the phantom diaries

kailingow

the phantom diaries

Published by THE EDGE

THE EDGE is an imprint of Sparklesoup LLC

Copyright © 2010 Kailin Gow

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or  mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For information, please contact:

Sparklesoup LLC

c/o Kailin Gow

P.O. Box 60834

Irvine, CA 92602

www.sparklesoup.com

First Edition.

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN: 978-159748-912-6

dedication

To the remarkably talented people who helped make this series come alive - especially Diane, Darla, Lindsey, and Jim.  THANK YOU!

Prologue

Annette Binoche stepped out of the cab and had her first taste of a Manhattan sidewalk beneath her feet. Staring up at The New York Metropolitan Opera House, a cool breeze rustled through her long dark hair and tickled her nostrils. This was not the hot and lazy breeze of the bayou back home in New Orleans. It felt different.  Smelled different. Even tasted different.

Despite her jeans, warm black sweater and leather jacket the chill in the air squeezed through the collar at the back of her neck, traveled down her spine and left her skin tingling all the way down into her boots.

The excitement of this new adventure added to that tingling sensation. She pushed through the doors of the back entrance of the Opera House and went in search of the head seamstress. As soon as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she glimpse the grand stage through a door left ajar.

Her desire to find the seamstress was overtaken with the need to view the splendid stage she’d long dreamed of. The silly childhood fantasy of singing to a full house had her heart pumping with envy. It was majestic and unending. The ceiling seemed to go on forever and she couldn’t even see to the back seat of the top balconies.

“Can I help you?”

With a start she turned to the unexpected voice and faced a small elderly gentleman who smiled politely.

“I’m looking for Mrs. Henley. She came down to Louisiana a while back to visit with my mom and liked my abilities as a seamstress and suggested I come up here to work for her.”

The old man’s smile broadened and Annette realized she was rambling, but just couldn’t stop. “I may be only eighteen, but I’ve worked at my mother’s dress shop since I was thirteen and my mother has been a great teacher and even though I lack formal training, I know I can do this…”

“Right through there,” he said as he pointed to his left. “Up the stairs, second floor, third door on your right. She should just be getting back from her lunch.”

With a tight and nervous nod, she turned on her heel, repeating his directions in her mind over and over again.

Her heels echoed up the steps and the cool chill at her back followed her. She turned to glance behind her and could have sworn her breath frosted in the air. The echo of her steps reverberated in an odd cadence that didn’t quite match the pace of her steps.

Though her body shivered, her hands were clammy and heated. Her fingers reached for the cross hung at her neck. Her index played repeatedly over the rubies that formed a rose pattern at the center of the cross. Her breathing soon returned to normal and she proceeded while remaining cautious and aware of the sensations around her.

“Mrs. Henley?” Annette asked upon reaching the correct door.

A pleasantly plump woman turned and grinned. “Miss Binoche?  Is that you?”

Annette realized her frumpy seamstress clothes back home were a far stretch from her fashionable, meant to impress New York attire. She’d gone out of her way to assure her clothes didn’t make her stick out like a tourist.

“Don’t really understand why a pretty girl like you wants to come and stick your fingers with pins and needles, but I’m sure happy to have you.”

“I’m happy to see you again, Mrs. Henley, and I look forward to doing my best work for you.” Annette gave her a warm hug and kissed her cheek. “Mother says hello and wants to thank you once again for being so gracious as to allow me this opportunity. You have no idea what this means to me.”

Mrs. Henley waved the compliments and pleasant words aside. “Nonsense, I need a good hard working girl who has the imagination as well as the work ethic you have. I have one girl who left to get married and three who dumped me once the school year resumed.”

Annette smiled and nodded, pleased to be given such praise and responsibility.

“You’re not going to go off and get married, are you?”

“Heaven’s no.”

“And you’re not going on to college, right?”

At this, Annette hesitated. She had once dreamed of attending a performance art school.  Finances had not really allowed such a dream for now, but this was no doubt a step in the right direction.  “Not for quite a while, if at all.”

“You know with all that pretty dark hair and soft innocent eyes, New York will eat you up. Just let me know if any of the young men here give you a hard time. Oh, and watch out for Marie, our house diva.  She can get a little testy when she’s not the prettiest thing in a room.”

Chapter 1

October 14, 2009

Dear Diary,

After two long weeks of stitching, unstitching, mending and ironing, the day is finally at my doorstep. I’m so excited as rehearsals are set to begin tomorrow and the wardrobe department is buzzing with activity in order to have everything ready. I look forward to hearing the first notes of this opera I’ve been burning my fingers for. My love for this Opera House has grown and I relish every day here. Mrs. Henley, who insists I call her Roberta, is a dear and I adore working for her.

While I do miss my mom, I’m thankful to have Roberta as a surrogate.

“Is that music I hear?” I set down the petticoat I’d been sewing lace to and listened to the faint rumblings of a distant piano.

Knowing my eagerness to hear more of the music from The Masquerade at the Met, Roberta nodded, giving me her silent permission to sneak a peek downstairs.

With every step I took, the music came in clearer and my excitement grew. I’d heard so much about this mysterious opera that had been found in the crypts beneath the old Opera House in Paris. Word had it an obscure maestro from the Paris Opera House, rumored to be the phantom of the opera, had written the haunting and unforgettable music.

The music stopped momentarily, started again and stopped once more. By the time I arrived, the lead singer was taking her place and setting to sing her first note.

A few haunting notes from the piano filled the auditorium and a shiver of anticipation ran over every inch of my skin. I’d participated in several school plays in New Orleans and I had heard a multitude of musicians as I’d strolled down Bourbon Street, but nothing could compare to the excitement that now filled me.

The singer, pretty in her long blond tresses, opened her mouth and my anticipation grew. Her eyes, green and piercing, gazed all around her and quickly narrowed in annoyance. The lips that had been poised to let out the first notes quickly clamped down shut and set into a straight and grim line.

I glanced around to see what had caused her to become suddenly irate, and by the time my gaze returned to her, her hate filled eyes were pinned on me.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?”

Her words were so biting and her tone so shrill, I could barely imagine her singing could be anything remotely resembling melodious.

“I… I… just…” I had no justifiable reason for being there. I’d not thought to drag along a garment to be fitted as an excuse.

“Get out!” she shouted.

Stunned, I just stood there for a moment. This was far from the southern hospitality I’d grown up with, and while I’d heard New Yorkers could be a bit harder and colder, I had in no way expected such a reaction from this diva.

“Get out! Get out! Get out!”

With my face heating up like iced-tea left out in the noonday sun, I turned away from the stage and marched up the aisle to the door at the back of the auditorium. I could feel the tears working their way to my eyes and hated the thought of crying over some snit who thought she was a star.

“Don’t let her get to you.”

The pleasant voice followed me out to the main hall of the Opera House. I turned to the toned and muscular build of a girl who was several inches shorter than me, but who carried herself with the confidence I presently lacked. Her short red hair was sassy, almost quirky, as was her style of dress, and she exuded an air of artistic flamboyance that I immediately liked.

“I’m Judy, one of the dancers. You’re new here, right?”

“Working with Mrs. Henley.”

“Roberta, great woman. Easier to work with than Prima Donna out there.” She thinks that just because she’s playing Adelle, leading princess of this Masquerade, she can push everyone around.”

“So she’s like that with everyone?”

“Hmm, not usually quite so quick to be so nasty.  No, I’d say she clearly doesn’t like you.”

“But I don’t even know her. I don’t think I’ve even worked on any of her garments so it can’t be my workmanship she’s unhappy with. And I didn’t make a sound while I was in there. Is my simple presence enough to send her on a tirade?”

“Yes.”

I stared dumbly at her. It seemed impossible and was completely insane.

“Marie Abere is not only the star of this extravaganza, but she is also the most beautiful woman in all of the New York Metropolitan Opera House, if not all of Manhattan, or so she likes to think. You’re obviously more beautiful than she is, and she’s not taking it too well.”

“That’s absurd.”

“That’s Marie.”

Her matter of fact attitude was amusing and refreshing. It was funny how in one short minute I could meet someone who I could detest so instantly and also meet someone I could find so irresistibly likable.

“How can one girl be so obnoxious?”

“Some blame it on the Legend of the Masquerade.  Personally, I think she’s just nuts.”

“The Legend?” Now I was intrigued.

“Roberta hasn’t told you about the Legend yet?”

An excited thrill ran through me and I silently berated Roberta for not letting me in on this juicy bit of information. A legend in New York. It was almost as exciting as VooDoo in New Orleans.

“I’ll admit she’d warned me about Marie, though I still wouldn’t have expected such a reaction, but she said nothing about a legend.

“Well, when The Masquerade first ran in Paris, it was hugely successful. It was the talk of the opera world and was touted as being a work of musical genius. Kristine, the lead in the opera, was said to be the next big thing. Then a story leaked that she’d been involved with the Phantom composer and her lover was not too happy about it. Turned out the Phantom had been accused of murder and he just disappeared one night. No one ever saw him again. And poor Kristin died heartbroken because her lover refused to marry her following the scandal.”

It was all so unbelievably romantic.

“Some are already taking bets on what scandal Marie will create. Personally, I think she’s having an affair with more than one man involved with this production. How else could she have gotten this job?”

“I don’t know, but I got this job thanks to my mom and I better hurry back or I’ll lose it.”

I returned to the wardrobe department while Judy set off for rehearsal. A few notes continued to make their way up, but not enough for me to judge the quality of the diva’s voice. By the time I resumed my seat, I put Marie out of my mind and concentrated on the length of lace that still had to be stitched to that petticoat.

An hour later, Roberta got to her feet. “I’m going to bring our lovely leading lady the costume for her opening number,” she declared as she thrust the heavy garment over her shoulder. “Come along, Annette, in case she needs any adjustments.”

I turned to her in disbelief. Did she really want me to go back down there and face that tigress? I wanted to protest, but she was already halfway out the door. Reluctantly, I got up and dragged my feet to follow behind her.

“And bring your pin cushion.”

I’d come to think the pincushion attached to my wrist was a permanent fixture. Were it not for the fact that it didn’t easily slip into the sleeve of my leather jacket, I probably would have absentmindedly left with it every night. It was bad enough I sometimes took the subway with lint, lengths of thread and tuffs of fur clinging to my pants, without having this bright red pin cushion advertising to everyone what I did for a living.

Not that I was ashamed of my line of profession. I was actually quite proud. I just didn’t want to walk about town with remnants of my work on my sleeve, as it were.

Chatting about trousers that needed mending, overcoats to embellish and bejeweled ball gowns that had yet to be assembled at all, Roberta led me down to the dressing rooms. The corridors were brightly lit and Marie’s door was clearly identified. Though curious to see the inside of the dressing room, I remained in the hall as Roberta brought the dress in to be fitted.

Marie was curt, even with Roberta.  “Really, Roberta. Did you know that we have a show starting soon and that I still have hours of rehearsal and that waiting for you to finally make your way here isn’t really in my plans.”

“Is that so, dear?” Roberta hardly seemed fazed by Marie’s outburst. “Here you go.  I’ll help you get this on.”

I heard the rustling of luxurious fabrics, and few groans and grunts then the sound no seamstress ever wants to hear.

“My God! What did you do?” Marie shouted.

“You pulled up too quickly.”

“No. You made the damn thing too tight,” Marie screeched.

I peeked in to see a large tear at the back of the dress and Marie’s bare back. Roberta glanced at me and waved me in.

Damn it.

Not wanting Marie to hear me enter, I didn’t risk pushing the door open and simply slid in through the tight opening where the door was barely ajar. I silently stood there, dreading Marie’s wrath.

“I don’t understand,” Roberta said. “I took your measurements just days ago and I’ve adhered to them in the most stringent way. I never miss a measurement. If anything, I usually leave a little leeway.”

Marie turned and shot Roberta such a venomous glare. I shuddered.

“Are you insinuating I’ve gained weight in the past few days?”

“No, absolutely not.”

Her venom was then aimed at me. “You.  The hillbilly from the south. I bet you worked on this piece of crap and got the measurements all wrong.” She stepped out of the garment and kicked it away. “Go back and get it right this time.”

Not bothering to cover her nude body, she turned to the mirror in the corner and almost smiled at her reflection. I’d never seen someone so enamored with their own beauty. She whipped her head around towards us and she spat, “Are you still there? What are you waiting for? Fix that stupid thing.”

Roberta and I hurried out and while I felt my nerves frazzle like never before, I glimpsed Roberta chuckling. She shot me a funny face, made an obscene gesture towards Marie’s door and led me back to the stairs.

By the time we reached the landing, we were howling with laughter.

“The only way to deal with that girl is to laugh it off,” Roberta said. “Don’t let her get to you.”

“I’ve never seen someone be so nasty.” I smiled, happy to be sharing this moment with her. Had I been alone with Marie, no doubt I would have left the dressing room in tears.

After three hours spent mending the tight garment, Roberta sent me to see Marie again. Finding her dressing room empty, I laid the heavy gown on the back of a chair and went in search of her in the auditorium.

On opening the door, I heard her lamentations aimed at the orchestra pit.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Renfrew? There is no modulation after the first verse. And who gave you permission to change the key. This was supposed to be in B minor. What key are you giving me?”

Renfrew, the piano player who already seemed out of patience, inspected the music sheets. “The B minor has been scratched out and replaced with C minor.” He pointed to the second sheet. “And right here, there is a modulation.”

Marie bundled her fists together and pounded them into her thighs. Her face reddened to an almost purple hue. A tense hush fell over the stage and the entire auditorium. The few cast members in attendance shifted their gaze between Marie and Renfrew with nervous anticipation.

A stage hand, unaware of the goings-on, crossed the stage and inspected the scattered contents of the set.

“What the hell are you doing?” Marie turned away from the Renfrew and pointed her anger at the hapless worker.

Renfrew, stood, rolled his eyes to the ceiling high above and ran his hand over the sweaty top of his bald head. The day of rehearsal had been long and it was evident in his face.

The stage hand, unperturbed by Miss Diva’s ire, was calm as could be as he continued with his inspection.

“Hey! You!” Marie called out. “Broadway reject! I’m rehearsing here.”

He turned a cool eye her way, smirked then turned to Tom, the stage director, who appeared from side stage. “Tom, it’s even worse than I thought. In addition to the gold sword, we’re missing the candelabrum and the emerald encrusted dagger.”

“Have you checked the prop room?”

“Three times. They were all there this morning and now…”

“Could you guys wrap this up some other time? I’m in the middle of my most complex...”

“Is someone in the rehearsal hall?” Tom coldly asked. “There’s nothing keeping you from going there instead of taking up the whole stage here. We’ve got work to do as well.”

Marie turned on her heel, pointed to Renfrew and shouted, “B minor, no modulation!”

The music began, in B minor, and Marie began singing. “My heart shall ache / my love will not be enough / I’ll never wake / and feel able to lust.”

Despite the words of love, the melody came out hard and unemotional. Her voice seemed to have a vague capacity to be sweet and carry far up to the furthest balcony, but the coldness of her heart didn’t allow for the sweetness to flow through the melody.

Marie’s angry voice was soon joined by a faint murmur that seemed to come from high above. She glanced up, her eyes blazing with annoyance. “I gave all I had / my heart was yours to hold / now I’m alone outside / I’ve never been so cold.” The melody was almost lost behind the grating tone of her voice.

A slight rumbling shook under my feet and I glanced at the stage director, certain he was testing the stage sets. Nothing was moving. The rumbling increased, groaned ominously and rose high into the air, setting every hair on my back on alert. My fingers reached for my cross of rubies and worked feverishly over the stones.

Renfrew stopped and the stage hand froze.

My breathing stopped.

Marie’s solitary note rang from her throat, coarse and pained, as though she’d not heard a thing. Only when she realized the music had ceased did she stop.

The rumbling became an audible growl that seemed to seep over the stage from every crack in the wall. I had to cover my ears as the groans became a roar that seemed to consume the air in the auditorium

My legs went numb, though I desperately wanted to run away.

“What is that?” Marie’s shout echoed throughout the cavernous auditorium and returned to her on echo after echo.

As suddenly as it had begun, the sound stopped and all was silent.

“I think the guys are testing the lift.” Tom’s eyes were far more concerned than his words let on.

“Urgh,” Marie grunted. “Start again,” she ordered Renfrew.

Again the melody filled the air accompanied by Marie’s hardened voice.

Again, the rumbling shook my feet and slowly filled the air.

“What the hell is that?” Marie screamed into the air.

“I’ll go check where it could be coming from.” Tom left the stage for a few moments, and throughout his inspection, the auditorium remained silent.

After a thorough check, nothing was found.

The piano rang in the air and Marie, more tentatively this time, began singing again. No slow build up of a rumble warned of the growl to come this time. A tremendous roar simply filled the auditorium, drowning out Marie and Renfrew and chilling the air.

October 15th, 2009

Dear Diary,

Most of the night was spent dreaming of this Phantom. I would never admit it to anyone, but I believe I’m enamored with this legendary figure. The strange goings-on at the Opera House are eerie, but I’m always eager to go back. Just being near that stage is enough to make me dream of a day when I’ll be talented enough to set foot on that shiny floor with the spotlight on me.

