Of all the places Meg imagined Erik taking her, a crowded restaurant hadn't made the list. It seemed too normal with far too many eyes. Yet that is where they had gone and were at a cozy table tucked away in the back of the dimly lit restaurant. Erik's masked appearance drew only mild interest from the other patrons, to Meg's surprise. The maître'd proved to be rather reluctant to seat them at first, particularly when Erik instructed him on where precisely they would like to sit (table for two, in the back, preferably a corner). But the persuasive voice Erik was so adept at won the man over. Watching how easily Erik could manipulate others both startled and impressed her.
Meg picked delicately at her dessert, the slice of lemon pie hard to enjoy through her nerves. Erik had vanished; in search of the toilet she assumed. He had put away most of a bottle of wine and not much food, opting for a thin soup and some bread. Not that she'd expected much different; he ate irregularly anyway and wasn't about to remove his mask in public to do so. Though nervous, Meg's appetite was unaffected and she'd managed to finish her soup, some bread and had moved on to dessert.
Erik reappeared at her side. "Cricket."
"Is everything alright?" Meg grabbed his chair and pulled it flush with hers.
"Yes of course." He mumbled and gracefully took his seat, looking somewhat uncomfortable that they were pressed against one another. Erik leaned back in his chair, legs crossed away from her, feigning disinterest in her and their surroundings. She didn't mind; it gave her time to look at him. He was always beautifully dressed even in the limited colour palette afforded to men's fashion. Black trousers, black tails, black opera shoes, even a black mask; the only colour came from the starched white shirt and his topaz eyes. The ensemble was well tailored and though he was a thin man, he didn't look skeletal.
Meg poked at the pie crumbs with her fork, trying to ignore the dark cloud she swore she saw hanging over Erik's head. His spirits were high when he returned after sundown though she was afraid it was more born of high anxiety than genuine excitement. Erik grew more subdued the closer the carriage got to their destination and his mood had been sliding ever drained the last of her wine and filled the glass again, emptying the bottle. Mostly to keep Erik from drinking anymore, she told herself.
"We can leave whenever you want, Erik." She propped her chin on his shoulder. Erik's gaze was fixed on some spot on the table though there was nothing there but empty dishes. "Maestro?" she laid her hands on his thigh.
"What is it?" He snapped.
"You look so uncomfortable." She ignored his outburst. "We can go now if you wish. It is quite crowded here."
Erik's eyes closed, he might've been counting to ten. "It's not that- not entirely. It's just that I-" his voice trailed away. He laid his hands over top of hers. "You look so lovely." Erik lightly touched her hair, which she had put in a low pompadour and adorned with one of the silver combs he had given her ages ago. "I don't understand why you're here with me."
"Because you asked me to." Meg smiled, even though Erik had told her, not actually asked her out. "Is that all?"
"No." He took a deep breath though he still sounded breathless. "I have a - a gift for you." Erik reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small box; he fidgeted, turning it over in his hands a few times. "It's not what you think." He said quickly. "I only wanted to give you something pretty for… the new year." He said lamely, placing the box in her hands and closing her fingers around it. Meg stared at the box for a moment, the lemon pie doing somersaults in her stomach despite his reassurances. What was he afraid she'd think it was? Meg glanced at Erik, his mouth in a tight line. She opened the box with shaking hands. Inside, a silvery opal mounted simply on a gold band.
"You are giving me this?" Her head was swimming, the feeling not helped by the wine she had downed.
"Do you not like it?" Erik's voice sounded very small, his eyes wary.
"No, Erik. I love it. It's beautiful." Meg plucked the ring out and handed it to Erik. She held out her left hand for him to place it on her finger. "What did you mean this isn't what I think?"
"I don't want you to think I'm asking you to... that is, I don't expect that is something you would actually wish." Erik focused on the ring, not daring to look up.
"So it is what I think it is."
"Erik." She touched his arm. "If it's your wish, then I think you should ask."
"Cricket?" He brought her hand to his lips. "Will you..." He sighed. "This is so hard." Erik grabbed the back of his neck and tried to calm himself.
"Erik, are you all right?"
"Will you do me the tremendous honour of marrying me?" The question came spilling out in a mush of words.
Even though she'd pressed him to ask, Meg was still momentarily speechless.
"If you care for me half as much as I care for you, then I could die happy at this very table."
"Erik, don't be absurd. No dying at the table. Of course I will marry you." She held her hand out again and smiled shyly as he slid the opal onto her ring finger. He held her hand tightly, momentarily mute and unable to look up. "Maestro?"
"Hm?" Erik cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, I am... very overcome." His voice cracked and he was blinking furiously.
Meg leaned over and kissed the top of his head. He reached up and pulled her down in an awkward kiss made more difficult by the mask. "I love you, mon ange." He whispered in her ear.
"I love you too." Meg kissed his cheek.
Erik held her head between his hands; his eyes were wide with incredulity. "Erik cannot believe that his Cricket has chosen him."
"Believe it, Erik. I chose you a long time ago."
"Is that why you have remained unmarried all this time?"
"Partly. I thought you had died and maman never told me otherwise. I was never interested in anyone else."
"You hardly knew me, Cricket. And what you did know should've frightened you clear across Europe." He wrapped her in his arms. Meg laid her head on his chest and listened to Erik's galloping heart.
"Let's go home, Maestro. There are too many people here."
Erik needed no coaxing; he paid the bill and they retrieved their things from the cloak room. He helped her into her cloak first; she blushed as his fingers strayed to caress her face and the curve of her bare shoulder before going out to hail a carriage. Meg absently smiled at the dining room, toying with her ring while she waited. A familiar shape passed through her peripheral vision and she froze, uncertain if it belonged to whom she thought.
"Did he follow us here?" Her scalp tingled with warning and she scanned the patrons for her tormentor. But she only saw couples and friends chatting and laughing, drinking the evening away.
"Are you ready, Cricket?" Erik had reappeared at her side. Unable to confirm her suspicions, she kept them to herself. No point in worrying Erik just because she was paranoid. Shaking the feeling off, Meg took Erik's offered arm and they strolled together out into the cold night and the waiting carriage.