Just gonna say I loved writing this one. :)

Ch 138

There was less asked of me than I had originally anticipated. Thankfully Antonio, Raoul, and Hermine did most of the talking when it came to the press while Adrian collected the signed contracts and ushered each performer onto the stage where he seated them at the table and then proceeded to guide them back to the wings.

The Fischer tenors, Bruno and Felix, decided to give speeches of their own, speaking in their native German for far longer than anyone could have imagined. Adrian attempted to interrupt twice, but to no avail, and the brothers ended their time on the stage by stamping their feet until the reporters cheered.

The entire spectacle lasted about an hour, with Antonio having me sign last to close the event with the press, followed by a session with a photographer that took place in the lobby where the lighting was more suitable.

True to her word, Hermine had fetched the de Chagny girls and brought them into the theater where they sat remarkably quiet in the front row for most of the signings. She bewitched them with a single look, appearing quite at home herself with Domini to her left and Isabella to her right. I half-watched the soloist sign for the theater and saw Raoul off to the side of the stage looking between Hermine and the banner of his deceased wife.

Once the signings were complete, I lingered behind the rest filing out from the theater, surprised to find Hermine Leach waiting for me while the de Chagny children scurried into the lobby.

"Mademoiselle," I said, nodding at her.

"Will you be in the photograph?" she asked.

"I would rather spectate," I answered.

"The music of E.M. Kire without the composer?"

My lips twitched into a close-lipped smile. "Unfortunately I don't have a moment to spare," I explained. "My brother and I leave this evening for a week out of town."

It was a terrible excuse, but one that she thankfully accepted.

"To visit your grandparents," she said.

Of course Julia had told her close friend the reason for my travel. I assumed that Hermine would relay our conversation in the carriage to my wife at some point and hoped her grievances could be forgiven.

"Yes, my first time meeting them."

"How very exciting," she said, genuinely smiling at me. The expression on her face gave me a sense of relief I hadn't expected. "The carriage is waiting outside for you whenever you are ready to return home."

"You are not in need of it for yourself?"

The de Chagny girls–who had been the first two out of the theater– waved to her from their plush green settee in the lobby where they had chosen to wait for their father. Hermine waved back with as much enthusiasm as the children.

"I do believe I have an important appointment with two very special little girls," she said.

And their father, I thought.

From the other side of the lobby, Raoul watched the exchange, his expression far more melancholy than I would have expected given the company. He was clearly fond of Mademoiselle Leach, as were his daughters.

The performers lined up in front of the staircase for their photograph while Antonio carried a folder filled with the contracts into his office. I followed him into the small room past the ticket office and coat check.

"If you need nothing further from me, I must return home," I said.

"Nothing further. I hope you have an enjoyable holiday," he said over his shoulder as he put the folder into a wooden cabinet in the corner of his office.

I glanced at his impeccably tidy desk, noticing an open envelope bearing my handwriting in the center.

"At what time did my note arrive?" I asked.

Antonio looked at me, then his desk. "I don't recall," he muttered before turning away from me.

My jaw clenched, nostrils flared. He knew damned well when my note had arrived and I felt confident it had been on his desk shortly before nine, as I had assured him the previous day, as the messenger had accepted it promptly at eight-thirty.

"But you saw my selections well before this afternoon?"

Antonio stiffened. "And well after the final list was made, yes."

"You were aware that I had Debutee on my list, correct? Why was there no contract made for her like the rest of the performers?"

At last Antonio turned around and took a deep breath before addressing me. "Because Rachelle Debutee is a chorus girl. She has been a part of the chorus for the last sixteen years and God willing she has many seasons left before she quietly retires. She does not have the voice nor the stage presence to sing a solo for a crowd of twenty, let alone three evenings worth of shows that will sell out and the two matinees we hope to add in coming weeks."

"You made the decision to exclude her without consulting me first?"

"Yes," he tearsly answered.

My annoyance turned swiftly to outright anger, the ghost within agitated by his audacity. "Decisions for the music I composed?"

"A decision made on behalf of the theater, which I manage, for an evening of music, which I have tirelessly devoted every waking hour to for several weeks now," he said, his frustration matching mine. "Hopefully the crowd tolerates an indulgence to a chorus girl and the critics are kind for once."

"A chorus girl?" Raoul de Chagny asked.

Antonio and I both turned, finding Raoul in the doorway.

"Debutee," Antonio complained. "A last-minute addition by the composer."

