Chapter 49

Moments into the first act, my reservation of staying to watch the performance faded as Julia gently stroked the back of my hand and leaned into me. Her close proximity allowed me to relax, and as the overture ended, my heart rate slowed and I stopped searching the theater for signs of the gendarmes.

From our vantage point I was able to survey the crowd and its collective response to the music and the story. I found myself fascinated by the reactions in the orchestra section and the balcony level seating, and I spent more time watching the crowd than the stage.

Following Luc Testan's first scathing review, I spent several nights wide awake in bed, overthinking every chord. I stopped eating and sleeping and began the arduous task of rewriting the entire score until Madeline pulled the pen from my hand, removed the stack of papers from my desk, and insisted one review did not define my work.

Madeline could never understand what it was like for me. While I was fully aware that others rejected me in every sense due to my appearance, music was different. Through music I could share with others the beauty I heard flitting through my thoughts. Through symphonies and operas, arias and waltzes, I could be amongst the rest of the world without anyone ever seeing my wretched face. They would never know the melodies they heard were composed by a man who had once been on display in a freak show and who as an adult never left his home in the light of day.

Nearly eight years after my first opera had been published and performed on stage, I finally saw the reaction of the crowd for myself and grappled with the swell of overwhelming emotions.

The crowd did not merely listen to an arrangement of notes; they were invited to witness in the inner workings of my heart, the most intimate details of my thoughts.

The most important opinion, however, belonged to the woman beside me. Julia's reaction to my opera was most charming, especially considering the only response I heard on a daily basis was Alex groaning that he had no desire to listen to me play the same melody again as he flopped down on my bed, or Meg muttering under her breath in similar fashion to Alex that she wished I would play something else.

Madeline was the only person who voluntarily listened to me play, but her critique was never truly critical. In relation to my music, she was the perfect doting mother, always offering encouragement. I could have handed my violin to Alex as an infant and allowed him to scratch out a tune and Madeline would have said it was heavenly.

But Julia, who was not well-versed in music and had not attended a performance in many years, was genuinely intrigued. She squeezed my hand and tapped my shoulder in anticipation of dramatic scenes and turned to smile at me during lighter moments. Twice she hit me in the knee with her fan during a more tense scene, but I found her reaction most amusing. She was immersed in the story and captivated by the music, and as I watched her expression from the corner of my eye, I found myself reminded of how fond I had been of her well before I realized it.

By the end of the performance, the crowd roared with applause and filled nearly every inch of the stage with flowers for the principals. Nicolette Stan came forward and said that she once again dedicated the night to the composer, adding she was not aware of whether or not I was in attendance, which sent a murmur through the crowd.

Eventually the theater slowly emptied and Julia and I waited a moment for the crowds to clear and our carriage to be brought around to the stage door in the back forty-five minutes after the end of the opera. I watched the Kahn brothers take their leave without so much as a glance toward the opera boxes. Raoul de Chagny chatted politely with a few people seated in his row before he excused himself, and Phelan disappeared some time after the second act.

"I am glad there was a happy ending," Julia sighed.

"That was Madeline's suggestion, actually."

Julia raised a brow. "Mauro and Jewel didn't end up together originally when you wrote it?"

I hesitated to answer. I could still remember Madeline storming into my room at six in the morning after she read the entire script. She waved her hands around, demanding I change the ending. She tossed the bound pages nearly onto my head and made certain I was aware she had 'stayed up all night for nothing but misery', as she had put it. A few changes to characters, adding an aria, and creating a more blissful ending and On Summer Nights became the tale of Mauro and Jewel.

"Not originally."

"What happened originally?"

Originally the opera had been called On Summer Nights and Mauro accidentally killed Jewel when the spell wore off and he touched her with his hands of flame, which resulted in him perishing as well from sorrow. I had never told Madeline, but I'd sent out a copy before allowing her to read it and the production had been well-received by others with one critic proclaiming it 'a masterpiece that will leave the audience weeping for days.'

I couldn't possibly tell that to Julia, however, not when our evening out had been salvaged.

"Eight years and hundreds of compositions later and I am not quite sure how the story ended," I answered.

