Mia stared at Erik, her eyes wide. "Oh, Erik," she whispered. Her heart pounded in her chest as her reply got stuck in her throat. No matter how hard she tried, it wouldn't come out. Finally she cried out in frustration. "I want to tell you Erik, I want to tell you so badly, but I can't! I'm trying to but there's something inside me that won't me say it."
"It's okay," Erik cooed. "You don't have to say it now if you're not ready."
"But you don't understand!" Mia protested. There was nothing more than she wanted than to tell Erik that she loved him, but there was something that was physically not allowing her to. "I don't know why I can't say it, but I can't! It's her, I'm certain of it! It's Amelia's fault!"
He ran his fingers down her cheek. "Just calm down Mia. Everything will be alright. I'm not asking anything from you."
She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I don't understand you Erik, don't understand us. How could you have done all the things you did to Christine, to Raoul, and be so kind to me? You claim to love me and yet you've hurt so many people. And yet I can't stay away from you. There's something about you that just draws me closer to you. I feel everything I'm not supposed to feel around you. I feel safe with you; I feel protected. I feel loved."
Erik leaned in closer so that their lips were a hair's breadth apart. "You should feel that all the time," he whispered before closing the gap between them.
"Where is she?" Gaston shouted as he paced back and forth in his study "It's been three days! She can't stay away forever!"
"Perhaps Monsieur," Martin, his head of the household said, interrupting his rant. "She went to go stay with a friend or her brother."
"Has Hazel said anything about where Amelia went?" Gaston demanded.
"No Monsieur, not a word."
"Of course not." Gaston pulled out a crystal decanter and poured himself a generous glass of brandy, downed it quickly, and hurled the glass against the wall, shattering it. "Of. Course. Not."
"Monsieur?"
"But I suppose you wouldn't tell me even if you did know. Or if she knew."
"I don't understand. Are you accusing me of something Monsieur?"
"No," he replied. "At least for now I'm not. As soon as there's any word on my wife, I want to hear it do you understand?"
"Perfectly Monsieur. Is there anything else you require or may I resume my normal duties?"
"Send someone to clean up that mess," he ordered, gesturing to the shattered glass. "Other than that, get out." Martin nodded respectfully before retreating from the room. Gaston sat in his chair, put his feet on his desk, grabbed another glass, poured himself some more brandy, and knocked it back with ease. "Goddammit, I knew I shouldn't have married her," he muttered to himself as he poured himself a third.
"Gaston!" his mother hissed, slapping his arm lightly to draw his attention away from his friends. "Do you see that young woman over there?" she asked, gesturing to a young blonde woman across the room.
He was about to turn back to his conversation, but when he gave her another glance, he realized that she was beautiful. "What about her?" he asked, suddenly interested.
"Do you know who she is?"
"Should I?"
"Her name is Amelia de Chagny."
"The Comte de Chagny's daughter?"
His mother nodded. "The very same. Well, actually I believe sister now. Her father died last fall and the title belongs to her elder brother Philippe now. And I've also heard that she's just come of age and that her mother is looking for a husband for her."
"Let me guess," he said sarcastically. "You want me to go over, talk to her, ask her to dance, woo her, and marry her."
"Not all tonight, but eventually yes. Gaston, can you imagine what that would do for our family? Your father spent his life bringing our family up and building the business, a business you'll take over when you turn twenty-one in a few months I might add. A marriage between you and the sister of a Comte would solidify our family's position amongst the aristocracy for good."
"Alright fine," Gaston sighed. "I'll play your little game. But remember, these nobility types rarely marry bourgeois. I'm sure they'd refuse to even consider me. Besides, I haven't even met the girl."
"Money is a powerful talker," his mother reminded him. "And I'll introduce you." She grabbed his arm and led him to the girl and the older woman she was with, presumably her own mother. "Hello Colette," she said warmly to the other mother.
"Lorraine, how are you?" she replied with a smile. "How's your husband? Last I heard he was off in Spain. What on earth is he doing all the way out there?"
As the two woman began to exchange meaningless chatter, Gaston studied the girl. She stood silently beside her mother, her posture perfect, her dress was extremely complementary to her figure while still maintaining the modesty needed for a young, unwed woman. Her eyes were downcast towards the floor, refusing to even look at him for more than a quick glance. She seemed quiet, demure, perfect, like a porcelain doll. He didn't like it. He wanted her writhing beneath him, screaming his name like the wicked little temptress he knew she was. He had heard the whispers. All of Paris had. Amelia de Chagny, the wildcat whom not even the best boarding schools in the country could break. It was clear she had it in her, and all the pretty dresses and pretend manners in the world wouldn't change that. He knew that with a few pretty words and maybe a small present or two, she would be throwing her innocence at him, begging him to take her. After all, they always did. Even though his mother's dreams of a marriage were never going to come true, that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun of his own first.