Raoul briefly gave me a questioning look. "The older woman with the child at her side?"

I nodded.

"She is beside herself with glee," Raoul said.

Antonio scoffed. "How wonderful."

Raoul looked utterly displeased by Antonio's tone. "Perhaps you did not realize that my wi–," He looked down and swallowed. "Christine spent four years as a chorus girl at the Opera Populaire. The opera house manager at the time could not tell the difference between her and the other eleven girls who sang in the chorus and danced with the ballet. Can you imagine such an atrocity? One of Europe's most talented sopranos, lost in a group of a dozen girls? I would hope that you could agree, Antonio, Christine was much more than a chorus girl."

Antonio failed to meet Raoul's eye, for which I couldn't blame him. Comte de Chagny was quite clearly displeased and I wasn't entirely convinced it had anything to do with Rachelle Debutee.

"Perhaps you did not hear me," Raoul said when Antonio didn't reply at once.

"Of course I agree, Monsieur. I meant no offense to you."

Raoul's eyes narrowed, his jaw twitching. "Then shall I remind you that you may be the house manager for the Golden Palace, but you are not the composer," Raoul said, his tone one of warning. "If there is one thing I know about Erik Kire it is that he understands music far more than either of us ever will. If he has chosen a simple chorus girl, then you had best believe it is for a good reason."

"Is there a way in which I may assist you, Comte?" Antonio tightly asked.

"I do not believe I need anything from you at this time," Raoul said, his tone frigid. "Good day, Le Blanc." He looked me over and nodded before exiting the office and I couldn't tell if he was displeased with me as well.

"I will send word when I have returned from my holiday," I said to Antonio.

Antonio nodded without looking at me. "Have a restful holiday."

"Comte," I said once the office door was closed behind me.

The vocalists were crowded together, all of them engaged in a conversation filled with laughter. Raoul was surprisingly far ahead of me, nearly across the theater foyer when I addressed him.

His pace did not slow and he failed to immediately acknowledge me and at first I doubted he'd heard me over the performers, whose voices reverberated through the foyer. I started to turn and head toward the exit, but Raoul spun on his heel, his gray overcoat whipping around his waist, and turned to face me.

Once he started toward me, I regretted addressing him. He looked inconvenienced by being stopped, but still approached, his movements quick and concise, eyes hardened despite an otherwise blank expression.

"Monsieur?" he said impatiently as he approached.

"Are you…?" I paused, unsure of how to phrase my question.

"I beg your pardon?" He raised a brow, his tongue lodged on the inside of his cheek. Shifting his weight, I caught a whiff of his cologne that I hadn't noticed before, leather and spices.

He looked weary, the corners of his eyes creased, his shoulders pulled up and posture tense. Defensive, I thought, and closed off from the world. The boyishness I had always despised had disappeared and he looked older, as if in a matter of hours he had aged considerable.

"You look unhappy," I commented.

"How would you know?" he snapped.

His annoyance caught me off-guard. "I suppose I would not," I muttered, taking a step back. "Apologies for my concern."

We both started to turn, but I glanced over my shoulder and saw him do the same. Awkwardly I paused and heard him sigh.

"Why would you be concerned for me?"

His tone boarded on being condescending. Given our past, I should not have been surprised by the way in which he spoke, but for several months we had maintained a level of civility–for the sake of my son and his daughters–and I had no idea what had transpired that had changed our dynamics.

I truly should not have concerned myself with his well-being. He was Raoul de Chagny; a wealthy aristocrat with an expensive wardrobe and fine jewelry with which he hid his true, lackluster self. He had grown up in a household where he wanted for nothing. Servants catered to his every need from the time he was an infant. His mother doted upon him and his father doled out praise as if he were blessed by God. He had more than enough in his pampered life and had no use or need for me, just as I had no use or need for him.

To hell with him, I thought. He was not worth my breath. I sighed in both frustration and disgust.

On the other side of the lobby, his daughters giggled, their high-pitched, impish voices reverberating through the open space. Raoul turned and I followed his gaze, noticing a window card of Christine's likeness on the balcony level beside one bearing Claude's artwork. For a long moment he studied Christine's image, his gaze distant and remorseful.

Raoul rapidly blinked several times, his hands in tight fists. Behind the harshness in his words and the hardness in his eyes, there was sadness and uncertainty–mourning for a simple chorus girl, I realized.

I thought of the night he had told me of Christine's death. He had not been himself that evening, his words slurred and steps unsteady after a night of attempting to drown out his sorrows.