“Hey, Judy,” I said as I grabbed a very needed third cup of coffee. “What’s going on? Everyone seems so on edge.”

From the moment I’d entered the Opera House, I felt the tension. Directors and coordinators spoke in hushed tones in corridors. Singers gazed nervously about as though expecting the end of the world.

“Did you hear about what happened at rehearsal yesterday?”

“Yeah, kind of creepy, isn’t it? I still have goose bumps just thinking about it.” Was that what had everyone so skittish?

“Marie left the show.”

“Are you serious?” Though I knew Marie had been angered by the strange sounds, her departure seemed so out of character for such a strong girl.

“Whatever that noise was, it spooked her out so much, they cancelled the rehearsal and she just walked out.”

“Well, maybe she’ll show up,” I optimistically chirped.

After dropping three spoons of sugar into her black coffee, Judy glanced up at me. “Even if she did, they’ve postponed the show.”

“They didn’t.” A postponement could mean death to the show.

“They did.”

A lean young man with sunny curls and an infectious grin came up and playfully punched Judy in the arm. “Hey, Prancer. You sticking around here long?”

I glanced at him and he nodded in greeting.

“Just long enough to swallow a few of these down.” She turned to me. “Annette, do you know Chace?”

“Nope.” I stuck my hand out and he took it in a very genteel fashion.

“Nice to meet you, Annette. You a dancer like Prancer here?”

I guffawed and brought my hand to my mouth. Me, a dancer. Hardly. “No, I’m in wardrobe.”

He gave me a playful up and down glance.  “And a nice wardrobe it is.”

“Chace,” Judy chastised as she slapped him soundly across the chest.

“It was a compliment,” he whined while rubbing his bicep. “Nice fitting jeans, cool shirt that complements her thick mass of dark hair. And a cool cross around her neck.  I give her a nine.”

“Don’t mind him, Annette. He may be a talented violinist…”

“First chair,” he injected.

“But he’s a jerk when it comes to opening his mouth.”

“But an endearing jerk,” he added.

I smiled. He did, indeed, seem endearing in addition to being rather adorable. His grin was impossible to resist. “I better get going. Roberta is probably already looking for me.”

“Hey, why don’t you meet up with us for lunch?” Chace asked. He shoved his hands into his jean pockets, and suddenly seemed nervous and shy.

“Sure, that would be great.” I was already looking forward to spending more time with him.

“We’ll come back and meet you here at noon.”

“Cool, see you then.” I ran off. However, when I reached wardrobe Roberta informed me I wouldn’t be working on Marie’s dress as I’d planned.

“You heard she skipped out?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“We can’t do nothing on this dress until they find a replacement and we get that girl’s measurements.”

She found other tedious items to work on, but my mind was already on my lunch date with Judy and Chace. While he did come off slightly arrogant, there was something very appealing about him. By the time noon rolled around, I was jumping around on my seat, eager to get out, get fed, and get some air.

We ended up grabbing a hot-dog on Amsterdam and West 65th and walked around the Lincoln Center. The air was cool and scented with autumn; though I had no idea what fall in New York would really smell like.

“I can’t believe the show is actually being postponed,” Judy said through a mouthful. “I don’t think this has ever happened in the history of the Met.”

“I’ve certainly never seen a show with so many troubles. You’d almost think someone doesn’t want this particular show to go on,” Chace said.

Judy and I both stopped and turned to him.

“What are you saying?” Judy asked, pointing the remaining half of her hot dog at him. “Someone is deliberately sabotaging the show?”

“Who knows?”

“But that growling,” I said, still feeling the shiver that sound had induced. “I heard it. I was there. No one was able to find where it came from. I think that Legend has something to do with this.”

“Or maybe someone just wanted to get rid of Marie.” Judy wiped mustard off the corner of her mouth. “It’s understandable.”

“Hmmm.” Chace rubbed his chin thoughtfully and scrutinized Judy with mock suspicion. “And where were you yesterday at three o’clock?”

“Hell, honey. If I’d wanted to get rid of her I wouldn’t just have fooled around with her music and some silly growling.”

“And don’t forget a dress that almost suffocated her,” I threw in.

We all laughed, but it was a nervous laugh that left us all looking down at the pavement for a moment. I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen next. Would the strange sounds continue?  Would things get worse?

The remainder of our lunch was eaten in silence and soon we were back at the doors of the Opera where Judy left with the intent to audition elsewhere. “You never know how long this postponement will drag on for,” she said as she walked away.

“And I better get back to work,” I told Chace.

“Hey, I was thinking of catching a movie later; something to cheer us up.  Feel like coming?”

“Sure. Could be fun.”

“I guarantee it.” He laughed at the cockiness of his words and showed me that shy grin of his.

I hurried inside and headed to my station.  Roberta hadn’t returned from her lunch break yet nor had any of the other seamstresses. Getting some work done without the roar of sewing machines and buzz of conversations would be a pleasant change of pace. I had only a little work left to tend to and hurried to it. But instead of finding the trousers I’d been working on, I found several music sheets lying about.

The black dots and lines scattered across the page captivated me. I held in my hand the music penned by a phantom maestro and the romantic in me was aflutter. I heard the melody before I even realized I’d begun to read the notes and was humming the haunting song.

I glanced around.  Still no sign of Roberta. With the excitement of a child, I ran to the staircase, took the steps two at a time and headed down below the orchestra pit where an old abandoned piano sat in the gloom of the corner.

My fingers easily found the appropriate keys and the melody that emerged made me want to weep. Overcome with emotion, I struggled a moment to find my voice. When it finally came, it was heavy with longing and inexplicable sadness. The melody grew and heightened and my voice opened up, allowing all the pain of the lyrics to spill out; the heartache of loving one so deeply, only to learn of the coldness of his heart. A chill enveloped me and I shook it off.

Just as I was about to attempt the high C, just as the emotions of the song left my eyes tearing, I felt a shadow shift behind me.

Chapter 2

My breath caught in my throat and I had to remind myself to breathe. My fingers remained frozen above the ivory keys, poised to play again. I listened and while I heard nothing, I felt something.

I glanced sidelong on either side of me, reluctant to turn around and face who or what was actually behind me. Steeling myself, I finally turned around and was hardly surprised to see a young man standing there.

“That was quite lovely,” he said with a hint of a European accent; French perhaps.

“Hello.” Nothing more came to mind.

From what I could see, he was handsome, painfully so. Dark waves of thick hair flowed to his shoulders and, in the gloom of the room, and through the mask he wore, I could just barely make out the startlingly blue eyes that stared at me. His chin was strong, his lips welcoming, tender and sensual.

“You mustn’t have heard that the show has been temporarily cancelled,” I offered. He was in costume, that of an eighteenth century aristocrat. But the elegance of his attire betrayed his strength. The breadth of his chest, the power of his arms and the sensual line of his thighs were all quite evident. “Are you a swordsman?”

What a stupid question. I immediately felt the blood rush to my face and thanked the darkness.

“Your voice carries well. The emotion you evoke is almost painful.” His voice was smooth and calm. Though he appeared to be barely older than I, he exuded confidence and despite the unusual circumstance of our encounter, I felt at ease, almost as if I knew him.

I tried to concentrate on what he was saying and on keeping my eyes from drifting down over the strong line of his shoulders. “I don’t remember seeing such a costume in the wardrobe department. It’s quite magnificent. Very authentic looking.”

He smiled and I had to reach for the piano to steady myself. A wave of warmth spread over me, ran through my hair and soothed the nape of my neck.

“Have you considered trying out for the role of Adelle?”

“The lead? Me? In the Masquerade? No. Of course not.”

“You have the rich tone and depth Marie lacked. You’re also considerably more beautiful. Marie’s appeal was flat and one-dimensional. Blond is so predictable; but the depth of darkness that surrounds your flawless skin makes a man burn to get closer.”

I swallowed and my gut turned an involuntary somersault. To emphasize his words he took a step closer and I was mesmerized by the power of his stride. His scent came to me and I wanted to inhale deeply and breathe him all in. He wasn’t artificially perfumed, but the blend of leather, linen and plain old masculinity was intoxicating.

“You could easily be the star of this show, Annette.”

He knew my name and I knew I should question how, but my eyes dipped down to his chest and the urge to put my hand to the fine fabric of his jacket was more than I could bear.

“I’m just a seamstress, not a singer. And I should get back to wardrobe. Roberta will be looking for me.” I grabbed the sheets of music and stepped around him, my heart pounding.

Heat seared up my arm as he reached out for my hand and stopped my progress. “Return at five o’clock. I’ll wait for you.”

My gaze remained on his lips, expecting to see a playful smile, flirtatious grin or victorious smirk. But his mouth remained aligned in determination and I knew I would do as he requested.

“And who, exactly, are you?”

“Eric.”

Chapter 3

October 16st, 2009

Dear Diary,

I spent over two hours with Eric in that darkened room. He played the piano brilliantly and I sang with increasing confidence, but the notion of auditioning still seems absurd to me. I mentioned my odd encounter with him to Judy and she could not recall seeing such a man. Despite this, she has encouraged me to see Eric again to continue singing.

While I still refuse to even consider auditioning for this role, the thought of spending time with Eric is certainly enticing. Then again, I did have a movie date with Chace.

It was well past seven when I rushed from Opera House and headed out to meet Chace for our movie. I’d forgotten about him and felt awful. The streets were crowded and, as is always the case when one is in a rush, everyone seemed to be moving at a deliberately slow pace.

“Sorry, I got out a bit late.” I was panting and flushed by the time I arrived.

He greeted me with a patient and pleasant smile. His brow was lightly furrowed and he seemed to want to question what could have kept me, but he simply said, “No problem. We can catch the second show. Have you had dinner?”

I hadn’t, but barely felt my hunger. I could still smell Eric’s breath on my skin and I felt a tinge of guilt. “I guess we could grab a bite as we wait.”

“I don’t know much about New York, but I’m pretty sure we can find something nearby.”

We did, and while the atmosphere of the little bistro was static and frigid, conversation with Chace was animated and fun.

“I was in New Orleans a few years back. Fascinating city. Wild.”

“It is. I miss it. But New York does have a way of making me forget what I left behind a bit.”

Chace was also new to New York and dearly missed his hometown of Lakewood just outside of Cleveland. The youngest of three boys, he was the only one musically inclined and his father had hoped to see him go into sports, hockey in particular, as his brothers had.

“I first picked up a violin for the third grade talent show and though I just made a bunch of dreadful screeching sounds, I fell in love with it. So while my brothers were going off and slapping pucks across the ice, I was practicing and practicing until my fingers burned, not to mention my dad’s ears.”

“Is he proud of you now, your father?”

He grinned. “He reluctantly came to my first recital when I was twelve. My mother dragged him. He didn’t admit it, but I think I blew him away. He never questioned my decision after that, and he never compared me to my brothers either.”

“Ah, a father’s dream for his son. It takes a lot of guts to go against his dream and forge out your own. I guess it’s the same courage that allows someone as young as you are to actually be first chair.”

He cocked his head to the side and seemed reluctant to accept my praise. “He and my mom had planned to be here opening week. Now with the postponement I don’t know if they’ll be able to make it.”

“I’m sure they will.”

A moment of silence stretched out and was on the verge of becoming uncomfortable. I could feel his unease as his fingers tapped nervously on the edge of his empty plate.

“The movie should be about to start soon,” I offered. “Should we get going?”

He seemed relieved, but a weight was visibly on his shoulders.

Chapter 4

When Eric arrived the following night with the sheets to every song Adelle sang, I was stunned and excited.

“This piano won’t do,” he calmly said.

He reached for my hand and led me down a corridor. A stairwell opened up at the end and we descended down the spiral in virtual darkness.

“Where are we going?” Logic told me to be fearful, but all I could feel was excitement.

Ignoring my question he led me through a series of tunnels. Before long I felt lost and hoped he would recall the way back to the Opera House.

The final tunnel gave way to a dimly lit corridor with pretty French doors at the right. With a grand gesture, Eric pushed both doors back. “This is the piano worthy of the rich tones of your voice.”

A grand piano, black and glimmering in the faint glow of the surrounding torches mounted on the wall, stood in the center of the room. The room was simple, but elegant with two Louis XVI chairs set in expectation near the piano. An exquisite tapestry depicting the emergence of spring around an elaborate chateau covered the far wall, while an oil painting of Parisian life faced it.

He thrust the pile of music sheets onto the piano and rummaged through them.

“How did you get all this?”

He again ignored my question, found the song he’d been looking for and settled at the piano. His eyes directed me to come behind him. I was immediately struck by the number of notes that dotted the staff in quick succession and with rapid variations.

I struggled with the first few intricate notes and had to start over three times. I then stumbled through the first verse and when the melody climaxed, I choked.

“I can’t hit that note.”

“You can,” he said simply.

We tried again and again and again.

“You’re letting your nerves win.” He stood and put his hands to my shoulders and his steady gaze to my eyes. “Close your eyes.”

After a moment’s hesitation, I did.

“This is a song of pain, heartache and betrayal,” he said in a soft and tortured tone. “Have you ever been betrayed, Annette?”

My heart went back to my childhood, carefree and easy. Loved by my parents, well liked in school and with a long line of interested suitors in high school, I’d never been through the kind of the pain the song spoke of. “No.”

“Imagine a love so strong, a love so powerful and profound that your thoughts are consumed by each pounding of your heart. Imagine each breath lingering on the air to be swept by your lover. Feel his touch across your skin and taste his lips.”

The heat in the small room increased as he moved closer. My lashes fluttered as I struggled to keep my eyes closed.

“Lay with him night after night and fill your heart with the future that awaits you. Make plans that intertwine your dreams with his aspirations. Envision him at your side until you can’t imagine what life without him would be.”

I nodded, and let him be the object of these imaginings. The very notion of waking at his side every morning brought a twitch of a smile to my lips.

“Do you feel the love?” His words were almost a song, low, heavy and thrilling.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Do you feel secure and warm?”

“Yes.”

With savage force he pushed me away and I slammed into the wall behind me. My eyes flew open and the dim light revealed the anger in his eyes.

“What do you feel now?” he demanded.

I just stared and fought the tears that burned their way up my throat.

“What do you feel?” he shouted.

“Cold,” I muttered.

“Just cold?”

“Cold and alone.  Frightened.”

Without another word, he turned to the piano and resumed his seat. “Sing,” he commanded as a finger hit the first note.

My lips parted, my throat opened and a heavenly note emerged. The first verse flowed through me, the words catching on my heart and bringing fresh tears to my eyes. And the climax. I had no time to think of whether I could hit it or not, I could just feel.

The note, high, clear and strong, rang out and echoed on the high ceiling.

Eric’s fingers pounded the keys with the pain I felt, with the pain I sang of. I knew he was no longer really there, just as I felt I’d be elevated to another place. Solace was found in knowing that we were going to this other place together, if perhaps for different reasons.

Chapter 5

November 2nd, 2009

Dear Diary,

Eric has touched something deep inside me, something I didn’t even know I had. He has offered to give me more lessons, despite the fact that I’m unable to pay him for his time. His love of this music is contagious and I want to do every note justice. He seems confident in my abilities and his confidence helps build up mine. Somehow, I feel I would be letting him down were I to give up.

It’s strange. He’s strange, but in an appealing way. I dreamt of him again and I awoke with a hunger I’ve never felt before.

Eric’s coaching intensified over the next few weeks and his enthusiasm had become the most important aspect of the increased confidence. While the pragmatic and humble side of me refused to believe I could really pull this off, the artist in me, the dreamer in me and the woman Eric seemed to see was believing it more and more.

“Why are you so unsure of yourself?” he asked after my fourth attempt at the finale. It was a huge song that left me feeling smaller every time I attempted it. “You know you have the voice, and I know you have the passion. Why are you holding back?”

He’d closed the piano and set his elbow on it in a relaxed pose.

“Why do you always wear that mask?” I asked.

His brow rose in surprise, but he offered nothing.

“Maybe my insecurities and uncertainties are the mask I hide behind, while you wear yours plainly on your face.”

He showed another spark of surprise, but only for a moment. “I thought women enjoyed mystery.”

It was my turn to cock a brow. “Touché.” I couldn’t deny the effect the mask had on me. In addition to everything that was peculiar and exciting about my time with him, seeing only half of his handsome face left me constantly eager to see more.

I glanced at the music sheets at the piano and remembered my first singing classes. The enthusiasm and confidence I’d naively displayed had been quickly dashed. “A few years ago I was supposed to sing in a play at school. Eileen, my cousin and nemesis, was upset she’d not been asked to sing. Just before going on stage, she berated me and told me I’d only been asked to sing because I was…”

“Beautiful,” he finished for me.

I nodded.

“There’s no shame in realizing one’s own beauty.”

I shrugged off his comment and continued. “She said my voice was shrill and irritating and that Mr. Roach, the music teacher, had only put me in the show out of pity. By the time I got on stage, my throat was paralyzed with a lump of tears. I tried to swallow, but couldn’t. And when the music began, I panicked. All those people were out there in the auditorium, just waiting for me to sing, expecting so much.  It was awful. I was awful. I never sang in front of people again.”

“It’s time to get past that and move on.”