"This is my son Gaston." He jumped at the mention of his name, drawing him out of his head and back into the real world. "Gaston, this is Colette de Chagny, her son is the Comte de Chagny."
"Madame, it's a pleasure," he said, flashing her a charming smile. He could play the aristocrat's games. He too had been educated at one of the finest schools of France.
"My daughter, Amelia," she replied, waving her hand at the girl beside her.
"Mademoiselle." He kissed the back of her hand. If his mother wanted him to humor her, that was fine with him. After all he had his own plans for Amelia when he got her alone.
"Your mother tells me you're nearly twenty-one Gaston."
"Yes, Madame, this summer."
"Almost twenty-one and you're not married yet? Amelia here just turned eighteen last month and she's already worried about becoming an old maid," she said with a laugh.
"I just haven't found the right woman yet," Gaston answered. "And as for the mademoiselle, she has nothing to fear. A lady as lovely as she is bound to have suitors lining up at her door asking for her hand." Amelia glanced carefully at her mother before allowing a small smile to touch her lips. "Might I have this dance Mademoiselle?"
Again she looked to her mother. "Go on, Amelia," she urged. "It's a ball, not a funeral." She turned back to him, and without a word, accepted his outstretched hand.
Gaston paced back and forth and poured himself another brandy from the decanter that a servant had brought. "I can come back another time," he offered.
"No, it's no trouble," Colette de Chagny replied. "Amelia has been prone to fainting fits like this for years. It's nothing to be concerned about. She should be coming around any minute now. Sit down dear, I'll go check on her. I'm sure she's fine."
As the former Comtess left the room, Gaston sat heavily on the sofa. How had he gotten himself in this mess? After Amelia had spurned his sexual advances at the ball, he had continued to pursue her, determined to take her. It reached a point where he had to court her in order to maintain an illusion of propriety, and when her family didn't object, his mother urged him to propose. "It will set up our family's place for generations to come," she had said. And his relationship with Amelia had reached a point where he truly had no choice. He could back out of their courtship and humiliate himself or he could do as his mother wished and marry the girl.
He leaned back and took a sip of the brandy when he heard voices. "What on earth was that?"
"I'm sorry, I just…I didn't…"
Gaston heard the sound of skin-on-skin contact, as if someone had been slapped. "Pull yourself together. Do not ruin your one chance at a decent marriage. You are lucky that a man coming from a family as well off as the Barineaus is willing to even look at you. I tried so hard with you Amelia, but I could only help you so much. This the best match you will ever get. Now go out there and accept his proposal."
The door opened. Gaston set his glass aside and leaped to his feet. Amelia walked up to him, her eyes downcast towards the floor. She glanced quickly at her mother before saying in a barely audible voice, "I would be honored to be your wife."
Amelia stood with her back turned to him as she stared out the window at something in the far off distance. She looked as pure and innocent as ever in her white gown, and Gaston knew he would rip that dress off her himself if she didn't acknowledge his presence very soon.
He pulled off his jacket, his cravat, his waistcoat, his shirt, everything until he was naked from the waist up. When he put his hands on her shoulders, Amelia jerked suddenly. She whirled around and her eyes widened as she saw him, as though she was just realizing what her wedding night would entail. "Gaston wait," she started, her tone pleading.
"No!" he snapped. "I am done waiting! I have waited and waited and I played your little game and I let you try my patience again and again and now it's time for my reward!" He grabbed the bodice of her dress and tugged. The fabric of her wedding gown tore and she went sprawling on the floor in her underclothes.
"Gaston…Gaston please stop!" she cried. He grabbed her wrist and threw her onto the bed but froze when she raised her hands to defend herself.
"What is this?" he demanded. Her arms were scarred, terribly so, and it was easy to see she put them there herself.
"I…I tried to tell you," she stammered. "I tried to tell you but you wouldn't listen to me."
Time seemed to stand still for Gaston as he tried to process what this meant. The wicked Barineau girl, the irresistible temptress who had eluded his grasp, even the perfect Amelia that had been presented to him during their entire courtship, all of it had been an elaborate lie. The perfect woman he had married was flawed.
Mia sat up with a gasp. Her chest was heaving as she tried to calm her rushing heartbeat. "Is everything okay?" she heard Erik murmur as he sat up beside her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
"Yes," she replied as she panted and turned her head towards him. "I'm fine. It was just a nightmare. I'm fine now"
He leaned down and kissed her shoulder blade. "Then try and get some more sleep." She nodded and allowed Erik to pull her back down to nestle against the pillows.