For years I had thought of him as robbing me of my happiness, stealing away the only person I thought could truly bring me joy only to discover their marriage was tumultuous, their lives not nearly as perfect as I had imagined.

"I am concerned because…"

I nodded toward the corner of the lobby and he followed me to an alcove tucked between the back of the staircase and a pair of long windows with sheer curtains softening the sunlight. Two very large palm plants, their leaves yellowed around the tips, allowed a bit of privacy for our conversation.

"I am concerned because I have known you for a considerable length of time and in recent months you have endured heartache and the loss of someone dear to you," I said, more words carefully chosen and manner of speaking stiff and emotionless. "Previously you expressed your displeasure in your friends no longer speaking your wife's name."

"Friends," he sneered. "Is that what I called them?"

I ignored his comment. "You were good to Christine," I said. "And you still are."

Raoul looked past me. His children were still giggling, their voices carrying across the lobby, the sound musical in nature, which seemed fitting for a celebrated soprano's daughters.

"They are happier without her," he said, his voice strained. "Without the outbursts, the vases flying across the room, teacups smashed, the…" His voice trailed away and he stared at the ground. "The uncertainty from day to day of whether she would be smiling with her arms open to embrace her family or livid that we were in her hotel room disrupting her before she took to the stage."

I was grateful that Christine had given Alex to me as an infant, that my son had been spared the turmoil of being raised in such a manner while at the same time deeply regretful that her daughters had lived through her illness.

"The night in our hotel room," he said, his voice dropping lower.

I assumed he meant the night after her performance at the Exhibition, the evening I had so foolishly expected Christine to at last follow her heart and return to me.

"The governess informed me she would no longer be traveling with us and offered to pay for her own train ticket back to Switzerland if I would allow her to leave that night. She couldn't tolerate the changes in Christine's mood and threatened to tell the press everything if I didn't release her from services at once. I felt backed into a corner like a rat caught unaware. Christine's celebrated return to Paris was a nightmare."

I looked away from him. Over the years I had forgotten the changes in her demeanor, convincing myself that if she burst into tears or seethed with rage it was my doing, not hers. I needed to arrange myself for her contentment, to mold myself to whatever compartment she wished me to fit. It was the only way to guarantee my happiness by ensuring hers.

"Make no mistake I do miss Christine," Raoul whispered softly. "But I am ashamed to say that sometimes I don't feel as though I mourn her as I should and I cannot utter a word to anyone."

Sharp blue eyes met mine. His face appeared more youthful as he spoke words no one else would ever hear. His features were still strained, still conflicted, but there was relief as well. The weight of what he had kept to himself seemed insurmountable.

"Except for you." He looked me over, a flash of disdain in his eyes. "The one person whom I would never have expected to speak to with an ounce of civility, a man whom I have wanted to despise with every bit of my soul. You are the only person who has shown a shred of concern for me, who speaks her name. You treat me like…like we are..."

He swallowed hard, leaving his words unspoken.

I felt more certain that we would never be friends, but I wondered how our paths would have crossed if Christine had not been a part of our lives, if her mother had not perished while Christine was an infant and her father had not succumbed to a long illness when she was a child. Perhaps she could have lived a simple but content life on the seashore in Sweden, far from the Paris Opera House.

Raoul would most certainly have become a prominent donor, following in the footsteps of his generous parents. Perhaps he would have seen Margarite several times, drawn to the title alone as it reminded him of his frail mother whose failing health had led to her death when he was in his teens.

I assumed we would have met at a gala or masquerade, our rivalry revolving around which opera was the best one of the season. Eventually I would have persuaded him into agreeing with me that of course it was one of mine.

We could have been civil from the start if we had been introduced through the opera. We could have discussed music and art with gusto, chiding each other over inconsequential matters.

I inhaled. There was nothing else I wished to say to him, no words that seemed fitting or necessary. I took a small step back, preparing to excuse myself and return home.

Raoulo exhaled hard. "I am being terribly rude," he said under his breath. "Terribly rude to someone I no longer have a reason to dislike."

"Well, I could provide you with a list of new reasons if you would like," I dryly offered. "I am quite certain Madame Giry has a list of grievances spanning thirty years."

Raoul grunted, but allowed a smile to peer through his gloom. "What I said in Le Blanc's office earlier is true. You saw something in Christine no one else had ever noticed. She was at ease on the stage, truly more comfortable when she was performing than anywhere else on earth. Through everything, she had music and that was her home."