I pushed the pain of that night aside and looked up at Eric. His compassion for my story was touching and I suddenly wanted to reach out to touch him. “Why are you doing this?” I asked as I clamped my hands together. “Why are you helping me?”

“A true love of fine music, I guess.” He seemed so sincere and wise, I knew his heart was in the right place. “Having heard Marie put her false emotions into the music for the past months, it’s refreshing to hear how the songs were really meant to be interpreted.

“I’ve always felt music was the best way to express oneself,” he continued. “It has always been a part of me. I think it’s a part of you as well, you just have to believe it.”

“You know this music so well, and you play it with such intensity. It’s almost as if you wrote it yourself. Where do you find the passion?”

“I know the pain of which the music speaks.”

“You seem too young to know so much about these strong emotions.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

I immediately flustered and knew he was aware of it. He reached up to touch my cheek and I was shocked by the sensation his fingers created.

“How can one so beautiful not know such stirrings of the heart?”

“I’ve always worked; always helped my mom. I guess I just never had the time.”

“My one true love, Kristine, left me on the verge of insanity. It’s a far more powerful emotion than one can imagine. Kristine was almost as beautiful as you are and just as enchanting.”

“She hurt you?”

“Love can be painful enough to leave you fleeing all that you hold dear. I left Paris and came to New York soon after.”

“Paris? How romantic.”

He grinned, but was obviously pained by the emotions his memories left him with. “My only love now is the music and my only concern is assuring this opera conveys the notes, the heart and the soul it was meant to express.”

“I’m just not sure…”

His eyes hardened and his lips tightened. He got to his feet and stood just inches away from me. My eyes went to the piano, now closed and silent.

Eric’s strong fingers caressed my cheek, and took a firm grasp of my chin, pulling my attention up to his eyes. “The time for insecurities and doubts has passed. This is not a school play and I’m not your jealous cousin. I know the music. I know the emotion each note and word is meant to evoke. And I know that you are the one who can bring each song to life.”

Unable to hold his gaze, I glanced sidelong at the piano.

“Have I given you any reason to believe that I do not know the heart of this music?”

“No.  On the contrary.”

“Then, trust me.”

Chapter 6

November 17th, 2009

Dear Diary,

New York is splendid and every day is a discovery. Central Park is a far cry from the bayous, but it has a charm that is irresistible. The temperatures have already dipped down more than I’m accustomed to, but I’m looking forward to the new season to come.

No replacement has been found yet for Marie, and I’m beginning to feel a surge of hope at my chances of actually winning the part. My voice is growing stronger every day, as is the tension between Eric and me. I know he has no romantic interest in me, but my dreams continue to put us in romantic scenarios night after night.

It’s ridiculous and adolescent, I know. But how am I to control my dreams?

With a blanket draped over Chace’s shoulder and a basket of goodies hanging on my arm, we headed to the heart of Central Park to catch an outdoor concert. I had no idea who was playing or what they’d be playing, but it didn’t matter. Chace had me laughing all the way and it was just nice spending time with him.

The differences between the halo of light that consistently rayed about Chace and the doom of darkness that shrouded Eric left me wondering how I could find such distinctive looks and personalities equally appealing.

In the darkness that forever accompanied Eric, I felt small as I constantly looked to him for guidance and wisdom.

But with Chace; we were like two new, shiny green peas discovering the great expanse of this huge pod. He had a childlike curiosity for everything the city had to offer and he dragged me along on his quest to learn more. I giggled like a child, laughed until my stomach cramped and, at times, howled so loud, walkers-by turned to me in wonder.

“This good?” Chace stopped at a sunny, grassy spot near The Lake and let the blanket fall to the ground. “We can move closer to the stage after we eat.”

“Perfect.” I set the basket down and took up the far corner of the blanket.

Though our stroll through the park had been peppered with interesting bits of conversation, now that we’d settled down, that sense of tension I’d felt with him the night of the movie returned.

“How are you keeping nimble throughout this break in show rehearsals?” I hoped to break the ice and have him talking again.

Chace offered me an amused smile. “Don’t mind my awkward silences. I’ve become so accustomed to being around adults all my life, that I sometimes find myself speechless when I’m left to carry a conversation with someone my age.”

“I don’t mind,” I said with a playful nudge.  “I’ll just poke you out of your silence.”

The silence resumed and I wondered if it was deliberate. He was chewing on a bite of sandwich and seemed miles away for a second before he glanced sidelong at me and smile.

“I’m constantly breaking my neighbor’s ear at home,” he said, finally getting around to answering my question. “I wake up and play, have lunch and play, come home for dinner and play.  And, for good measure, just before going to bed I play.”

I laughed, believing he was pulling my leg, but quickly realized he was serious.

“I didn’t get where I am today by simply fiddling around a bit, no pun intended.”

“I have to admit that while singing often offers challenges, I don’t think I’d have what it takes to keep it up if I had to work at it quite as much as you do on the violin.”

“Yeah, Judy told me you’ve been working hard to try to audition for Marie’s role.”

“I have.”

“With some Eric dude?” His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and his lips had trouble forming Eric’s name.

“Yeah.”

“So, who is he exactly?” He shifted away and tension scrunched up his shoulders.

“A cast member who really wants this show to go on and who believes I’m the one to pull the lead off.”

Chace took a big gulp of cola and turned away, the tousle of pale curls almost obscuring his face. His eyes narrowed and while he seemed to want to blame the squint on the sun, something else seemed to be going on behind his pale blue eyes. His brow was lightly furrowed and his thoughts seemed all too distant.

“Do you think I can’t do it?”

His face instantly lit up as he turned and flashed me a warm grin. “I have no doubt you can do it. And you’ll be beautiful as you do. New York will fall in love with Annette Binoche.”

I giggled and felt like a twelve year old. I loved how he made me feel when he smiled like that. Alive and young and happy. Every time he smiled, I longed to lean into him to kiss his soft lips. I was surprised and at times dismayed to see his lack of physical attraction to me. Though he had held my hand one night as we’d made our way through a crowd, he’d yet to kiss me goodnight.

The sudden need to think of something other than his lips left me saying the only thing that came to mind. “I wouldn’t have thought a musician could be such a great cook.” The light lunch he’d packed, complete with chicken sandwiches, potato salad and cupcakes, was delicious and I was soon feeling fat and full.

He busied himself putting everything away. “Being on your own tends to push you to learn to do a lot for yourself.”

“Here,” I said, reaching for the basket. “I’ll take that.” My fingers brushed against his, but the touch seemed to have little effect on him, unlike me who almost stopped breathing.

In the distance we heard the first notes of music and as we approached the crowd, I noticed the slowed pace Chace adopted.

“How ‘bout we hang back here? I’m not really into crowds.”

“I was kinda hoping you’d say that. I’m not much for crowds, either. Besides, the music is loud enough we’ll have no problem hearing it from here.”

We sat back, leaning against the coarse bark of a tree trunk. The music was great, the crowd lively and the atmosphere peaceful. But as evening settled, the stage lights came on and the sun went down. The darkening sky twinkled with only a few faint and distant stars, and brought about considerably cooler air. Despite a good sweater and my leather coat, the temperature was soon uncomfortable.

The temptation to move closer to Chace was controlled only by my desire to avoid turning the uncomfortable situation into a tense one. He was a good friend and I wanted to keep it that way. If he had no romantic interest in me, I didn’t want him to become aware of the interest I had in him. I found him hopelessly endearing and charming, but I didn’t want to ruin the friendship we’d already built in such a short period of time.

But just as that thought crossed my mind, I felt the warmth of his fingers at the nape of my neck. My breathing stopped and every ounce of me was concentrated on those few square inches of skin.

“You must be getting cold.”

I barely recognized the croak of his voice that emerged.

“Just a bit,” I lied. My head involuntarily tilted back to his touch and I caught myself just in time to halt a contented sigh. “The show is just about over. I should be able to tough if out.”

His fingers continued to play at my nape until we were ready to leave, and while I was disappointed he didn’t move closer, I was charmed by the gentleman he displayed.

“It’s cool doing things with you,” he said as we turned the corner to where I lived. “All the time I spent with adults all my life I’d never realized how I missed out on hanging around with kids my age.”

“I’ll ignore how you just called me a kid and simply say, thank you.”

He chuckled and playfully leaned his shoulder into mine.

“Judy’s pretty much our age. Don’t you hang out with her?” Although the question had started out innocent enough, I found myself edgy as I waited for his answer. He seemed so buddy-buddy with her and an unexpected jolt of jealousy went through me at the thought of more of a romance between them.

“She’s almost thirty.”

“Really?”

“She’s cool though, but still thirty.”

We reached the door of my apartment building near the Lincoln Center.

I turned to face him and was once again stunned by how great he looked. The light breeze played with his blond curls and a naughty grin played on his lips. His tongue nervously slipped out to moisten his lips and I wondered if he wanted to get as close to me as I wanted to get to him.

“This is what,” I began, “our sixth date?”

He took a step closer.  “Yeah.”

For the first time since I’d met him I held his steady gaze. There was something there and I knew it. I may not have been as worldly as Judy, but I knew what it meant when a guy looked at me that way. Or I was simply feeling foolish enough to risk it.

He stood and gazed down at me, his eyes questioning and tender.

The confidence of just seconds earlier melted away and fear and anticipation of what was to come left me suddenly unsure. “When a…,” I sputtered. I glanced away, cleared my throat and tried again. “When are you going to kiss me?”

I wanted to take the words back the moment they came out. How silly of me? How could I ask him such a thing?

He came closer and brought his hand around my waist. “Now,” he whispered.

I couldn’t bear to look at him. Was he smirking? Laughing at me? Mocking me? I managed to bring my gaze up to his mouth and was transfixed by the sincere and hungry parting of his lips.

His hold on my waist tightened and the warmth of his breath brushed across my cheek. His name hung on my lips, but was wiped away when he pressed his mouth over mine.

All the warmth in the world enveloped me and I just wanted to be in his hold forever. I leaned into him for more, but his lips pulled away from mine.

Chapter 7

November, 30th, 2009

Dear Diary,

Chace and I have grown closer these past weeks. He’s occasionally shown a touch of curiosity and jealousy for the time I spend with Eric, but I’ve reassured him that Eric is simply my vocal coach and nothing more. Those romantic dreams of Eric have ceased and while I’m still greatly intrigued by the dark and somber man he is, I’ve accepted our relationship as that of teacher and pupil.

“What are you doing?” Judy called out as she came up behind me.

I didn’t want anyone to know and I tried to sputter out a fabrication. “I’m looking for…Chace.  He was supposed to stop by today.” I looked down the length of the corridor just outside the rehearsal hall and craned my neck to see.

She smiled knowingly. I’d obviously not fooled her.

“Okay, but what were you writing?” she persisted.

With the pen still in my hand it was hard to deny.

“Is that the list of girls auditioning for the role of Adelle?”

“I came by to see how many were auditioning.” That seemed convincing enough.

Undeterred, Judy pushed me aside and scrutinized the list. “Ann Arnette? How imaginative.”

I pressed my lips together in indignation and let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Why not Annette Binoche? What are you afraid of?”

She was right and I knew it, but I still refused to put my real name on that list.

“When are they starting?”

“You’re not going to hang around are you?”

“I want to see what you’ve been up to these past weeks.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, I don’t want you hanging around to watch.”

“I was thinking of calling Chace to see if…”

“Judy, you wouldn’t.  Please.”

“You’re so easy to rile, it’s funny. Don’t worry. I’m not going to call Chace and I won’t be within a mile of the House. And I won’t say a word to anyone.” She came to me and pulled me into her arms. “Break a leg, kid.”

Two hours later I was seated outside the auditorium, ready to pull my hair out. Thirty-one girls had gone through those doors and some of them sounded frighteningly promising.

“Ann Arnette,” a stagehand called.

I stood and was surprised at the steadiness of my legs. With long and confident strides I made my way to the center of the stage. One sole spotlight lit my face, virtually blinding me as I looked out into the massive expanse of high ceilings, endless balconies and rows upon rows of vacant seats.

“When you’re ready,” the casting director muttered.

My eyes grew heavy and I took a moment to relive the emotions Eric had pulled from me that day he’d pushed me away. Placing my heart in a space of love in pain, I nodded.

The intro began, I felt the music and my heart sped. Seconds before the first notes emerged from my throat, I opened my eyes to live the pain of the song. My voice rang out, each word heartfelt, each note precise and each breath torn from my breasts. By the climax, I could feel my heart break and I lived the loss. The last note held on the dense air and clung to the rafters.

Then silence.

“Thank you,” the director said in the most passive and unimpressed tone a man could speak.

Hiding my devastation, I walked off. I barely noticed the envious glances of the girls who stood around waiting for a decision. Another hour passed before the auditions finally came to an end.

With little more than a nod our way, a stagehand came out and simply announced, “Ann Arnette, please be here tomorrow morning for rehearsals.”

It took a few pats on the back from several of the girls before it finally sank it. I had it. I’d gotten the role. I was going to be the lead in a major opera at the New York Metropolitan Opera House.

***

After calling my mom to give her the great news, I called Chace then Judy.

“Sweetie, you deserve it,” she cheered. “I can’t wait to share the stage with you. Let’s meet up to celebrate. I’ll buy the beer.”

“Thanks, but Chace offered to bring me for a ride in Central Park. Besides, rehearsals are going to start tomorrow, so I can’t drink.”

“Hmmm, does this mean you’ll be your own seamstress?”

I laughed. I hadn’t really thought of that.

Chace and I met at the West 77th Street entrance. He arrived with a huge bouquet of flowers and was quick to give me a wet and warm celebratory kiss.

“I knew you could do it,” he said as we entered Central Park.

“Thanks. I don’t think I would have had the guts to go ahead if it wasn’t for you.”

He shrugged off my comment and seemed annoyed, but before I could ask him about it, the clip clop of horse hooves brought my attention to the lovely carriage that awaited us.

“This is so romantic, Chace,” I said as I boarded. “This whole day has been one unbelievable event after another.”

The horse whinnied and shifted as Chace boarded and fell in close beside me. “Sorry about that.”

Seeing through his ploy, I smiled and reached for his hand. “You’ll do anything to get closer to me,” I teased.

His eyes softened while his fingers played softly against my hand. “So, when will I have a chance to hear you sing?”

While his question was innocent enough, I heard the angst in his tone. He’d grown tired of the time I spent with Eric, though he made every attempt to hide it.

“I could sing for you now, if you want,” I whispered.

His gentle squeeze of my hand was his answer.

We sat back and I leaned into him, bringing my lips to his ear. The most uplifting song of the opera was Again I’ll Love and I chose that one to share with him.

“I see why you got the role,” he said when I finished.

His clear blue eyes locked onto mine and I felt too many emotions coursing through me.

“I’m glad you came out to celebrate with me.” I tightened my hold of his hand and kissed his cheek.

His eyes scanned my face and lingered on my lips a moment before coming back to hold my gaze. Hunger transformed his face and he was no longer the boyish, fun-loving guy who’d just stepped out for a carriage ride.

My own desire to get closer to him intensified. We’d been playing it so chaste these past weeks. Hand holding and innocent kisses that only hinted at the passion we both held in check.

I leaned in to kiss him, to taste his lips. His hand was quick to dig into my hair and pull me closer. I could hear his breath, difficult and ragged as his mouth devoured mine. For a moment we were suspended in time, in our own little bubble as the world vanished.

The carriage turned abruptly, thrusting us to one side, effectively throwing a bucket of water on our inappropriately heated behavior. Our surroundings returned to the forefront and I patted my hair into place then wiped the remnants of his kiss off my lips.

He smiled, but his eyes retained their intensity.

Moments later, the horse came to a stop and Chace stepped down to help me like a true gentleman. He was a fairy tale come true.

“My building is just over there. You want to come in to warm up before heading home?” he asked.

Was I ready for this?

Though I had a few reservations about going to his home, I nodded.

The moment we entered his apartment and the door closed behind us, I felt the build up of tension between us. It wasn’t the uncomfortable silence as we’d experienced at the start of our relationship, but rather silent anticipation of what was to come.

“You want a soda, something to drink?”

“Water is fine,” I said as I looked around the small and sparsely furnished room. Not too surprisingly, it was neat and tidy. His violin lay on the table beside his bed, the bow neatly tucked in beside it.

“I know it’s small, but it was all I could afford while remaining relatively close to the Met. Besides, I’m hardly ever here so I don’t really need more than the one room.”

With only one chair at the small dining table, he led me to the bed and sat down. The implication was heavy and I was suddenly uncomfortable. I reached for the glass of water he offered.

To my relief, he pulled one leg up under him and took a very relax and laid back pose. With no attempt to get closer to me, my nerves settled down and we talked extensively of the show to come. Now part of the cast, I felt a kinship to him I’d not felt before.

“You know, it’s going to be pretty hard being down there in the pit and concentrating on the music while you’re up there, so close, so beautiful.”

Embarrassed, I looked down at my empty glass.

“So beautiful,” he repeated in a voice that’d suddenly gone down a register. He pushed my hair away from my face and I leaned into his hand, my eyes heavy for wanting more. I heard him shift closer and I swallowed in anticipation.