Julia narrowed her eyes and looked me over skeptically. "I will ask Madeline." Before I could stammer out a response, she sat up straighter. "What are you writing now?" she asked.

"Nothing," I answered.

Julia looked at me curiously. "Nothing at all?"

"Nothing resembling music, at least not yet," I said defensively.

"I see."

"I strive for perfection," I answered. Agonized was a better description of my creative process. Most of what I wrote ended up shoved into a drawer or committed to the fire. Anything that managed to stay on my desk was written, rewritten, left to sit for days, often used as scrap paper by Alex, and rewritten again. Half of my income was most likely spent on paper and ink.

Julia rested her head on my shoulder and yawned. "Lisette would love this. All of the costumes and dancing, she would be thrilled beyond belief to sit in the very last row."

"My daughter will not sit in the last row," I groused.

Julia lifted her head and smiled at me. "Surly as ever, Monsieur Kire," she teased.

"Front row to the right of the stage," I said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Lisette would sit front row to the right of the stage. When she is reading, she's always sitting with her legs pointed to the right.

Julia thought a moment. "Yes, you are correct. She is. That is very observant of you."

"Speaking of observant, someone watched us enter the theater during the overture."

"Your cousin," Julia said automatically. "He was walking out of the theater and stopped when he saw us."

"You're certain?"

"Yes, he looked directly at me and nodded before he apparently changed his mind and returned to his seat."

Phelan's actions at the start of the night did not sit well with me despite Raoul and Antonio saying he caused a disturbance regularly. The fact that he left during intermission made me wonder why he had attended in the first place.

I sat back in my chair and tapped my fingers on the armrest, feeling a great deal more agitated now that I knew for certain it was Phelan watching us.

"What time is it?" Julia yawned.

"Five after midnight," I answered as I unsuccessfully held back a yawn of my own.

"Monsieur? Madame?" George knocked on the opera box door and entered a moment later. His arms were filled with bouquets of flowers he could barely see over. "These are for you," he said.

"All of them?" Julia asked as she looked from George to me. "This is far too generous."

"There is more, but the rest is downstairs. Monsieur Le Blanc wanted to make certain you received this arrangement in particular," George said. He turned toward me and held out a bouquet of fragrant hydrangeas wrapped in black ribbon.

Before I could ask who they were from, he handed me a note card, which Julia took and opened. She read the inscription, smiled, and held out the card for me to see.

To Celebrate the First of Many Nights,

Madeline

In a sea of roses, Madeline sent hydrangeas. Naturally she would set herself apart from the rest. I tucked the card into my pocket alongside the envelope from my uncle and thanked George for delivering the flowers.

"Monsieur Le Blanc is at the opposite end of the building with the handful of patrons still waiting to see if you are in attendance," George explained. "He apologizes for not seeing you off, Monsieur Kire, but we value your privacy."

"You have my sincere gratitude," I replied.

With the flowers handed off to me and Julia, George escorted us down the stairs and to our waiting carriage. The manager's assistant made one last attempt to send us off with two dozen bouquets of flowers, but after insisting we had nowhere to display such a generous gift, Julia suggested that they be donated to the hospital to brighten the atmosphere.

"You are very kind, Madame," George said. He offered a bow and took my wife's hand. "Consider it done."

It was almost twelve-thirty by the time the driver shut the carriage door, and once our night officially came to an end, I sat back and felt myself finally relax now that we were on our way home.

Julia inhaled sharply once the carriage lurched forward and the wheels rattled along the cobblestones. Her shoulders gently shook and she turned away from me briefly. I heard her sniffle and immediately took her hands in mine, alarmed by the sudden change in her demeanor.

"Have I upset you?" I asked.

Julia shook her head. "No, no, not at all. The opposite, really."

I sat speechless beside her, unsure of what to say or do. I still cradled the bouquet from Madeline in my free arm and searched for a suitable location to place the flowers in order to give my wife my full attention, but the only space available was by my feet and I could not abandon Madeline's gift in such a manner.

"The whole opera was beautiful," Julia sniffled. "Absolutely breathtaking and perfect and…" She hiccuped and covered her mouth with her gloved hand.

"You are crying because you thought my opera was beautiful?" I asked.

