasped. The rest of the bridesmaids had their hands over their mouths, eyes wide in disbelief.

"This is ridiculous… Kayla, come and dance with me!" Raoul grabbed Kayla's arm. Instinct took over, and before she even knew what had happened, she had punched him in the face.

"I said no, bitch."

"Mio dio!" Allegra swore, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her cheeks. The rest of the bridesmaids applauded.

"Kayla, you are obviously not in your right mind. I'll take you outside, get some fresh air," Raoul said thickly, hand over his bleeding nose.

"The lady said no!"

Before anyone had even processed the snarl, Enrico leapt at the Vicomte, fists outstretched. The two men hit the floor, skidding over the marble tile, guests gasping and champagne glasses shattering as the fighters slid into the crowd.

Kayla stared after the combatants with a half-smile. "Okay, well, that's that," she slurred. "Come on, ladies, let's go do shots."

Kayla and the other bridesmaids sequestered themselves in the music room, the chatter and melodies from the reception floating down the halls of the Giudicelli mansion. Under the influence of numerous shots of some variety of delicious Italian liqueur, she had related the entire tale of Raoul's various pursuits. All of the bridesmaids were properly sympathetic, disgusted, and amused. "Poor leetle Daäe," Allegra sighed. "She deserves better dan dat awful man."

"I know right? Fricking vicomtes, man. Like, does the French aristocracy have nothing to do but chase after new girls?"

Cackling filled the room.

The door creaked open, and Enrico swaggered into the dimly lit room. "Ay keeled da leetle bastard," he croaked, his Italian accent far more pronounced than normal.

Kayla felt slightly alarmed. "I hope not, his fiancé ain't gonna be pleased with me if so."

"I did not kill 'im, just showed 'im 'is place." Enrico grinned at her, revealing blood on his teeth.

"Oh my god! What the hell did you do?"

"I might have bitten him." His voice began to return to its normal cadence.

Allegra shuddered. "You should go and wash your mouth out with soap, Enrico. Dat man es disgusting."

As he stepped further into the light, the extent of the Italian's injuries became more apparent. "Don't worry, he looks worse," he bluffed, answering the unspoken questions on the women's shocked faces. He had two black eyes, a long slice on his cheek, a bleeding nose, and crimson streaks on his temple.

"Oh, my hell, Enrico, you didn't need to do that," Kayla protested, stumbling as she pulled herself off the couch and dragged over the piano bench for the young man to sit on.

"It was my honour to defend such a beautiful lady." He winked, and Kayla blushed. "Technically I'm not supposed to be in the house, for appearance's sakes… the Vicomte was thrown out for his behaviour, and so was I, but the back door was open, and this is my cousin's house, the rules don't apply to me."

"I don't think that's the greatest philosophy, to be honest."

"Perhaps not. But the fop is gone, and the managers left with him, so Carlotta and Piangi can enjoy their reception in peace from those annoyances. Really, I did them a favour."

"Do you need a drink? We've got some of… this stuff, not sure what it is, but it's delish…"

"Of course, mademoiselle. I could always use a drink among such lovely company."

Hours later, Kayla checked her pocket watch and decided that the time had come to bow out. "It was lovely hanging with you peeps, but I better go. Rehearsals tomorrow, and all that. Y'all had better not come, the show's gonna be a disaster, trust me on that."

Allegra shrugged. "We are all going back to Italy anyway, we trust your senses. You 'ad better write, you silly girl!"

Hugs were exchanged all around, papers thrust into her hands containing addresses to which she would probably never write. A sense of finality settled over her. Turning to Enrico, she threw her arms around his neck. "I'm'a miss you, Enrico. It was… totally awesome."

His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his chin resting on the top of her blonde head. "You could come with me, you know. To Italy. It would be a good way to escape the fop."

"I can't. I'd love to, but I can't. I've got friends counting on me to get this opera done. I can't let them down. But I'd love to."

He sighed. "It was worth a try. You could always come and visit after the opera is over."

"I wish. I'm… I'm supposed to be going back to Canada after this is all over." The lie stabbed through her stomach; she felt guilty, lying to him. But it was better than telling him the truth. Shaking off the feeling, Kayla laughed. "You go to Italy, find yourself a beautiful girl, get married, and have a shit-ton of adorable babies. Live your life, bae."

Enrico smiled against her hair. "And you live yours, Kayla. Write if you can."

"I will."

She knew she wouldn't.

When she re-emerged from the music room and ventured back into the main hall, she said her congratulations and goodbyes. Carlotta seemed very amused by Kayla's inebriation, and sent her off in one of the Giudicelli carriages.

It was very kind of the diva, Kayla reflected dizzily as she unlocked the stage door of the Populaire and slipped inside, waving goodbye to the driver. Locking the door behind her, she stumbled into the opera house, giggling to herself.

No matter how sad she was about the coming end, the image of Enrico and Raoul sliding across the marble floor like pissed off penguins would keep her laughing for days.

Erik stared at the organ keys, his hands resting, unmoving, on his lap. His masterpiece was finished, his score safe and sound in the maestro's office, the script and stage directions locked away in Antoinette's, and his set book was with his little magician. It was paradoxically soothing and anxiety inducing. He felt a strange lack of control over his own creation.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on stone, and Mademoiselle Abbots – Kayla, rather; he had yet to adapt to her wish to be referred to by her first name – swept carelessly into the lair. Her gait was slow, her body swaying back and forth as if navigating the deck of a ship.