I should stop this now before it goes any further. The thought whirled in my head again and again, but my body did nothing to stop what was inevitable. His fingers at my temple continued to brush through my hair and I smelled his sweet breath just before I dared open my eyes to face him.

“Chace,” I murmured. I didn’t know what more to say. Stop. Go. Wait. Hurry. I had an early rehearsal the next morning and had to leave. But the warmth of his fingers and the desire to taste his breath again was right here, right now.

His kiss was soft and tender for only a brief moment before his hands gripped my face and urgently tugged me closer. Lacking the slow build up of our earlier kiss, his tongue quickly reached in to meet with mine and I greedily welcomed him.

We fell back onto the bed and my brain sounded a faint and barely audible alert. But my body thrilled with the new sensation of his body pressed up against mine and I wanted more.

His hand traveled down my throat and between my breasts. A short, sharp breath escaped my lips and my eyes shot open, only to close again when he shifted over to lay me on my back and cover my body with his. Panic and desire alternated with every move he made. He pressed his pelvis to me and his breathing took on a whole new sense of urgency. His lips left mine and kissed their way down my neck to the opening of my shirt. One efficient hand made quick work of the buttons and his mouth greedily tasted the newly exposed skin.

“Chace,” I whispered.  I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t ready. Not now.

His grunts and groans intensified as his lips worked over the swell of my breast, heeded only by the flimsy lace of my bra.

“Chace.” I put a firm hand to his shoulder and pushed him away.

The eyes that focused on me were barely recognizable. The pretty blond boy I’d met weeks earlier was now a man, complete with a hunger I knew I could not yet fulfill. After a few ragged breaths, his eyes cleared. He sat back and helped me up.

“I can’t believe what you do to me,” he whispered as he turned away and focused on the kitchen counter. “My whole life I’ve prided myself on my unwavering self control. You’re tearing all that down.”

I bit my lip and tried to weigh his words. Was he teasing? Was it a reproach?

“Maybe we’re moving too fast,” I suggested.

He nodded.

Chapter 8

The moment I entered my apartment, I knew he’d been there and immediately I felt the guilt. I could feel his dark essence. Eric was entirely responsible for the way my audition had turned out and I’d not thought a moment of sharing my success with him.

Tatters of pink silk lined the path to the foot of my bed where remnants of an elegant gown lay puddled on the floor like a discarded rag. Sheets of paper had been torn to tiny bits, barely allowing me to make out that they’d once been sheets of music.

How angry he must have been. How hurt.

One page however remained intact and was set on my kitchen counter.

My Lovely Annette,

What greatest of gifts it was to hear of your successful audition. I’d mistakenly hoped to participate in your celebration, but you’ve apparently chosen to share your joy with someone else, somewhere else.

Eric

My heart sank. Greatest of gifts. In the blur of my audition and subsequent triumph, I’d completely forgotten Eric’s birthday. With the shreds of silk still in my hand, I sat on my bed and berated myself for my selfish actions and complete lack of gratitude for everything Eric had done for me.

Perhaps he’d come back. Perhaps after a few moments to cool his anger he’d return. But twenty minutes later, I realized he would not come back.

I pulled my leather jacket back on and headed beneath the Opera House to find the maze of tunnels he’d guided me through. My desire to find him and apologize drove me into the darkened corridors that normally would have left me shivering in fear. Moisture clung to the walls and trickled from the ceiling. Puddles of murky water accumulated here and there, at times almost completely blocking the path.

But my fearlessness was not as fruitful as I’d hoped. Without Eric’s guidance I was soon lost and disoriented. Darkness intensified and I relied on my hands to grope my way through the tunnels. I wanted to call out and cry his name, to beg his forgiveness and ask him once again to guide me to the light and his intimate piano room.

A dim glimmer of hope illuminated the far end of the tunnel and I rushed toward the light, oblivious of the puddles I stepped through. The light intensified, flickering and jumping across the walls. I turned the corner to see the shadow of a man hunched near the source of a flame coming for a trash can.

“Eric?” Even as his name echoed in the air, I knew it was not him. The figure was bent and small, dirty and weak.

He turned to me, an old man in rags who stared blindly my way. “Who’s there?” he called.

Three other figures emerged from the shadows. The withering flames threw harsh flashes of light on their gaunt faces. “Who are you talking to?” one asked.

“Who the hell is there?” the old man repeated.

I silently backed away and turned down another corridor, trying to recall the path Eric had taken. Right, then left and left again. Or should it have been right? In the distance, steps echoed. Holding my breath, I stopped to listen. They got louder and closer, but it was impossible to know if they were Eric’s or that of another lost stranger.

A huge silhouette emerged and stood stock still in the faint glow of an orange light. I knew in an instant it wasn’t Eric and turned to run, but my progress was painfully halted and for a moment I thought I’d run into a wall.

The wall turned out to be the thick and hard chest of a man who seemed none too pleased to have me run into him.

“Well, hello little lady,” he snickered as he clasped a vice like fist around my forearm. “Hey, Brad, lookit what I found.”

Fighting to break free, I felt the pain in my arm explode as he tightened his hold. His partner was soon at my back, breathing his putrid breath down my neck. Their hands were soon all over me and panic choked my screams. They groped and squeezed and pressed their faces into my neck and breasts.

My slaps were useless as my arms just flailed uselessly over their bulk. My hand finally made solid contact with the flesh of the man in front of me and I was surprised when he completely released me and fell back. Adrenaline was pumping through me like never before, but I was nonetheless surprised by the power my fear held. I elbowed the guy behind me, and while he let out a small grunt, his hold of me remained.

Seconds later, without warning, he released me and fell to the floor with a nauseating thud. A third man had arrived and I could hear a struggle and make out the faint movements of bodies moving, fighting then running.

“You shouldn’t be down here alone.”

“Eric?” Wearing a black leather jacket, black pants and biker boots, the only recognizable item that told me it was him was the mask he still wore.

“You could have been killed.”

“Eric, they were going to…” I was suddenly weak and overcome with what could have happened. Their foul odor remained in my nostrils and I struggled to remain upright as I shuddered in disgust.

Eric’s arms were around me in an instant, swooping under me to pull me into his arms. He threw his leg over the nearby motorcycle and settled me in the secure embrace of his arms before bringing the bike to a roaring start. With reckless speed he turned down one tunnel, sped down the length to the next intersection and made a sharp turn to the left. A quick right brought us to a wash of bright light before re-entering another darkened tunnel.

The wheels screeched across the damp pavement as we reached a dead end and he brought the bike to a stop. The tunnels ended here. There was no opening and no way out. I glanced back at him, fearing he’d lost his way. Sheer determination clouded his eyes as he reached out to push aside a stone in the wall.

Two large slabs of stone parted to reveal an old and far from sturdy looking elevator. Eric motored in. I hid my apprehension as the doors closed and the old metal box shook to life. The walls creaked and the floor rumbled as though straining beneath our weight. We came to a bumpy and unsure stop and the doors opened once again.

Expecting more dingy and dank corridors, I gasped when the sliding doors revealed the magnificent foyer of what appeared to be an elegant home. Filled with rich woods, fine antiques and an aristocratic flair for fine art, the home was in sharp contrast to the man Eric now appeared to be.

“This doesn’t really look like the home of a biker.” I smiled as I slid off the motorcycle seat and stepped across the marble floor. “It’s beautiful, Eric. Is this where you live?”

“It’s my home, yes.”

His shoulders were stiff and his stride strong as he headed down a long and well lit hallway. He turned into another small, but warm rehearsal room. A baby grand took up the larger portion of the room, but a cello, violin and French horn also awaited a musician’s touch.

Stabbing guilt returned and I felt extremely flustered. “Eric, I can’t begin to thank you enough for what you’ve done for me.”

His silence was hard and cold.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you know right away. I was swept away and…”

“Being abandoned and set aside is nothing new.”

“I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.” The statement was lame and far too late in coming.

“The day of my birth was as such. A day to be ignored by those who should most desire to care for me.”

He turned to me and I could see his pained soul reaching out for my love. “Did your mother never celebrate your birthday with you?”

“What mother?” he spat.

My guilt increased. I was no different than the woman who’d apparently let him down.

“She chose to find a new life for herself. One that didn’t include the crying fits of a child.” He ran his hand across the smooth, glossy finish of the piano and seemed miles away. “I could thank her for my love of music. Perhaps the day she set me on the steps of the Paris Opera House was the luckiest day of my life.”

He chuckled, but it held no amusement, just bitterness.

“I was selfish, Eric.” I reached for his hand and expected him to tear it away from my touch, but he remained still and allowed me to thread my fingers through his. I squeezed my fingers tight and he responded by pulling me closer. “I owe everything to you.”

“I simply polished what you already had.  The talent already resided in you. Don’t forget that.”

Our eyes met; his with a touch of pride despite the pain; mine with regret and tears.

“The time for tears has passed,” he said as he dragged a finger across my cheek. “Now is the time to sing and triumph.”

He untangled our fingers, and moved away to sit at the piano. Fierce and almost angry, his fingers pounded the keys and I joined in, singing the passion I knew the song deserved. He moved to the music, to the rhythm, his hair flying into his face with every note.

The song came to a blazing end and while the last notes still echoed in the air, he rose, swept me off my feet and carried me out and up the grand staircase. Every step held purpose and anticipation. He turned into a bedchamber.

I should have been shocked. I should have been horrified. But my heart filled with the desire to share this room with him; to share his bed. For weeks the excruciating pain of being so close to him had worn away at my self-control. I wanted him.

A quick flash of my recent moments spent with Chace sped through my mind, but I shoved it away. Chace was a friend.

Eric was…I gasped as I realized Eric was the one who truly consumed my thoughts.

My hand reached for his cheek. I couldn’t believe I could be so brazen, but the passion of the song still clung to me and I felt a desperate need to share it with him. A light bristle of stubble scratched my skin as I slipped my fingers under his mask. He turned his face away and quickly set me down. Before he could turn away, I grasped his hands to keep him close.

“Let me in, Eric.” I stepped up onto my toes, raked my fingers through his thick hair and pulled him close to kiss him. “Let me in.”

His lips were soft and warm, and I leaned closer when he pulled away. He yielded for a brief moment and allowed my tongue to sweep in to taste his. But his fingers quickly dug into the flesh of my arms to push me away.

With his back to me, I stood and stared at him. “Why did you bring me here if it’s not to get closer to me?” I shouted.

“I brought you here to save you from men intent on hurting you.” He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it to the bed. The fabric of his shirt was pulled tight across the width of his shoulders and his arms revealed the power they had to hurt.

“Liar.” My heart pounded in my ears and I couldn’t believe I was shouting at him.

“Perhaps it was wrong to bring you here.” He turned to face me and my heart fell to the floor. His mouth was set into a grim line and his eyes stared through me.

“Am I not beautiful enough for you?” I barely choked the words out and felt all the more retched for asking such a thing. Tears sprang to my eyes before I could muster the strength to turn away from him.

“Annette.” His voice softened as did his stance as he came to me. “You’re beyond beautiful. You’re exquisite.”

He palmed my cheek and I closed my eyes, pained by his proximity and his lack of desire for me. He kissed my forehead, much as a parent would a child. Not wanting to lose the warmth of his hand, I grasped his fingers and pressed his hand to remain at my cheek.

“Annette,” he groaned.

I turned my lips to his palm and kissed the rough skin.

“You don’t know what you’re doing.” His voice was hoarse, almost grating.

“Why don’t you want me?”

He pulled me into his arms and pressed my face to his chest.

“You don’t want me to want you, Annette.”

“I do,” I cried into his shoulder.

“I’m not the man you think I am.”

I looked up at him, at the pain that seemed to be drowning him. If I didn’t know the real man he was, I wanted to find out. “Show me who you are.” I reached for his mask.

Shaking his head, he stilled my hands with his and kept his face out of my reach.

“How will you know how I feel about the real man you are if you don’t let me see him?”

“I don’t want to frighten you.”

“You can’t, Eric. If you’d had the capacity to frighten me, I would have been scared to death the very first moment I saw you.”

He bit his lip and all the doubt he felt played on his face. His gaze held mine then shifted away in contemplation.

I reached up and slipped my fingers under the mask, ready to pull it off. He didn’t fight or struggle and he didn’t make a move to stop me. He simply closed his eyes and awaited my reaction.

With shaky fingers, I pulled the mask away and noticed the tightening of his jaw. Other than that, his face remained motionless. I couldn’t understand his fear. His jaw was strong and defiant, his nose straight and masculine, and his lips, as sensual and tempting as they’d always been. I ran my hand over his brow, down his temple and lay my fingers on his cheek.

He opened his eyes with a start and a ton of suspicion. I held his gaze, unsure what he’d expected me to see.

“My face,” he muttered to himself. He took my fingers in his hand and ran them along his cheek as though disbelieving I could touch him. “My face.”

He turned away and went to a nearby mirror.  He stared at himself, fingering his cheek, his forehead and the side of his nose. “The scars.”

“What scars?” I asked gently. My steps were slow and tentative as I approached and stopped a few paces behind him.

“Scars I’ve had all my life. Scars that have kept me hidden from the world. Scars that left people shrieking away in fear. And now…” His voice broke.

His reflection was tortured despite the obvious beauty of his features.

“All those years.” He brought his hands to cover his face.

“Eric.”

“Please go, Annette,” he ordered.

“Don’t send me away now. I want to be here, Eric. More than ever.”

All the emotions he held bottled up came forth and shook his shoulders. I wanted to erase all the pain and make him realize what a beautiful man he was. With my arms wrapped around his waist, I leaned into his back. “Please let me stay with you.  Just tonight.”

In the silence that followed, he gripped my hands and unraveled them from around him. My heart sank with the fear he’d push me away. When he finally turned to face me, red-eyed and distraught, I knew I’d been right to stay.

I wanted to be with him. Needed to stay close. And for the first time, I realized just how much he needed me. And I wanted to be there to get him through this painful time.

“Just tonight,” he agreed.

I melted into his arms as he scooped me up and carried me to a chaise in the far corner.

Warm and secure in each other’s arms, we slept through the night.

Chapter 9

1881, Paris, France

Through the depths of sleep, Eric found himself in the past that had so scarred him, physically and emotionally.

He watched a young man, seated on the edge of a bed bathed in silken red sheets. Beautiful in his youth, yet hiding in shame behind a mask, he pulled a beautiful young woman into his arms.

Kristine smiled and was instantly beguiling. Elegant with her upswept hair, yet wild with her desire for him, she clung to him with passion that bordered on desperation.

His bare and sweaty chest met with the thin, sheer fabric of her shift while their lips locked in an intense embrace.

“I love you, Eric. You have to know how I love you.” She kissed her way to his chest and raked her fingernails along his arms. “I love your strength. I love your kisses. I want to be with you, Eric.”

Breathing heavily under the weight of all his desire, Eric drove his fingers into her thick mass of dark locks and pulled her lips up to his. Her kisses were sweet, though hard with passion.

“Do you want to be with me?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“Always?”

He grunted, captured her in a tight embrace, and threw her onto her back. Kneeling over her, he gazed at her loveliness. Her hair was now free and it framed her face in the most haunting manner. She was irresistible. He lowered himself over her and prepared to devour her.

His lips found her cheek instead of her lips as she turned away. “Eric, I want to know…I need to know that you want to be with me forever.”

“I do, Kristine. You know I do.”

She shifted out from under him and propped herself up on an elbow. “I’m serious, Eric. This isn’t child’s play. Are you really in this with me?”

“I’m in,” he mumbled into her neck.

“Rupert can’t get enough of me.”

Eric pulled away. “Is this really a time to speak of Rupert?”

“Before we go any further, I need to know you understand.”

“Rupert Aragon is a fool.”

“He’s a rich fool, Eric, and I shall marry him.”

At this Eric sat up and crossed his arms. “If you want to be with me forever, why would you marry such a louse?”

“I shall marry him, gain his fortune and spend the rest of my life in bliss with you, my dear Eric. We’ll find ourselves a marvelous chateau in the south of France. We’ll drink fine wine, dress in the finest fashions and have a well-staffed home filled with an enviable art collection.”

“Do we really need all that?”

“Of course we do. Eric, you know better than anyone what it is to do without; what it’s like to go hungry, to be cold and to be spit on.” She cupped his cheeks and brought his face close to hers. “Aren’t you tired of being spit on? Aren’t you tired of this mask? Imagine, Eric, the Aragon fortune could pay for the finest doctors in the country. You could be freed of your scars, freed from constantly hiding, freed from the darkness. Don’t you think you deserve that? Don’t you think you deserve to have fine things, a full belly and a beautiful woman on your arm?”

“I’d be happy simply with the beautiful woman.” Though the thought of ridding himself of his scars pleased him, he was unhappy with the thought of Kristine in the arms of that pompous and petty man. Rupert was selfish and knew not how to love anyone but his own reflection.

Kristine frowned and Eric knew he’d do anything she pleased.

“But if that beautiful woman wants a fine chateau, tasty wine and pretty gowns, then I’ll follow her to the farthest countryside in all of France.”

Kristine pulled Eric into his arms and smiled. Though her arms were warm and clung to him with love and passion, the smile on her lips was curled with deceit.