Julia wiped away her tears and smiled. "I'm crying because I am happy for you."

"I see." I had no idea how to proceed or what to say as I feared she would suddenly cry harder if I misspoke.

"You have waited so long for this and…"

Julia fell silent for a long moment and much to my horror, started to cry once more.

"Is there something I should be doing?" I asked.

Almost immediately Julia's tears turned to laughter. She fanned her face and dried her eyes with her gloved fingertips.

"You do not handle the emotional trials of womanhood very well, do you?" Julia asked lightly. She reached up and smoothed the pad of her thumb along my cheek.

"I do not," I answered as I leaned forward to kiss her.

Our lips barely touched when the carriage came to a stop and I realized we had already returned home.

The lights were on in both the parlor and Alex's bedroom when we exited the cab, and after a bit of a struggle carrying in all of the flowers, I paid the driver and locked the front door.

Julia carried flowers into the dining room and passed Madeline in the hall. They spoke briefly before Madeline squeezed Julia's hand and approached me in the foyer with Bessie trotting behind her.

"How was it?" she asked.

"Eventful," I answered.

Madeline raised a brow and placed her hand over her heart. "What on earth does that mean?"

"I would rather discuss our night in the morning," I answered.

She frowned, clearly disappointed by my answer, but looked past me at the collection of flowers.

"You should take some," I suggested.

"They're for you," she pointed out.

I crossed my arms and looked her over. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Madeline blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"You know precisely what I mean," I grumbled. "The ballet, Le Blanc, Nicolette Stan...need I continue?" I exhaled hard and looked away from her. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"What would you have me say?"

I faced Madeline once more and shook my head. If she had told me five years ago that she oversaw ballet rehearsals at a new theater, I would have been greatly displeased with her decision.

"You should have told me you had far greater duties than scrubbing floors and running errands."

Madeline shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps indeed."

"It's nearly one in the morning and I am not a night owl like you," she said dismissively.

"Were Alexandre and Lisette on their best behavior?"

"Alex fell asleep with the light on in his room hours ago and Lissy is asleep in the parlor. They were no trouble at all."

Julia returned from the dining room and thanked Madeline for staying so late as they walked toward the rear of the house and Julia saw Madeline out. With the two of them in the kitchen, I removed my overcoat, scratched Bessie behind the ears, and entered the parlor where Lisette was sound asleep.

I stopped short in the doorway the moment I saw her asleep in the chair. Rather than a perfect, angelic pose carefully tucked into the armchair, she was sprawled out with one foot on the ground and her other leg hung over the arm of the chair. As I had said to Julia, Lisette was of course asleep with her legs over the right armrest. Her head was tipped back, mouth wide open, and book precariously balanced on her knee. How she had fallen asleep in such an uncomfortable position was beyond me.

"Lisette," I called from the doorway.

She inhaled and muttered something under her breath before she turned her head, dropped her book, and rearranged herself without waking.

With a sigh, I quietly approached and knelt down. "Time for bed." I tapped Lisette lightly on the shoulder in an attempt to rouse her, but she turned again and this time nearly fell from the chair.

"Sit up," I said.

My voice was louder than I had intended, and hazel eyes slit open at my command. Lisette looked at me briefly before she sat upright, yawned, and tilted forward into my arms like a rag doll. I caught her awkwardly in her half-sleep and swept her up, making every attempt not to jostle her.

Her eyes opened again only briefly before she put her arm around my neck and rested her head against my jaw. With a soft sigh, she appeared to fall asleep again.

"Was it wonderful?" she asked.

"The opera?"

She managed a grunt and a nod as I carried her out of the parlor and to her bedroom. From the corner of my eye I saw Julia at the bottom of the stairs with her earrings and necklace removed.

"It was better than I expected," I said to Lisette.

"Mother looks beautiful."

"She does indeed." I maneuvered sideways into her bedroom as to not strike her head or feet on the doorway, and Julia followed me in. While I held onto Lisette, Julia turned down the sheets and coverlet.

"And you look very handsome, Papa," Lisette murmured.

By morning I was certain she would have no recollection of our conversation. Every word she said was little more than a dream to her.

"You are very kind."