"Kayla? Are you all right?"

She giggled. "I'm just fabulous, darling. Where's that whiskey you wouldn't let me finish last week? I need a drink."

Erik carefully avoided even a glance in the direction of the trunk in which he had hidden the liquor after Kayla's last attempt at a "drinking contest". "It looks like you've had quite enough."

The stage manager shrugged. "Probably." She plopped into the chair by the designated art desk, slouching down until she could rest her head on the chair back. "I'm soooooo tireeedddd…"

"Why have you not returned to the dormitory then?"

"Because I had something I really wanted to tell you… oh, yes! I wanted to say I'm really happy you decided you aren't gonna kill Piangi, because they make a ridiculously adorable couple. Their wedding was today, and it was so bloody cute, you should've been there…"

He noticed abruptly that it was Kayla who was dressed like a bride, draped in white silk and lace, long folds of skirt swishing over the stone.

"… and it was fricking awesome and the food was great and her cousins are the freaking bomb and everything was awesome except for when Enrico fought Raoul… no, that was awesome too, never mind…"

"The cousin from Carlotta's parties whom you babbled on and on about? He fought the fop?"

"And got the bastard kicked outta the reception, hell yeah he did! But I got to punch Raoul first, so that was awesome…"

"Kayla…"

The girl was not paying attention, fingers tugging at her braid as she started singing to herself. He didn't recognize the tune, but he caught a number of the words.

"Hazel eyes, I was so color blind

We were just wasting time

For my whole life

We never crossed the line

Only friends in my mind

But now I realized

It was always you..."

"Kayla!"

"Huh? Oh, and I'm so sorry that Raoul freaking hates you, like, he's never even met you and he's just such a prick, and I'm going to knee him in the nuts next time I see 'im…"

She was slurring her words and stumbling over phrases; it was blatantly obvious that she had had far too much to drink. With a flare of shock, he noticed her dark blue eyes tearing up.

"Kayla, what…"

Before he could get the rest of his inquiry out, she started bawling.

"I-I-I don't kn-kn-know what's gon-gonna ha-happen and it's just so sad and oh hell…" Her words were garbled and twisted with sobs.

Against every instinct in his mind that was telling him that he was better off alone, Erik dragged a chair over to his little magician and sat down next to her. "Kayla, breathe. What are you going on about?"

"Ugh, I'm gonna disappear off of-of th-th-the bloody planet and I-I don't kn-kn-know where I'm gonna g-go or where y-you're gonna go and I just want to kn-kn-know what happens after the – shit, spoilers – I ju-just w-want you t-to b-be happy and – holy shit, this is just too meta, what am I gonna doooo…"

He could not understand a word she was saying. At any rate, drunk Kayla certainly seemed to have a lot of emotions. So he did the only thing he could; sat next to her, listened to her sob and rant and stutter, and steadfastly refused to get her a drink.

"I'm-I'm t-too sober for this!" Kayla wailed.

"If you were in possession of stronger self-control, we would not be having this problem. I am taking the role of your self-control this evening."

"Oh whyyy, meta, meta, meta…"

"Kayla."

"…meta, meta, meta…."

"Kayla, you need to calm down. It is four 'o'clock in the morning. You have rehearsals at ten 'o'clock. You need rest."

Kayla sniffled. "I'm really drunk, aren't I?"

"Yes. Yes you are."

"I don't remember the way to the dorm."

"Of course you don't."

Erik half-supported, half-carried his intoxicated little magician through the tunnels to the dormitory. The rest of the ballerinas, exhausted from a hard day of rehearsals, did not even stir when the mirror slid open. Sliding around the cots, he set Kayla down in her own bed. Without even a warning movement, Kayla sat up and slung her arms around his neck. He barely avoided violently jerking backwards. "Thanks… sorry you had to see that… I'm'a regret this tomorrow…" She patted the top of his head, drew back, and curled up, head buried in her pillow.

Erik stood in silent shock for a moment before he regained his senses and glided back through the mirror. She was drunk. It was her way. The sudden physical affection did not mean anything.

All that mattered was Christine.

At least that was what he told himself.

Author's Note: Hey! Sudden resurgence in creativity, and this chapter is, as promised, longer. I recently got informed of a fanfiction novel contest on Inkkit, and as I'd really like to enter, I'm going to be writing like crazy to try to make the deadline. Which means that updates might be faster. Emphasis on might.

As far as translations go, here they are:

Ah! Parla del diavolo, eccolo - Ah! Speak of the devil, here he is. (Italian)

Skrämde mig, du piccolo puttana - Screw you, you little bitch.

molto belle - Very beautiful

Ehi! La signorina ha detto di no! - Hey! The lady said no!

Thanks so much to everyone who's read, followed, favourited, etc, and to Anonymous, Liandra2428, and Guest for their - wait for it - guest reviews.

On a completely different note, I'm thinking of writing a longer fic about muggleborns at Hogwarts who want to do sports besides Quidditch... any interest? Let me know!

I love you all, thanks for your support.

Hugs,

Tierney