Filled with love, Eric smiled and nuzzled her neck. Visions of his future with her filled his head and heightened his need to get closer to her. “How long would you remain married?”

“Not long.”

“And how will you get your hands on his fortune?”

“With your help.”

At this, Eric released her and backed away to look at her. “My help?”

“Of course, silly. I can’t do everything on my own. Just like I wasn’t able to get the lead role in the opera on my own. Had you not become the Phantom of the Opera and scared everyone silly, I might not have gotten the role. You’re very convincing when you want, Eric, and when you let it be known that the Phantom wanted Kristine for the lead, well, Kristine got the lead.” She giggled, though it was not the giggle of a young carefree girl, but rather that of a deviant.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Once I’m married to Rupert, we need to get rid of him.”

Eric gaped at her, but remained silent.

“I think I should remain with him for two or three months. I’ll use that time to make my love for him quite evident to his family. I’ll be as sweet as I can be and they’ll love me. My time at the Opera has shown me how to be very convincing when I desire to be. Isabelle, my sister-in-law to be is a real brat, but I shall befriend her. We’ll spend our mornings with our needlepoint and tea, and will chat about men, love and of course, money.

“I’ll invite the Aragon family to marvelous feasts every Sunday and show them the elegant mistress of the household I can be. The day of my birth is two weeks after the wedding date. No doubt I shall be showered with family jewels and priceless gifts that are worth a fortune. I’ll slip them to you so that you can taste the sweet life we’ll soon have.”

She pulled him into her arms and her eyes darkened as they stared far into the distance. “Rupert enjoys long morning rides atop his favored stallion. After our wedding I’ll mark out the path he takes. A long stretch of that ride is through a rather dense forest. He has bored me with this ride several times. Little did I know those dreary mornings would actually come to have such value.”

Silence lingered for a moment and Eric pulled free to look at her. Her lips were curled into a sweet smile and her eyes sparkled with joy and contentment. While he wanted to share her enthusiasm, he was filled with doubt. “And what do you want me to do?”

She brought her cunning gaze to him. “Rupert will simply not come home one day. I’ll be sitting in the foyer with Isabelle. We’ll gossip, berate the help and enjoy fine pastries. Half an hour past Rupert’s usual time of arrival, I’ll mention my concern. We’ll move to the gardens outside, have tea and take in some fresh air as we look in the distance for signs of his return. As the hour passes, I’ll pace and become overwrought with worry. Isabelle will no doubt console me and remind me of Rupert’s excellent horsemanship and innate knowledge of the land.

“Rupert’s stallion will appear on the horizon and I will scream my torment. When I realize Rupert is not atop him. Or perhaps I should faint.  I’ll see when the time comes. The important thing is for me to convey my utter horror.

“My faint, or hysterics, will last for close to ten minutes to give you ample time to get away. Then stable boys, groomsmen and anyone else at the household will be sent out in search of my dear husband.” She clapped her hands with glee. “By the time they get back, Rupert’s family will have gotten word and they will have come to assist in the search and attempt to console the inconsolable new bride.”

She paused a moment and her face broke out into a bright smile. “Me!”

“And what will have happen to Rupert?” Eric was reluctant to hear the answer.

“At the far end of the forest, there is an old and enormous dead tree. Rupert has often mentioned to me and to his family how his horse is apt to get spooked by that old tree. You will wait for him there, Eric.”

He grew hot and uncomfortable.

“He’ll question your presence on his property and will step down to confront you. You’ll be concerned by the sight of a man you’d just seen in the dense bushes. You’ll point to the distance and tell him the man had run that way. As he looks away, you’ll take the large stone you’ve found and kept nearby, and you will smash it over his head.”

Eric’s brow furrowed and his lips parted to protest. As detestable as he found Rupert, as repulsive and vile as he might be, taking a man’s life…it left him cold.

“When he falls to the ground, his head leaking out his life’s blood, you’ll settle the stone down, then place him so as to have his head pillowed on the very stone that cracked that spoiled little head of his.”

“Kristine, I don’t know if …”

“The terrain is rocky, so there will be little need to waste time erasing any trace of your footsteps. Hang onto his horse for a while, just to make it look more unnerving from my end. Then, the moment you slap his rump and send him on his way, get yourself as far away from there as you can.”

“That’s murder and…”

She suddenly pouted. “I know it sounds dreadful, Eric, but Rupert has done so much to deserve such a horrible end. Hasn’t he hurt you enough? Hasn’t he been insensitive to your plight?”

Filled with the power of her beauty, Kristine got to her knees and pushed Eric onto his back. She straddled him and brushed her body against his. “This will be the greatest role I’ve ever played. My only regret is that you won’t be there to see it. Oh,” she said, her eyes glistening with joyful tears, “when they return with his body, I will scream in horror, will pull my hair out in despair and will rack my body with tears.  I’ll be distraught for days.”

“There must be another way.”

Her gleeful smile disappeared and was replaced with a grim and determined line. “This is the only and best way. Have I ever misled you, Eric? Have I not been there for you? Do I not love you more than any other woman could ever love you?”

She shrugged out of her shift and let it fall to her waist. Her breasts exposed, she watched the hunger take over the doubt in his eyes. He would do anything for her; anything to have her; of that she had no doubt.

“He’ll have put his hands on my, Eric.” She reached for his hand and brought it to her breast. “He will have touched my skin.”

Eric’s face shifted under the light of jealousy. Kristine knew of his capacity for anger; knew of his temper. The mere thought of her in someone else’s arms was enough to drive him insane.

“My breasts will have filled his hands.” She leaned forward, pressing her breasts to his flesh.  “He’ll have taken what’s yours, Eric.”

Rage filled Eric’s eyes. He wrapped his hands around her tiny waist, threw her onto her back. With one quick motion he tore her shift off and devoured her.

Chapter 10

December 1st, 2009

Dear Diary,

Though the night started out warm and filled with foreign sensations that thrilled my body, I awoke cold and alone. I sought Eric’s arms to warm me, but all I found were the crumpled sheets of my bed. In disbelief, I spread my hand out across the width of my bed, not daring to open my eyes.

I wanted to be in his home, in his room and to find him nearby, perhaps preparing a sumptuous breakfast. But I could smell where I was before I took a look around. There was my dresser, my chipped mirror, the curtains that barely kept the sun out and the potted plant who’d had the misfortune of being bought by a negligent housekeeper like myself.

Home. I was home. I’m not really sure what that meant.  Had I dreamt my time with Eric? It seemed so real; so deliciously real. I could still smell his skin, his breath. And the sensation of his arms around me.

Darn it! How could I wake up home alone?

Well, I have no time to dwell on it. Today’s my first rehearsal!

After quickly getting dressed I headed out the door and rushed to cross the street to get to the Met. The morning was cold and I was thankful for the short walk that took me from home to work.

Chace, however, wasn’t so lucky. Waiting for me at the door, he seemed frozen from his walk from several blocks away.

“Chace, what are you doing out here?”

“I brought you a coffee,” he said as he pushed opened the door to let me in.

I happily took the warm paper cup. “Hmm, perfect. I didn’t have time to make any this morning.”

With his hand to my shoulder, he stopped me before I could head to the rehearsal hall. “Annette, I wanted to make sure you were okay… after last night.”

“Sure, Chace.  I’m fine.” Shrugging it off as no big deal, I turned to be on my way.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry I let myself get carried away.” He kept up with me and seemed so agitated. “I care so much for you, Annette and I don’t want you to think that… well, that what I did last night is all I want.”

He was so flustered and adorable. Even though I was in a rush, I turned to put my hand to his cheek. “You’re so sweet, Chace. Don’t worry about last night. I wasn’t scared of what you were doing to me. I was scared of how I wanted you to do that to me.”

I was surprised by the blush the quickly reddened his face.

“I tried to call you after you left. I was worried. You seemed so angry and I wanted to be sure you got home alright, and I thought you might be mad and…”

It was my turn to blush, but not from embarrassment, from guilt. While Chace was at home worried sick about me, I was driving around through deep, dark tunnels with Eric and cuddling up in his arms.

Hold on. No I wasn’t. That was a dream. I had nothing to be guilty about.

I smiled at Chace, refusing to feel ashamed of a dream. “I’m perfectly fine.  I gotta go.”

He followed along. “How about dinner tonight?”

“Hmm, sure Chace. But I don’t know what time I’m going to get out of here.”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He left to join the orchestra while I headed to wardrobe.

“Annette,” Roberta chanted. “I’m so happy for you, dear. I had no idea you were so talented.”

“Thanks. I guess I didn’t either.”

She smothered me in a huge hug only my mother could surpass. “I’m going to lose my little girl.”

“You’re sweet, Roberta. But I won’t be far.”  I mumbled into her bosom.

“Yeah, yeah. Not far, but not the same circle.” She released me and led me to the array of costumes I would be wearing.

While I’d seen a few during my weeks as seamstress, I had no idea there were so many; and so exquisite and regal.

“Don’t be silly.” My hands fluttered over one gown after another.

“You’re the star, Annette. Not just an extra or a second player.”

“Now, don’t you start fussing with me.” I fingered the fine fabrics and could almost feel the star within me rise. I would be wearing these.

“I’ll enjoy fussing over you, dear. Of course, I will have to scramble to find a replacement for you. Many of your costumes will have to be taken in. You’re tiny, honey.”

“Don’t worry. I can still lend a hand here.”

“Now that’s absurd. Rehearsals are going to take just about every minute of your day. Don’t think you’ll have much time to do anything else, young lady.”

I refused to believe her.

“Go behind there and put this on.” She pointed to a small partition.

She handed me one of the simpler gowns and I quickly stripped off my street clothes and struggled to get into the complicated garment. If this was one of the simpler gowns, how was I going to manage the more elaborate ones? I stepped out from behind the partition feeling clumsy and weighed down.

“I never realized how heavy these things were.”

“Wait until I bind you in. You’ll have to learn a whole new way to breathe.” She twisted me around and got to work.

I heard a distinct harrumph from Roberta and glanced back. “What is it?”

“How’s your breathing?”

“Fine. Great.”

“Well, it would be. I’ve pulled the laces as far as they’ll go and you’re still floating in this thing.”

“Really?” I looked down to see the waistline fluttering about me.

“This is going to be a lot more work than I’d anticipated.”

I turned to her, determined to make her understand. “Roberta, please let me help you. I can even take the garments home at night and work on them.”

“You’re underestimating what’s coming for you, Annette. These rehearsals will wear you out before you know it and once the show gets started, you won’t have much time to yourself. You’ll be the talk of New York. Every young buck, big shot and high brow is going to want to get closer to you.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“You think so?” Roberta said with a laugh. She turned me to the side and began pinning up the side of the dress. “Come back and see me when every wealthy patron is bringing you out to dinner and every young well-to-do is sneaking a peek backstage.”

“I’ll be back here, all right. But it’ll only be to tell you how mistaken you are.”

She laughed through the pins that were clamped between her teeth and pinched the fabric together before sticking a pin in. With every pin she added, my breath became more difficult to attain. By the time she finally stopped, I thought I was going to suffocate.

“That ought to do it for this one,” Roberta said. “Get out of this and head downstairs where they’re waiting for you.”

When I reached the rehearsal hall the cast eyed me with part recognition, part suspicion and a frightening dose of palpable envy.

“We’ll run through your solo first, then the ballad you share with Rose, Beth and Mildred,” the musical director said.

With every song I sang, my nerves calmed, my voice took assurance and I slowly developed the character within the song. I pulled myself into the skin of Adelle and felt all the emotions she would have felt. I gave my heart to those songs and when we’d run through the last one, I could hear the comments circulating the stage.

I was happy to hear they were all favorable.

The director, however, remained businesslike and unmoved. “That’ll do for today. Be here again at the same time tomorrow.”

After a quick nod, I headed to stage right to gather my things and was pleased by the comments and compliments I received.

“You’ve really capture the soul of Adelle,” one said.

Another came to pat me on the back. “I can’t believe they actually found someone who sings better than Marie.”

One of the young extras gazed at me in admiration and I winked.

With a start I turned to the piercing sound of a distant hiss. I gazed up at the balcony from where the sound seemed to come from, but no one was there.

“You okay?” a young actress asked.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Still staring up at the balcony, I waved the actress away. Perhaps all the music had left a buzzing in my ears. Taking in a deep breath, I steeled my nerves and prepared to gather my things when the hissing sound came again, this time from right over my shoulder.

I spun around to find no one there. Panicked little breaths replaced the deep breaths I’d been forcing myself to take. My steeled nerves melted away and a strange sense of foreboding enveloped me. The air was suddenly dense and moist, with a pungent odor that left me feeling nauseous.

With my coat bundled up in my arms, I ran out, knowing I looked foolish, but not caring. I had to get out of there. In my haste, I rounded the corner to the lobby and promptly ran into a young man.

Finely dressed, handsomely styled and with a distinguished air that made him seem much older than his face indicated, he calmly steadied me and smiled. It was a pleasant, if not well-practiced smile that left me a tad uneasy.

And when I realized that I had spilled his coffee all over his fine Italian camel hair coat, my unease became downright mortification.

“Oh, my God.  I’m so sorry. Look at what I did to your…” Though logic told me it was useless, my hands nonetheless set to wiping the stain away.

“My dry cleaner enjoys a challenge. Don’t worry about it,” he said. His voice was gentle and melodious, and his smile brought a mischievous and boyish twinkle to his eyes. His sandy hair was stylishly streaked with gold and I wondered if it was the natural effects of the sun or his vain intent.

“This is beyond cleaning. I’ve ruined your coat. If you step outside like this people will think you’re a bum. We could go to wardrobe and I’ll get a coat for you.”

He chuckled. “I hardly think walking around the streets of New York in an 18th century coat would be appropriate, though I think the meeting I’m heading off to would probably be more interesting. I could be the aristocratic lord who desperately needs his peasants to pay up.”

“Of course. How silly of me.” I smiled and my nerves slowly stopped jumping about. He was amusing and I could almost say I instantly liked him. Though his clothes and manner of speaking gave him an air of such distinction that I never would have thought myself capable of conversing with him, he had a charming way about him that made me want to stay close.

“We have a coffee machine. I could get you a new coffee.”

“Thanks, but I don’t really have much more time. I just stopped by on the way to my meeting to see who the new singer was. I’d heard a replacement had finally been found. And apparently she is quite a beauty to behold.”

I blushed and didn’t know what to say. He was so handsome, so debonair, so out of my league. “I’m the new Adelle.”

He leaned in close, looked me straight in the eye and said, “I know.”

The turmoil in my belly was almost too much to bear. I could smell his cologne, expensive and intoxicating.

“You have a voice to bring men to their knees. Wherever have you been hiding such a talent?”

“New Orleans.”

“Ah, yes. That most certainly explains the bewitching effect you have on men. The mystery and carnal heat of the bayou runs through your veins.”

He smiled and I had the impression he was mocking me. When he extended his hand out to me, I simply stared at it and tried to understand what he was about.

“I’m Aaron Aragon, by the way, and I’m thrilled to make your acquaintance Miss Annette.”

As I put my hand in his, I quickly reviewed our brief conversation in search of when I’d given him my name. I felt certain I hadn’t, but the first few moments were such a blur, I couldn’t be sure.

The pressure of his hand around mine was firm and insistent and he seemed to have no intention of letting me go. His eyes held a determined gaze on my face and I knew I was once again blushing. Whenever was I going to rid myself of such an adolescent reaction to men?

“I believe I may have a few moments to spare for that coffee after all,” he said as he gazed at his watch and gave my hand a gentle squeeze.  “However, the coffee here leaves much to be desired.  There’s an excellent coffee house not too far away.”

“I… I really don’t think… I…”

His amusement rumbled in his chest and he moved in closer. I pulled back, but his grip on my hand tightened and his free hand found its way to the small of my back. My lips parted in hunger while my heart thundered in fear.

With the self assurance of a man accustomed to getting his way, he brought his lips to my ear and whispered, “I’m harmless; all my friends tell me so.”

I tried to smile, but my lips were frozen in place. He was so close I could feel the warmth of every breath and I see the golden specks in his hazel eyes.

“I have a lifelong fascination for the theatre, the arts and, more specifically, the opera. I’d be forever grateful to hear your view on this new, or should I say old piece of operatic genius.”

My mind ran from one excuse to another, looking for a way to tell this dreamy stranger that I couldn’t just walk out of here with someone I didn’t at all know.

“I’ve had a long day,” I finally managed to utter; though in a voice so weak and unconvincing, I knew he’d easily see through the lameness of the excuse.

“Perhaps if I state the true nature of this little meeting I’d like to have with you, you’d feel more at ease.” He pulled away and released my hand, leaving it cold and longing to return to his grasp.

Intrigued, I simply stared at him, wondering what he could possibly have to say that would convince me to leave with him.

“You see, I’m the great-grandson of Rupert Aragon.”

He looked at me expectantly.

After a seemingly endless moment, I finally had to prompt, “And?”

Both amused and surprised, he cocked a brow and spread his arms out around him. “Rupert Aragon established one of the first opera houses of New York back in mid 1800s. His son, Bastien, went on to build the old opera house uptown, which unfortunately was brought to the ground by a rather suspicious fire, and then had this grand opera house built. For years it was run by Gaston, my father.”