I wasn't sure his statement was a compliment. The majority of my life had been spent in the theater, but it was no longer my home. My place was beside Julia, Alex, and Lisette. It was with a cat napping in my violin case and a dog curled up on my bed. It was Madeline letting herself in through the back door to see if we had coffee and Charles Lowry extending an offer for a game of cards. It was my brother's unannounced visits and Claude's remarkable patience teaching Danish. My home was simple and far from the stage lights and included far more people than I could have ever imagined.

I had found where I belonged and I understood it never would have been with Christine.

"Where is home for you, Raoul?" I asked.

Raoul looked just as surprised by my question as I felt addressing him by his given name. He gazed up at the long windows with indifference and sighed. "I don't quite know yet, Erik."

I studied his profile while he wasn't looking at me. Our paths would continue to cross, the old ruts made years before would be paved over by new partnerships involving the theater and the home for children he intended to keep open.

"Dada!" Domini exclaimed as she suddenly appeared in the alcove and practically slammed into her father's chest as she ran to him. "Did you know Mademoiselle Meanie has a pony?"

"Two ponies!" Isabella said as she raced toward her father and rammed into him with as much force as her sister.

"I had no idea," Raoul answered. He kissed the tops of their heads and pulled them in closer.

Domini issued her father a significant look as she gazed up at him. "We have zero ponies," she said.

Hermine breathlessly appeared a moment later. "Those little legs are faster than I expected," she said.

Raoul's demeanor changed as the three of them surrounded him, his mood visibly lightning in their presence. The boyishness I had come to loathe fit him as a gentle father raising two rambunctious little girls.

"You both know we cannot properly care for a pony," he sternly said. "Not currently, at least."

"We don't need ponies, Dada! Mademoiselle Meanie said we can visit hers," Domini said with a toothy grin.

Raoul looked to Hermine for confirmation, and shrugged. "Yes, I may have said that."

"They will hold you to your word," Raoul said.

Hermine smiled brightly. "I hope that they do."

Raoul smiled back at her. He was closer to home than he ever would have guessed.

OoO

I returned from the theater to an unusually quiet house, greeted only by Aria, who came scampering down the stairs to walk between my legs, rubbing her head against my shin before she darted down the hall and into Lisette's room.

"Hello?" I called out.

"Erik?" Julia answered from the parlor.

"Have they returned from the ice cream parlor?" I asked once I joined her.

"Yes and no. Phelan wished to take his bird back to his hotel while Claude and Apolline were visiting the park with Claude's painter friends. They won't be back until later."

"Where is Gertie?"

"At the fabric store picking out something new for Hermine."

"Alex and Lisette?"

"Visiting the bakery. They wanted to send you and their uncle off with a special treat. Claude said they could join them in the park if they desired."

I sighed in relief and practically tore my mask from my face, grateful for the time alone in my own house with Julia.

"Silence," I said. "I never thought I'd welcome silence."

Julia rearranged her sewing supplies. "How was the event?" she asked.

I inhaled. "Long," I said, bending to kiss her on the forehead.

To my surprise, Julia asked no further questions. She reached up and caressed my cheek, and I took her hand in mine and kissed her fingers.

"I'm glad you're home," she said. "I've missed having you to myself."

I sat across from her, keeping her hand in mine. Despite seeing her every day, I felt as though I truly looked at her for the first time in many weeks. Her face was more round than oval, the fabric of her blouse protruding slightly over her abdomen.

"You're showing," I said, surprised by the development.

Julia lifted her gaze and grinned at me. "A little."

"When?"

Julia chuckled. "Today was the first day this little one seems more obvious. I believe our child is having quite the growth spurt. Thank goodness because the bigger the baby, the less ill I feel in the morning."

I leaned forward, placing my hand on her stomach. "You will be good to your mother while I am gone, won't you? Growing consistently so that she feels better."

"Unnamed Child?" Julia said. "Your father is speaking to you. I hope you're listening."

Our eyes met, and with one smile she took my breath away. She was warm, and soft, and perfect in every way.

"I could not imagine loving you more," I confessed. "You sate my heart and soul in ways I never knew I needed."

Julia leaned forward and I kissed her softly. She placed her hand over mine and closed her eyes. "If I invite you upstairs with the intention of napping, would you agree?"

"Of course," I said. "But…"

Her hazel eyes fluttered open. "But?"

"But I am permitted to kiss you," I whispered. "Until you fall asleep in my arms."

"Agreed."