Lisette woke up just enough to stand before she flopped into bed and managed to curl up. Julia pulled the covers up to her daughter's shoulders and kissed her forehead.

"Good night, Lis," Julia whispered.

The sound of her mother's voice perked Lisette up momentarily and she rubbed her eyes. "Did I float in here?"

Julia chuckled to herself and glanced at me. "No, sweetheart. Your father carried you."

Lisette rolled onto her side and clutched her pillow. "It felt like floating," she sighed. "I would like to be carried every night."

Julia and I exchanged looks of amusement before we quietly exited Lisette's room. I peeked in on Alex, who had an entire war zone of toys scattered at the side of his bed, and turned off the light. With both children asleep, I turned toward Lisette's doorway and saw Bessie peer out at me. Forlorn basset hound eyes spared me only a passing glance before the dog decided to stay loyally at Lisette's side.

"That was very sweet of you to carry her back to bed," Julia whispered. She placed her hand on my shoulder and followed me down the hall.

"I haven't carried Alex in a long time."

He had outgrown being babied in such a manner, and every time I attempted to carry him down to his own room, he squirmed and protested, which usually meant I left him in my bed.

"Lissy is correct. You did look very handsome tonight," Julia said once we reached our bedroom.

I had already removed my mask and hairpiece as she spoke, and our eyes met as she looked over her shoulder at me and smiled without hesitation.

The desire to dismiss Julia and Lisette's comments crept up as I stood before Julia, but I did not allow my self-deprecation a voice. I released my balled up fists and lowered my bunched up shoulders as I looked her over. The desire to raise my hand and cover my face slowly passed and I shifted my weight.

"Madame, are you attempting to seduce me?"

I removed my cufflinks and held them in my palm while Julia pulled the pins from her hair and watched my reflection in the mirror.

"Seduce you? Why, Monsieur, you have been staring at my necklace all evening," she playfully responded.

"I can assure you I had no interest in your necklace at all," I growled back.

Julia unabashedly laughed at my response. One by one she dropped the pins into a container made of abalone and continued to glance at me as she raked her fingers through her hair in search of the last pins.

I came up behind her and removed two more pins, which I handed to her along with my cufflinks before I kissed the side of her neck and inhaled the scent of sandalwood.

"I must tell you, my husband is a very jealous man," Julia murmured. Her eyes closed and she reached back, caressing my ear and tracing my jawline with the tips of her fingers.

"I would imagine he is considering how very fortunate he must be to have such a lovely wife." I tugged at the laces on the side of her dress and loosened the fabric.

"Yes, he truly is."

I grunted at Julia's response and combed my fingers through her hair, discovering another pin. "And tell me, Madame, who is your husband?" I asked as I pressed my lips to her bare shoulder.

"None other than the very famous composer Erik Kire. All of Paris celebrated him," Julia said with a sigh. She turned to face me and put her arms loosely around my neck. "You deserve all the praise, applause, and flowers you received tonight."

Again I considered all of the reasons why Julia was incorrect, of how I did not deserve any of the praise let alone the woman who had started to unbutton my shirt in our bedroom. A lifetime of being denied the most basic of needs swelled in my thoughts.

"You are so important to me," Julia whispered. She pulled my shirt off my shoulders and leaned forward to kiss my collarbone. Her breaths were hard and hot against my flesh with each word she murmured. "I am proud of what you have accomplished, and I am honored to share your talent with anyone fortunate enough to hear your music."

Before I could reply, Julia pressed her lips to mine and wrapped her arms tighter around my neck. She gave me no reason to speak or argue with our bodies pressed together.

She kissed me slowly, her soft lips and warm tongue prodding at mine. I breathed in the scent of her, felt the heat of her body against my bare torso and her hands gripping my shoulders in a way that made my heart rate quicken with desire.

"I love you in a way I never thought was possible," I said against her lips.

Julia drew back and smiled as she looked up at me with heavy-lidded eyes. Her arms dropped from around my neck and she placed her right hand low on my abdomen, then lower still. She bit her kiss-swollen lower lip and unfastened my trouser buttons one at a time.

"Should there be any doubt, my love," she said against my throat, "I have every intention of seducing you tonight."