I gasped and was more flustered than I could ever remember being. I’d spilled coffee on the owner of the opera house and had virtually insulted him with my refusal to have a mere coffee with him. How gauche. How un-southern. How completely and utterly stupid of me not to know who he was.

“Don’t kick yourself,” he said as he took in my distraught gaze. “Few people know.”

“But you…”

“Yes, I own this opera house.”

His smile remained warm, but something in his eyes had changed, had darkened. His gaze seemed to say that his ownership of the opera house extended to me. He owned me.

The little princess in me thrilled at the thought, while the mature young woman I’d become was appalled.

Without saying more, he put a tender hand to my elbow and guided me out like a true gentleman. He walked with the ease of a man who knew he could own the world, and when we entered the small coffee house, he made me feel as though we’d just entered his private home.

I was captivated. Though he appeared to be only in his mid-twenties, he carried himself with the grace and dignity of a man far older.

With a simple little cup of espresso before him and a huge bowl of café au lait for me, he prodded me with questions.

“So how does a girl from New Orleans manage to find her way to the New York Met?”

“My mother is the childhood friend of one of the women in the wardrobe department. Perhaps you know her; Roberta Henley?”

He shook his head.

“Well, Roberta and my mom met when they were little girls. They both grew up in the same orphanage in Europe.”

“My, that’s fascinating.”

“It wasn’t as bad as you sometimes see in the movies, but it wasn’t very pleasant either.”

“I’m sure.”

“Mom had a pretty independent streak even back then. She was five years younger than Roberta, but she’s the one who kind of protected her. She’d sneak food from the kitchen to make sure Roberta always had plenty to eat.”

“That’s absolutely fascinating.”

“Yeah, apparently Roberta tended to get into a bit of trouble and was often sent to her room without supper. And by getting into trouble, I don’t mean anything serious. Just your regular, run of the mill trouble little kids are apt to get into. Only at the orphanage they didn’t really take it too well and they’d lock you up in your room for the slightest transgression.”

“Fascinating.”

“As they got older, they both took to stitching and mending the other kids’ clothes and soon the orphanage hired them to do the work on a regular basis. Of course they weren’t paid. All they got in return for the hours they spent hunched over old socks and torn dresses was a piece of fresh fruit every once in a while.”

“Fascinating.”

“When they were old enough, they came to America. Over time they went their own ways, but they’ve always kept in touch.”

“Fascinating.”

Hmmm, I thought. He certainly wasn’t bringing much to the conversation, or was I rambling too much? I looked at him and his eyes were glued to my lips. Was the story of my mom and Roberta really that fascinating? I hardly thought so.

“Since they had invented this machine that could transport them from New York to New Orleans in a matter of seconds, they could just bat an eye and be at the other’s side.”

“Fascinating.”

Insulted beyond words, I straightened my shoulders and un-kinked my neck with a tense glance to the tables around us. I took one final sip of my café and stood.

“Where are you going?”

“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.  Fascinating. Fascinating. Fascinating,” I said, in an ugly mimic of his side of the conversation. “Is that all you can say?”

He glanced around at the other patrons and I realized I was making a scene. “Please sit down,” he gently requested. While his voice was soft and inviting, the determination in his eyes belied how important it was that I sit again.

Too angry to be soothed by his calm words, I refused to be intimidated. Owner of the opera house or not, I would not allow him to be so outrageously rude. “I apologize,” I said in a tone that was just as determined as his gaze, “but I have a dinner date and I’ve already allowed myself to run late in order to accommodate you.”

“Accommodate me?”

“I won the role of Adelle through hard work and dedication and am presently giving everything I have to the rehearsals. I don’t believe I owe you the story of my life nor my company as you sit there sipping of that tiny thing you call a coffee.”

“Annette, please calm down.”

I pulled my jacket off the back of the chair and quickly pulled it on. As I flipped my hair out from under my coat, I saw his eyes dance with amusement. It left me seething all the more. How dare he?

“The next time you stop to ask a lady to have a cup of coffee with you, learn some manners. Or perhaps expand your vocabulary to include other adjectives. It would make your attempt to feign interest more convincing.”

“You’re misunderstanding me terribly and I would love nothing more than another opportunity to show you just how sorry I am. You’re right, I’ve acted dreadfully.”

“You sure have.”

With a jerking motion that I knew was far from ladylike, I pulled my purse off the chair and swung it onto my shoulder. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you order a real coffee?”

I stormed out knowing that my last comment was gratuitous and mean. But I was so angry, so outraged, so… argh. Men.

Chapter 11

Having wasted precious minutes with Mr. Arrogant, I hurried home to change before rushing out to meet Chace in front of the Met.

“Wow, don’t you look all fired up,” he said in greeting.

He seemed happy with my choice of snug jeans and form fitting button down shirt. Of course with the weather getting mighty chilly in the evenings, I’d traded in my leather coat for a warmer woolen one.

“I’m sorry if I’m a bit late,” I said. I pecked him on the cheek and hooked my arm in his.

“How was the day for ya?” He hailed a cab and opened the door for me like a true gentleman.

“Great. Tiring, but great,” I said as I snuggled into the back seat with him.

“You sure looked great, and sounded great, too. I knew you’d be great for the role.”

Sensing his discomfort, I looked at him and smile. “It was great.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I can be so lame sometimes. I just look at you and all vocabulary goes out the window.”

“That’s not so great,” I teased.

“Cut it out,” he said with a boyish grin.  “Now you’re just mocking me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re so fun to mock.” I reached for his face and pinched his cheeks together with my index and thumb, squishing his lips into a pout. “I could just imagine what you must have been like when you were five; pouting and sulking in the corner when your mom didn’t let you play with your favorite toy.”

He reached for my hand and pressed my palm to his lips. “Yeah, but I’ve grown up.” His smile was suddenly wicked and filled with implications.

Electricity road on a quick path from my palm to my thighs. His lips were soft and his hand over mine warm and gently reassuring.

“Here you go, love birds,” the cabby called out. “Empire State Building.  That’ll be $9.80.”

After paying the fare, Chace helped me out and guided me through the main doors and to the elevators.

“Quiet night,” Chace whispered as he glanced around at the lack of the usual tourist crowd. He pulled out the tickets he’d purchased earlier. “We might have the whole place to ourselves.”

He popped his eyebrows a few times and gave me a crooked grin.

“We came here to take in the view, Chace,” I said in the most prudish voice I could fake.  “Don’t get any funny ideas.”

“Believe me, right now, my ideas are far from funny.”

I giggled then hushed up as we got on the elevator.

We were silent as we rode up with one other couple, but I could tell he was having just as hard a time keeping a giggle in as I was. When the elevator doors opened we scrambled out to the observation deck and rushed to get a view.

“Look at us,” I said. “We’re acting like two kids who’ve been set to visit the city on their own.”

He looked at me, his face determined to look serious and in deep thought. “Isn’t that what we are?”

My laughter filled the night air and I wanted to hold onto this moment forever. I wanted to sing as I looked out over the George Washington Bridge and marveled at the millions of twinkling lights the reflected off its shimmering dark waters below it.

“Do you think we can see the opera house from here?” I asked.

“We can see New Jersey, Pennsylvania and more. I think if we walk around we’ll find a glimpse of the opera house.

After a stunning aerial tour of the city, we headed to a restaurant for a late night dinner.

The restaurant Chace took me to was surprisingly elegant, even extravagant. “Isn’t this a bit too much?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about it.” He seemed intent on making the night a special one. “Once the show opens I’ll probably have little chance to see you. I want to take it while I can.”

“It?” I cocked the naughtiest brow that I could and showed him a teasing smile.

He blushed and I once again marveled at the boy inside this man.

“I mean time with you.”

“You’re sweet, Chace.  How come no one’s swept you up yet?”

“I guess I’m kinda like a dust bunny. I don’t get swept up easily, I just roll away.”

My eyes filled with tears of laughter as I brought my hand to my mouth. I gazed at the surrounding patrons who were so quietly conversing over their expensive meals and tried to control myself. “Dust bunny?” I whispered.

“Well?”

I smiled, and realized how fun it was to laugh. Despite his intermitting bouts of discomfort when it came to conversations, I enjoyed being with him more than I cared to admit. His gaze held mine and for a moment our smiles lost their childlike amusement. I suddenly wondered if he was being deliberately vague with his answer. Was there something he didn’t want to tell me?

Breaking the sudden spell of uncomfortable silence, Chace pulled out a small blue box and set it on the table. “I got you a little something.”

“Chace, that’s silly. I don’t want you to get me anything.”

“I’m really happy for the great life that’s opening up for you and I wanted to give you a reminder of how special I think you are.”

“You’re too sweet, Chace.” Excited, I reached for the box and pulled the white ribbon off. I glanced at him before he pulled the top off and noticed the agitated bite of his bottom lip. Did he really think that I wouldn’t love anything he got me?

I opened the box, lifted the thin veil of cotton and found a darling little silver charm bracelet. “Chace,” I muttered in disbelief. “This is beautiful.”

“There’s only one charm,” he explained.

Wrapping my fingers around the bracelet, I pulled it out to let a solitary, silver musical note dangle in the candlelight. “The middle C,” I teased.

“You like it?”

“I love it.  It’s perfect.” I handed it to him. “Will you put it on for me?”

His fingers struggled with the small clasp then shook nervously as he wrapped it around my wrist. I waited patiently as he dropped the clasp and began again. His fingertips tickled my skin as he worked on getting the bracelet secure.

“There,” he finally said.

“It’s gorgeous.”

“It sure looks great on you.”

Reaching for his hand, I gazed at him and smiled teasingly. “It is great.”

He walked me home, and while a few blocks were in silence, it was a soothing and comfortable silence. I could feel the musical note tickle my palm with every step and it filled me with a reassuring sense of security. Without thinking, I reached for the ruby cross at my neck.

Trickling through the sense of security these items brought me was an underlying sense of foreboding. I smiled as Chace took my hand and I tried to push the uneasy sensations away to concentrate on the sensation of his hand over mine.

He was strong and I sensed he’d give the world to protect me.

My apartment building came all too soon and I was reluctant to let him go. “I really had a great time tonight, Chace.”

“Great?” he said, mocking our continuous use of the word. He pulled me close and wrapped his arms around my waist. “There’s no fighting it. I guess we’re just great together.”

My laughter was tinged with too many emotions. I didn’t want him to leave, but I wasn’t sure I wanted him to come up either. “Do you want to come in and warm up before heading home?”

That naughty smile returned and my legs felt suddenly useless. “I think we both know where that’ll lead and I think we both know we’re not ready to go there, so no. I’ll warm up walking home.”

He made no move to walk away and I felt a slight tug at the small of my back. Pressed up closed to him, I leaned up to kiss him. He held back and I could feel the longing he kept in check. His breathing was suddenly strained and his hands tightened and released me repetitively.

I raked my fingers though his hair and pulled his lips more tightly to mine. He surrendered and gave his mouth entirely to me. Warm, moist and flavored with just enough urgency, his kisses made the world around us disappear.

When he pulled away, I stumbled forward, wanting more. My eyes tried to focus on him as my mind was still caught up in the sensations that had filled my mouth.

“I better go before we get arrested for public indecency.”

“Chace…” I wasn’t ready to see him go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Annette.” He turned and walked away, leaving me cold and hungry.

Only when I could no longer see him did I turn to go in. On the ride up to the sixth floor I examined my reflection in the tinted mirrors of the elevator. My lips were red, raw and full from the heavy kisses. I could still taste him. I looked into my eyes trying to figure out who this new woman was.

The doors opened and I was startled when Mrs. Weinstein from down the hall got in. She eyed me strangely, said a forced but friendly good evening, and I got out and headed to my door.

Before I’d even swung the door open, I knew he was there. I flicked on the light switch and saw him standing by the window; the window that gave a perfect view of the front entrance to the building.

“How do you get in here?” I asked, trying to sound annoyed.

Remaining silent, he brought his fingertips to the pane of glass as though seeking to grasp something. They remained there a long moment before trailing slowly down the glass.

“Do you have a key?”

Still ignoring my questions, he turned to face me. His gaze was hard and betrayed what he’d seen down on the sidewalk. “I believe they’re working you too hard during rehearsals.”

Struck dumb, I stared at him and tried to catch up with his line of thought.

“You’re going to overwork your voice before the show even begins.”

“It was the first day. I guess they wanted to get as much in as possible.”

“Tomorrow, you’ll tell them to tone back the number of hours you’re to sing.”

“Eric, I can’t tell the director how to run his rehearsals. We’re already behind and everyone is anxious to get started.”

Anger creased his brow and fisted his hands. “There will be no show if you wear your voice out,” he shouted.

Though he made no move to approach me, I felt the urge to back away. “I’ll… I’ll talk to him before starting tomorrow. I just don’t know what he’ll say.”

His gaze softened and his features relaxed.

Features… all his features.

So shocked by his presence in my apartment, I’d not even realized he no longer had his mask. My dream. The dream of my night… with him… taking off his mask.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to convince him.” he said.

The story he told me about his childhood… the night in his arms… the… oh, my God.

“Fear of losing the show should be enough to make him see the sense in giving you some slack.”

He’d held me… all night. I’d touched him… his face… so soft… so beautiful.

“It wasn’t a dream,” I said as I took a few steps to stand before him. Mesmerized by the face that harbored so much pain, I reached out to touch his cheek.

In an instant, his eyes glared with hatred at the charm on my wrist. With force akin to savage, he grabbed my wrist before my fingers could touch him. He glanced at me, barely disguising the question in his eyes. But with the quick switch of emotions he seemed so talented at, he smiled, and fingered the musical note.

“A gift from your violinist friend, I take it?” His tone was frighteningly sweet.

“Yes.” The word almost choked me.

“The same violinist who was ramming his tongue down your throat just moments ago?” His eyes veiled with disdain.

Not trusting my voice, I nodded.

He chuckled; an unpleasant sound. “The same violinist who kept you out late last night?”

He knew the answer. There was no point in answering.

“What an adorable pair you two make; the leading lady and her first chair.” A sardonic snicker echoed in my small apartment. “How convenient to be paired with someone you work with.”

“Eric… I…”

“Do you love him?” For a brief moment, his gaze dipped down to the floor and I knew how difficult the question was for him.

I shook my head. “I only met him a few weeks ago… at the same time that I met…”

“And what passions does he evoke in you.  How deep does your passion for him run?”

“You’re the one who awoke my passion, Eric. You’re the one who pulled me in and warmed me up only to push me away.”

He pushed angry fingers through his hair and turned away only to return his gaze to me with a fresh wave of pained emotions. In two long strides he was standing before me, pulling me into his arms and placing my hand to his heart.

“Do you know what you do to me?”

Through the thin fabric of his shirt, I could feel the strength hidden there. And beneath all the power he had, his heart. It thundered violently.

His eyes skimmed over my lips, my cheeks and he held my gaze for a second before returning to my lips. “The passion I feel for you is more than you’re prepared for.”

“How would you know?” I challenged.

He inhaled deeply and his eyes showed his restraint.

“How would you know,” I repeated. With my fingers clamped to the nape of his neck, I pulled him to me and kissed him with all the passion I’d previously held back. His lips parted, hesitantly at first, then with increased desire. Our tongues tasted each other’s breath and wanted more. I clung to him, pressed my breasts to his chest and groaned with the anticipation of getting closer yet.

When he swept me into his arms, I released his mouth and worked my lips across his jaw to his ear and down to the tender skin of his neck. He settled me onto the bed and laid the length of his body over mine. My mind went numb as only the sensations of the moment took hold.

I knew. Now I knew. No doubts, no questions, no hesitation. I wanted him. I longed to feel every inch of his skin. Blinded by the desire to get closer, I tugged and tore at his shirt until his chest was bare.

Perfect in every way, I traced a line over the muscles that flexed to keep his weight from smothering me. My hands worked over his shoulders and down his arms, reveling in every ounce of power, every inch of softness.

“Make love to me, Eric.”

I leaned up to kiss him, but he pulled back. With a clumsy shuffle, he got off the bed and collected his discarded shirt.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“You’ve got an early rehearsal tomorrow.” With strides that were too strong and forceful for a man who’d been in the throws of passion only seconds earlier, he headed for the door.

I jumped out of bed to run after him. “You’re not going to do this to me again,” I shouted. In my haste to reach him, I knocked into the sofa and stumbled. By the time I reached the door he’d disappeared. Temporarily forgetting to be mindful of my neighbors, I slammed the door and threw the lock with an exasperated, infuriated and humiliated huff.

How dare he?

“Do you know that two men wanted me today?” I shouted at the door. “Two.”

I leaned into the door and sank to the floor.  “Damn it, Eric. Two men want me. Why don’t you? Why do you make me want you so much only to not want me?”

After a few moments of self-pity and self-loathing, I got up and promised myself that this would be the last time he played with the heart of Annette Binoche.

Chapter 12

December 6th, 2009

Dear Diary,

I’ve not been able to write much these past days. This week has been a blur of many hours of rehearsal, a few bites to eat whenever I can and too little sleep. I ignored Eric’s suggestion to have the rehearsal time reduced. Despite the fatigue, I do love to get up and sing. Besides, after his hasty departure the other night, I hardly think I owe him anything.

I’m filling the role of Adelle more and more. Certain songs and scenes come easily to me, while a few leave me struggling to get a grasp of her true emotions. Not too surprisingly, the scenes with fits of anger are the ones I’m best at.

I wonder why that is.

Aaron Aragon has been hanging around, though he’s remained respectfully distant. Just playing the boss who’s watching his investment I guess.

Thank goodness for Chace. I can always count on him for a pleasant smile, a kind word and a reassuring shoulder to lean on when exhaustion strikes.

Enough chatting for now; I have to be off.

“Has the fire finally blown over?”

Startled, I turned to see Aaron waiting inside the lobby of the Met; two cups of coffee in his hands.

“I was hoping you’d simmered down by now.” He stepped towards me, mindful not to get too close.

I had, but was reluctant to let him know that.

“Must I get down on my knees and beg your forgiveness?”

He’d sent a note of apology every day since that disastrous episode at the coffee house and I knew his deed hadn’t been all that bad. How frequently did men listen to what women had to say anyway?

A smile twitched on my lips and I fought it. Seeing his eyes light up, however, I knew that he’d seen it and would use it against me.

“I’m not that bad a guy; I promise.”

Keeping silent, I took the proffered coffee.

“Your mother was in an orphanage with Roberta and protected her and they began mending clothes together and moved to America…”

Surprise must have played with my features because he laughed in that subtly aristocratic way he had about him.

“You see, I was listening more than you give me credit for.”

“They’re going to be waiting for me at rehearsal and I have another fitting and…”

“I’m sure if you tell them that I held you up, they’ll understand.”

I had no argument for that.

“Please.” He reached for my elbow and gently turned to direct me to a nestling of sofas in the corner. “I do need to speak with you.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

He smiled, but his eyes implored me never to call him that again. When we reached the cozy corner, I deliberately settled into an armchair, leaving him to sit on the sofa alone. I didn’t trust him to keep his distance.

A knowing gaze told me my move had not gone unnoticed.

“People are very interested to know the woman who will incarnate Adelle. Questions of your past, your experience and your training are swirling around town and I believe it’s time we put some of those questions to rest.”

“Well, I don’t really have all that much to say about all that. I have no experience or training.”

“The answers are not important. People just want to make a connection with you.”

“Who are these people?”

“People of the arts. Important people who love to see an opera well played and who are intrigued by this ingénue.” He gestured towards me. “I’d like you to join me tonight for dinner with a few art connoisseurs. I’m sure they’d be very pleased, enchanted even, to meet you.”

I sipped the coffee and shook my head with uncertainty. “Aaron, I’m not used to hanging out with high society people and I don’t really I’d fit in and…”

“Nonsense. They’ll love you instantly, and if you feel even the slightest insecurity, rest assured that I’ll always be at your side.”

“I don’t know.”

“I hate to sound like a crusty old boss, Annette.” He reached out to take my hand. “But this goes with the territory. You’re the leading lady; the star. You can’t expect to wow the crowd with your spectacular talent then just ride off into obscurity every night.”

Roberta’s words came back to bite me. I’d become so enamored with the notion of simply portraying Adelle through song that I’d completely overlooked the business end.

“All right,” I conceded. “But I’m giving you fair warning. These types of social functions are not my forte. So if I stumble and make a fool of myself, or even worse, make a fool of you, don’t say you weren’t warned.”

“I won’t hold it against you. I promise.”

True to his word, Aaron never left my side that night. At a soiree held at an exclusive country club, he introduced me to one well-to-do gentleman after another. They were all polite, if not stiff, but their glances were uncomfortably appraising. I felt like a prized horse being paraded before a host of wealthy bidders at an auction.

“They’re all smitten with you,” Aaron whispered in my ear.

His hand rarely left my waist as he guided me through the throngs of the grotesquely rich.

When question of my background arose, he was proud to tell them of my southern upbringing and encouraged me to speak of my childhood in the Big Easy.

“And where did you train, Miss Binoche,” a sturdy and uncompromising elderly woman asked. She gazed up at me from her diminutive height and I could almost taste the animosity. “I had heard Marie had been trained by none other that Monsieur Dutoit himself. He had hand picked her from a select group of young women and had molded her into the exquisite singer she’d become.”

She turned to Aaron. “Whatever did happen to that lovely girl?”

“Well you see, Mrs. Carrey, Miss Binoche has a natural talent that required little training.”

“Preposterous. Every singer needs some training.” She glanced at me and I knew I did not have a fan in the little woman. Chances were no matter what I said, no matter what I did, she was not going to like me.

“Perhaps when you first see her take the stage as Adelle and hear her sing, you’ll understand what I mean.”

Unpleased with Aaron’s response, she huffed and turned away.

I was mortified. What if they all thought as she did, but said nothing?

“Don’t let me see that expression come to your face,” he warned.

“Huh?” I looked at him and could feel the tears stinging my eyes.

He tightened his hold of me and guided me to the French doors that opened onto the terrace. My skin burned despite the cool air and I suddenly wanted to retch.

“Don’t let her get to you. She dislikes everyone and is constantly looking to tear people down.”

“But Aaron, she’s right. What do I really know about the opera?”

He put his hand to my chest. “Everything you need to know is in here.”

“I didn’t know Marie had been trained by Monsieur Dutoit. He’s known the world around, Aaron.”

“I’m quite aware of that.  However, what you may not be aware of is that Mrs. Carrey detested Marie.  She’s only bringing her up to make you feel inferior and I fear she’s succeeded.”

He pulled me into his arms and tilted my chin up so I’d have to face him. “You’ve surpassed in these past few days what classically trained women take weeks, even months to achieve.”

“I want to believe you, Aaron.”

“Then believe me.”

Chapter 13

December 11th, 2009

Dear Diary,

Aaron has me on a whirlwind of appearances and social functions. He never fails to reassure me, and his obvious confidence in my talent has allowed me to find that same confidence within myself. I’m no longer intimidated by high society and I thank Aaron for that.

However, my frequent outings with Aaron have left me little time to spend time with Chace. I only see him from afar as he plays the violin and I sing, but the opportunities to speak to him are rare and brief.

Aside from the time I spend promoting myself with Aaron, what free time I have left is spent with Eric who insists on continuing to help me with some of the more difficult songs that are still giving me a bit of trouble.

Roberta greeted me with her usual hug and motherly kisses. “My dear. I’m hearing so much about you. Opening night is sure to be the talk of the town. We’ve only got one more gown to fit you with and then you’ll be good to go.”

She pulled out the elaborate ball gown Adelle wore for the masquerade party. Adorned with crystals, the endless mass of golden tulle was magical and romantic. The tight bodice was beautifully detailed and the bell skirt seemed to go on forever.

With Roberta’s help I put the miles of crinoline on then pulled the massive and heavy dress over it. She pinned my hair up to see the full effect and I could see her eyes brimming with tears of pride. I felt a sudden pang in my heart and wished my mother could be here to enjoy this moment with me as well. But I was forever thankful to have Roberta in her stead.

As she pulled the ties that were to soon cut off my source of oxygen, the door swung open and Chace stepped in.

“Chace.” I instinctively looked down and patted myself to assure everything was in place and that I was decent. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry.” He nodded to Roberta. “Hello, Mrs. Henley.”

“I hope you have a good reason for barging into my territory,” Roberta challenged.

“Annette, this is the only time I can see you.” His hand fidgeted with the doorknob while his toes tapped the bottom corner of the door repeatedly. “The only chance I have to talk to you. I know things are wild these days, but I thought we could grab a quick dinner, maybe even just a coffee.”

“Oh, Chace, I know. I never would have dreamed this would become so hectic. But Aaron is dragging me to another one of his functions tonight. Apparently Marie’s hasty departure and my sudden replacement of her has people curious and eager to meet the new Adelle. A nice, quiet dinner with you would be such a treat, but I can’t.”

“I understand. It’s not easy being the star.” His smile was stoic, but heartbreaking. “I’ll catch you some other time.” He backed out of the room and closed the door.

“My, that boy sure has it bad.”

“Bad?”

Roberta glanced at me with the wisdom of her years, but kept her lips sealed.

Aaron’s function that night turned out to be the stuffiest one yet. Women in elegant floor length gowns and men in tuxedos circled the room in hushed tones as they sipped from crystal champagne flutes and daintily nibbled an odd assortment of hors d’oeuvres. While Aaron had arranged an advance on my salary so that I could have a wardrobe to keep up with such events, I was hardly in keeping with the extravagance displayed tonight.

After making the rounds, Aaron brought me to a secluded corner for a well needed moment to breathe.

“I have to say, quite honestly, that I don’t get it,” I said. I stuffed an escargot topped canapé into my mouth and was surprised to find that I liked it. “These people have plenty of money to go out there and have fun, and this is the best they can do; walk around only for the purpose of being seen and only engaging in conversations that will impress everyone around them?”

“Well, you’re certainly a breath of fresh air in all this. I have to say that I’ve never found these functions as amusing as I have these past weeks with you.”

“You’re sweet.”

“Oh, I’m sweet now, am I?” He winked and raised his flute to clink against mine.

For someone so young, he certainly held his own in a crowd filled with so many accomplishments; so many successes. He seemed completely unfazed by the competitive nature of some of the men who set out to prove themselves bigger, better and richer.

He gazed across the room and gestured with his chin towards a large woman in blue chiffon. “See her?” he whispered. “She has three children, and six grandchildren. Except for the holidays, they never come up to see her. She thinks it’s because she refuses to share the millions she inherited when her husband died, but the truth is they never really liked her. She’s a tyrant.”

I took in her haughty gaze as she berated a waiter and had no trouble believing Aaron’s assessment of her.

“And that guy with the outdated mustache.” He nodded to a funny looking man by the entrance. “He was accused of embezzlement last year and everyone turned their backs on him as he faced losing everything. Then he was acquitted, though everyone knew he was guilty, and now, after rebuilding his empire and expanding it, they all hold him in high esteem.”

“That’s awful.”

“And behind you.”

I turned to see a blue-haired lady with a red satin dress that hung unflatteringly on her thin frame.

“People say her husband divorced her because she spent more time making out with her Bichon than she did with him.”

“Aaron,” I let out with disgust. “That’s gross.”

He put his arm around my shoulders and tugged me to his side. Together we watched the people moving around the room, talking quietly.

“I just want you to see how, underneath it all, they’re just people. I don’t ever want you to think that you’re beneath them. You deserve to have people look up to you and admire you. You’ve got more talent when you hit that high C than most people here have in their entire arsenal of feeble talents.”

Flustered, I nodded.

Thankful to see the evening come to an early close, I met with Eric to go over that complicated aria again. I sensed something was blocking me and I couldn’t understand what it was. The melody tripped my tongue and left me scrambling to get all the lyrics out.

Eric seemed annoyed. He was aware that I’d be rehearsing the song the following day and was intent on having me get it right before I attempted it before everyone.

“I think I’ve had enough for tonight,” I said after fifteen attempts.

“You almost have it. You’re just trying too hard. You’re thinking about it too much.”

“Well, of course I’m thinking about it. You have me doing the same thing over and over again and it’s never right.” While I tried to hide my anger towards him, I knew he sensed how agitated I was around him.

He, on the other hand, appeared cool and collected and completely unmoved by the events of that night in my bedroom. How infuriating it was to know that I still felt such a great attraction to him.

“This song is a joyous celebration,” he said.

“I know that,” I bitingly replied.

He ignored the grit in my voice and continued. “It is the culmination of heartache, pain, fear and worry that has been set free in order to allow the deepest love she’s ever known to take her heart.”

“I know.”

“Find the joy in your heart.”

Was he serious? For him, of all people, to tell me to find the joy in my heart when he very well knew that he held the key to that joy… He was mocking me. He had to be.

“Fine,” I said as I regained control of my emotions and determined to show him that there was indeed joy in my heart. “You’re right. I guess I hadn’t really thought of it that way.”

I waved for him to begin the intro, settled my heart into a happy place, and sang with the joy and celebration the song required. The intricate notes were happy and gay, the lyrics real and heartfelt and the finale had me expanding my arms out to invite the world to join in as my joy filled the air and echoed long after Eric had gingerly tapped out the last note.

Knowing I’d done well and proud of it, I smiled sweetly at him.

He nodded his appreciation of the song, but his gaze remained veiled with dismay. Had he not truly wanted me to feel the joy? Had he expected me to bathe in self-pity forever?

No, dear Eric, I thought. I will not sit and sulk while you try to make up your mind about what you feel towards me. I have a show to put on and I will put all my emotions into that, not into questioning you.

Chapter 14

December 16th, 2009

Dear Diary,

Tonight is the night. I feel ready and look forward to sharing all I’ve been working on with the New York crowd. I know so much is riding on my performance and the responsibility of it all has left me with a few sleepless nights, but I know I’ll live up to the great expectations.

I’m off to hair, make up and wardrobe.

As nervous as I thought I would be, when that golden curtain cleared the way to reveal the full house, I was in a serene place I could barely understand. And when those first notes of that first song rang out, I was absolute calm and confidence. My first note reached to the most distant balcony and it was as clear and perfect as anyone could ask for.

The song came to an end as I was waltz off the stage by Adelle’s love interest. I had all of two minutes to change out of the heavy garment and into a summer frock that was whimsical and frilly. I had ten seconds to spare as I awaited my cue and took to the stage once again.

By intermission, I was riding on a cloud of glory. The show was going off with the perfection few opening nights of any show could boast of. When I sang the last note, I knew I had the hard to impress crowd impressed. I could see the emotion I was displaying reflect in the faces of the men and women in the first few rows.

The spontaneity with which everyone jumped to their feet was astonishing and I felt a sense of pride as I’d rarely felt before. My only regret was my mother who’d not be able to make it for the opening. I remained hopeful that she’d free herself some time soon.

Chace smiled at me, his happiness for me radiating throughout his beaming face. He stood, his eyes still on me as he began to applaud, but the crowd turned their attention to him and offered an ovation that soon had him blushing.

I bowed one last time, the curtain closed and I headed off towards my dressing room.

“Annette,” Chace called.

Though happy to see him, I longed to retreat to my private room in order to drink it all in. “Chace, what a night.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

“My parents made it after all and I wanted them to meet you.”

“Sure.” I glanced at the lovely woman and formally dressed man and smiled as Chace made the introductions.

After warm handshakes and a quick hug from his mother, Chace leaned in close to kiss my cheek and say, “I’ll go out and make sure they’re able to get a cab back to their hotel then I’ll come back in a bit to see you in your dressing room. I’ve missed you. These past weeks have been so hectic, I’ve only seen you when I peer at you from the depths of my pit and I look forward to spending some real time with you.”

“I know. It’s been crazy. I’m surprised I made it through it all.”

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

***

From the top balcony, Eric stood watching the opera house slowly empty of its satisfied spectators. Annette had been even more splendid than he’d hoped for and he’d not been able to tear his eyes off her the entire show.

The époque costumes suited her, flattered her and gave her the aristocratic air she deserved. Her expansive wardrobe also reminded Eric of the similarity between Kristine and Annette. He tried to deny it; tried to look past it. But it was there; in the shimmering locks of hair that dangled from her up do, the gentle blush on her high cheekbones and the daring gleam in her eye.

Every note that had rang out had been a painful reminder of the love he’d had for Kristine and a surprising degree of longing returned to bring back his heartache. But the longing he held was strongly aimed at Annette. The sudden need to be at her side, to share in her joy was undeniable. He needed to find himself in her midst.

With the crowd adequately dispersed, he headed down to the casts’ dressing rooms. The halls were clogged with fans and people eager to tell Annette of their appreciation of her performance. She was flushed by all the compliments and attention, but she carried herself well.

Polite and welcoming, she greeted everyone and even signed several autographs as dozen upon dozen of blood red roses were collected from her arms and set inside her dressing room.

A man stayed close to her side. It took a few moments for Eric to realize that this elegantly dressed man had his arm draped over Annette’s shoulder in a rather possessive manner. His smile was calculated and his handshakes to the many fans was practiced and read false.

But beyond all this, it was the man’s face that so disturbed Eric. Though he was dressed in modern clothes and his hair had a fashionable cut, his resemblance to Eric’s nemesis was difficult to overlook. The eyes, the lips; and when the man finally spoke, Eric knew he was not mistaken.

The tone, rich and self assured, was exactly the same as Rupert Aragon. There was no mistaken it. The impossibility was outrageous and he had to listen a few moments more to assure he was hearing right.

Here he was – New York City, 2009, the Metropolitan Opera House, yet he was facing Kristine and Rupert, just as surely as if it was 1881. The intensity of the jealousy he’d felt back then came back to fill him with rage. His fingers struggled to remain lax, despite the desperate desire to clench.

Annette glanced up and caught sight of him through the throngs. Her smile was reluctant, unsure and slow to come. But when it spread across her face, her eyes gleamed with pride and an eagerness to see him. She wiggled out of Aaron’s hold and pressed through the people to where he stood.

***

When I finally reached the spot where I’d seen Eric, he’d disappeared. I continued through the corridor a little further and could see no sign of him. He’d vanished as he seemed so apt to do. My success and victory was partially his and I wanted him to know it and to revel in all the accolades. Why would he run away during this moment of triumph?

“Annette,” Aaron called from behind me. I erased any concern I might have had about Eric’s disappearance from my face and turned to Aaron.

His eyes were veiled and perplexed, but he didn’t question my sudden departure from the crowd. “I have a few people here who would like to meet you.”

The crowd moved in unison as Aaron guided them all to the vast lobby. A large number of photos were taken; many of me alone, several with the cast and a few with Aaron.

When the rounds had been made and people started to sift away, I leaned into Aaron. “I’m going to head back to my dressing room to get out of this thing. I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.”

“Wonderful,” he said with a sure smile. “I’ll be here.”

I found my dressing room overflowing with red roses. Taking a few moments to read the cards, I was pleased by the kind words of all who’d appreciated my performance. But the large majority of the flowers were from Aaron and I couldn’t help but smile at his romantic consideration. He always made the effort to show me just how much he thought of me and I couldn’t help but think that he was the sweetest man I’d ever met.

Just as that thought came to me, I thought of Chace. He’d mentioned coming back to my dressing room to see me and I wondered if he’d changed his mind. Perhaps sending his parents on their way had proved more complicated than he’d hoped.

A note was clipped to the corner of my mirror and I knew it had to be Chace. Maybe he’d come while I was out in the lobby and we’d simply missed each other. Smiling, I reached for the note, eager to see what he had planned.

On seeing the penmanship, I immediately knew it wasn’t Chace. The writing was a crude attempt at elegance.

My Dearest Annette,

You’ve surpassed my highest expectations and I can barely put into words the great pride I feel. I apologize for my sudden disappearance, but the circumstances were unbearable.

Your resemblance to Kristine is overwhelming and at times painful to deal with. Seeing you tonight with a man I’m certain is the direct descendent of a troublesome man, I cannot even begin to express the anger and rage that coursed through me.

I must not ignore the rage this man conjures up in me and must, therefore, find a way to keep far from you.

Please understand my desire to keep the peace in what is indeed a victorious moment for you.

Eric

I re-read the letter three times, still unable to believe what he was saying.  A quick knock on the door had me shoving the note under a vase of flowers.

“Hey, sorry I’m late getting back,” Chace said. He closed the door behind him and rushed to sweep me into his arms. His kisses were friendly at first, but took on an urgency within a matter of seconds. His arms wrapped around me and held me so tight, I had to gasp for breath. “I’ve missed you so much, Annette. I can’t even remember the last time we were alone together. I miss talking to you and just sitting down quietly with you.”

“I’m sorry, Chace. You’ve been so patient and I appreciate it.” I pulled away enough to look into his eyes. My hands pressed flat against his chest and I could feel his heart pound. “Things should settle down now and…”

A loud knock sounded at the door and I barely had time to pull away from Chace before the door flew open.

Aaron glanced at me, increasing the flushed sensation I had on my face. Narrowed and dark, his gaze went to Chace and quickly returned to me. The animosity was thick, but confusing. Why should he be so angry that Chace was here with me? But it was clear that he was.

Aaron cleared his throat, took on a professional air and addressed Chace. “Forgive my intrusion. I won’t be long.” He turned to me, his gaze solemn. “Mr. and Mrs. Bird are waiting, Annette. I don’t want to rush you, but they are incredibly important in the art world and I would hate to keep them waiting much longer.”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I said, somehow managing to keep the shakiness I felt out of my voice.

With a curt nod at Chace, Aaron backed out of the room. No doubt he would be waiting to see Chace exit the room.

“He’s still taking you out to dinner?”

“He knows important people, Chace. I don’t understand all of the implications of meeting these various people, but I have to trust that Aaron knows what he’s doing.”

Chace said nothing, but his clenched jaw spoke volumes. He was angry, irritated and growing impatient, and I couldn’t blame him.

“This was the opening night, Chace. I’m sure that after a week’s run things will quiet down. I should then have all the free time I want. We’ll see each other then, okay? I promise.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You’re the star of the show; everyone wants a piece of you. And you certainly don’t have to make me any promises.”

Aaron gave us a warning knock at the door, urging us to get a move on.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Chace.”

His shoulders were visibly low and slumped, though he tried to hide the extent to which I was hurting him with a feeble smile. “See ya,” he muttered on his way out.

Once alone I hurried into my street clothes and rushed out to face Aaron. He was all smiles, as though the incident with Chace had never happened.

Far from reassuring me, his sudden calm left me wondering when the storm would hit.

“Mr. and Mrs. Bird will meet us at the restaurant. They were no longer willing to wait.”

“I’m sorry, Aaron. I didn’t mean to take so long.”

“Don’t worry about it. The star of a successful show is allowed to take all the time in the world. Although, I must admit that seeing my dear Annette flushed in the company of a violinist, even though he is first chair, is a bit disconcerting.”

My dear Annette, I repeated in my head. Was he as possessive as that sounded or was it just a manner of speech?

“And here is your chariot, my dear.” He gestured toward a white, long stretch limousine that seemed to go on and on.

“Aaron! Really?” I knew it sounded silly, but I couldn’t resist gushing. “I’ve never been in a limousine before.”

“Well, it’s about time you were.”

The chauffeur, complete with spiffy suit and white gloves, opened the door and I got in. I’d never seen anything like it. Mirrors, glass, soft leather and thick carpeting. Everything reeked of wealth and luxury.

When Aaron shuffled in behind her and settled in, he immediately popped open a bottle of champagne and served her a glass.

“First class all the way from now on,” he toasted.

We chatted softly about the success of the show and soon we were pulling up to one of the most posh and exclusive restaurants in town.

However, as we entered, the maitre d’ informed us that Mr. and Mrs. Bird had not arrived.

“Perhaps they’ve caught a snag,” Aaron brushed off. Unperturbed, he pulled a chair back for me and, like a true gentleman, pushed it in behind me as I was seated. The table was elegantly set with fine crystal, silver and china.

Dinner was a sumptuous affair that left me gagging at the mere thought of how much all this was going to cost. Aaron ordered fine wine and the delectable meal was topped off with a tempting dessert.

“A true feast for a true star,” he said.

“Well, just make sure your star doesn’t end up unable to fit into her suffocating wardrobe.”

Having signed the meal off to a credit card, he rose and stepped behind me to pull my chair back. “Then I’ll have to take you on a stroll that will lead us to the pier where we can catch a harbor cruise.”

Our quiet stroll soon had us walking hand in hand. It was a platonic enough gesture as we navigated our way through the crowds. Once on board, Aaron opened up and let me know how he’d come to be in New York.

“When Rupert, my great-grandfather came here, he brought along his love of the opera and left behind a scandal that had almost ruined him. France was a veritable hellhole after the scandal hit. Kristine, his lover, made it impossible for him to just overlook everything that was happening. But out here, he put that all behind him and started everything anew. He met a beautiful socialite whose family owned many theatres in New York and he soon came to be in charge of a number of them; not only in the city but across a great portion of the east coast.”

“I see where you get your business sense.”

“It certainly runs deep. No doubt there was an aria filling the birthing room when I was born. Unfortunately, as an only child, I had no one to share the great responsibilities with. I have to admit that I’ve grown a bit weary. The need to broaden my horizons and to work on my personal life has become more important these past years.”

“You certainly do appear to keep yourself very busy. So many people seem to want to be around you.”

“Well, those people all want something from me.  It’s exhausting really. Sure I try to play the public figure the job requires of me, but sometimes I wish I could just go home to someone special. Someone I could just spend some quality time with, alone and away from all the lights.” He leaned in close to me and held an intimate gaze to my startled eyes.

Our relationship had always had a reassuring platonic tone to it and I was unsure whether I wanted that to change or not. He was my boss, my employer and any kind of romantic liaisons would surely be frowned upon.

He seemed unconcerned with that as he leaned closer and brushed his lips across mine. His kiss was gentle and unrushed. Unlike the urgency of Chace’s kiss, or the all-consuming passion of Eric’s. Aaron’s lips touched mine with confidence and self-assuredness. His hand pressed lightly to the small of my back, bringing me closer to him, but the touch was light and I was surprised by the scant amount of pressure that was needed to bring me pressing against his chest.

A cool breeze blew through my hair and rustled my coat, but the heat of his lips filled my mind. I felt I was finally home; safe, warm and secure. The strength of his arms enveloped me and I never wanted to leave.

But then his mention of Kristine came to my mind with a clarity that was jarring. Eric had mentioned his love for a woman named Kristine, the woman he’d nearly gone mad for. The coincidence of it all seemed so unlikely. But Aaron was talking about something that had happened in the 19th century. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with Eric today.

Chapter 15

December 17th, 2009

Dear Diary,

The night ended late and getting up this morning was difficult. I enjoyed the harbor cruise immensely and Aaron then walked me home. It was an enchanted evening that ended with an unexpected proposition. As we arrived at my building, I was sure Aaron would ask to come up. Like the true gentleman that he is, he didn’t.

However, just as he was turning away to leave me he whispered something into my ear. I’m reluctant to even write it, it is so incredible, if not ridiculous. To escape from all the chaos of the last days, he’d like to take me to Paris.

Leaning against the wall of my building, I’d looked at Aaron in disbelief. Paris; the thought was at once romantic, fantastical, frightening and intimidating.

“We can just forget this whole opera business and have a good time. Paris is exquisite this time of year.”

I had to smile at the notion. Winter in Paris. It must be delightful. But leaving the opera. It was ludicrous.

“My family is still in or around Paris and they would be enchanted to meet you.”

“In case you haven’t noticed Mr. Aragon, my show is a hit and it is sold out for weeks to come. There will be no free time for this songstress.”

He leaned in close, his eyes naughty, his lips proud.  “Haven’t you heard? Aaron is crazy about Annette.”

“I think Aaron is just plain crazy.” I called over my shoulder after I wiggled away from him and headed to the door.

It had been pleasant and fun. Thoughts of Paris had stayed with me through the night and I had to admit a part of me was very tempted by the idea.

But as nice as the whole evening had been, thoughts of Eric also continually returned to haunt me. I felt an incredible need to find him and talk everything out. His note had disturbed me and left me wanting to know more; more about my resemblance to Kristine and more about Aaron’s resemblance to a long ago nemesis of Eric’s.

Aaron’s great-grandfather was Rupert Aragon, I mused. He’d started the Paris Opera House in 1875.  Kristine was to sing at that very opera house a few years later. She then broke Eric’s heart. My God. It didn’t make any sense.

***

With no rehearsals set for the day, I had plenty of time to go in search of Eric before I was needed for hair and make up for the night’s performance. I got into my jeans, pulled on an old, but warm sweater and squeezed my feet into my black boots. Once I managed to find a trusty flashlight, I headed across the street to the Met, and down to the tunnels Eric had so often guided me through.

I thought I’d become more familiar with these darkened tunnels, but apparently hadn’t been paying much attention. I’d simply followed Eric without taking proper note of this turn and that one. After two hours of flashing my light onto the wall of countless dead ends, I gave up and headed up to the Met.

Perhaps he just didn’t want to be found. Was he that determined to avoid me? And how long would he keep it up?

I trudged through the rest of the day. Feeling partly numb, I went through my pre-performance routine with robotic efficiency, but with a complete lack of emotion.

Roberta was exuberant and merry as she helped me into my costume. “You sure put on a good show, my dear.  Everyone loves you.”

Silently staring at my reflection in the mirror, I nodded, having barely heard what she’d said. Though I couldn’t meet her eyes or look directly at her, I had the distinct impression Roberta was scrutinizing me.

Was she star struck as well?

When I finally made it to the stage, I crossed Judy’s path. Though we’d spent so much time rehearsing together these past weeks, we’d barely had time to talk throughout it all.

Now, though she usually offered me a bright smile, her eyes gazed at me with concern. I wasn’t late for the first scene and couldn’t understand.

Refusing to dwell on it, I hit center stage for my first song. It seemed to go on forever and I longed to hit that last note and get it over with. And so went the rest of the performance. I felt drained, tired and ready to tear off my dress and go home by the time the curtain fell.

I crossed Chace as I trudged offstage, warier than when I’d trudged on a few hours earlier. His gaze was a cross between what Roberta and Judy had given me. Concerned, sad, thoughtful and filled with questions. What was wrong with all of them? Was my stardom getting to them? Had I ignored them or acted differently towards them?

“You okay?” Chace was quick to ask the moment he got within earshot.

“Sure,” I said. Even as the word came from my lips I could hear the agitation in my voice. My nerves were grated and I feared I wasn’t hiding it too well.

Chapter 16

December 18th, 2009

Dear Diary,

The day has been sluggish and long. It seems like a veil of melancholy has dropped over my life. The sun is out and it’s a beautiful day, but I just want to stay in bed.

I refuse to allow myself to believe that this is all because of Eric’s disappearance, but I honestly can’t find another reason. Why does he get to me like this? Aaron has a special getaway planned later this afternoon and it sounds absolutely delightful, yet I can’t seem to feel happy at the prospect. I have Chace who is wonderful and kind, yet my heart doesn’t respond to him as it does to Eric.

Chace should be here any minute now to take me for an early morning bike ride through the park. I know it’s meant to cheer me up, but I doubt he’ll succeed.

Everything is in place to make for a wonderful day and I should be happy. I’m the star of one of the biggest shows in town. Everyone is raving about me.

Why do I feel so miserable?

Sunny and without the slightest hint of a breeze, the day was perfect for the bike ride Chace had planned. He seemed jovial as we rode side by side while he told me about his week, but I sensed his good mood was for my benefit.

“Did I tell you that my parents really loved you,” he asked.

He had.  I nodded and smiled.

“I mean they were absolutely floor by Annette Binoche the performer; that goes without saying. But they were so charmed by Annette the woman, it’s a shame you didn’t have time to come have dinner with us. You know they may be coming back to town. Maybe we could get together then.”

I nodded again and knew that my response was feeble at best. He deserved more. He deserved better. Here he was doing everything to make me feel better and I could barely utter a decent response.

“They would love to go to one of those fancy restaurants they often see in the movies, and of course they enjoy seeing their boy at work.” His smile was charming, his eyes earnest.

A pang gripped my heart as I realized just how hard he was trying. And the more he tried, the more distant I became. I was closing in on myself and while I could see it happening, I seemed unable to do anything to stop it.

By the time we were to part ways, I wanted to weep for the guilt I felt.

“I hope I was able to cheer you up a bit,” he said.

“You did, Chace.” My tone was flat and unconvincing.

“So you’re off to go shopping with Judy.”

“Yeah, I’ve hardly had time to have two words with her since getting Adelle and she thought my wardrobe could use a little sprucing up.”

“Well, you are a part of high society now.”

I cocked a brow and had to chuckle. High society indeed. If he only knew how I dreaded those fancy affairs. Put me in my jeans any day.

He leaned in to kiss me. As warm and inviting as his lips were, I couldn’t muster up the strength to kiss him back. I puckered my lips, but the action was cold and emotionless. The pain and questions were barely concealed as he said an awkward goodbye.

How could I do this to him?

My shopping spree with Judy didn’t fare much better.

“How can you be so down in the dumps when you’re supposed to be on top of the world?” She munched on a pretzel she’d bought from a vendor and looked at me as though I were nuts. “I thought having the lead and singing and being the star and getting all the adoration was what you wanted.”

“I never said that.” I watched the sidewalk pass under my feet as we walked down Fifth Avenue.

“You didn’t have to. I mean who comes to New York to become obscure. We all come here to see and be seen, to make a mark… or a marquis.” She held her pretzel out to me and I took a bite. “Has fame hit you too soon, too hard?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. It certainly is all happening rather quick. I mean all the public relations that go with it are draining me, but I love the performance part.”

She glanced at me. “You wouldn’t know it from your performance last night.”

I stopped walking and turned to look at her. “Was it that bad?”

“Not bad necessarily, but anyone who saw the performance of the night before could see that you weren’t quite there last night.”

“Oh my God.  I didn’t realize it was so obvious.” As I stared at her I mentally tried to go over the various scenes from the previous night’s show. I could barely recall a song. The show was virtually a blur.

“Don’t freak out or anything. Stranger things have happened at the Met.”

“Really?” I said with a doubtful glance.

“Well, there’ve been five deaths, right there inside the opera house. And a few of them rather suspicious, too.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re just playing with my head.”

“Back in the 1890s, a French basso actually had a heart attack, right there on stage in the midst of his performance. He was applauded as he fell over and died.”

Horrified, I gasped.

“They carried him offstage, and another singer took his place for the three remaining acts.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I swear,” she said, holding her Girl Scout fingers up. “A baritone died of a stroke in the 60s and a stage accident killed someone in the 70s.”

I stared at her wondering where she was coming up with all this.

“Then there was the violinist who ended her affair with a stagehand. He didn’t take it too well and he murdered her.”

Though I laughed at the outrageousness of her stories, somehow I had a sense it was all true.

“In 1997 there was a tenor who had a heart attack while climbing up the set. He fell to the stage.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t complain?” I chided. “Or are you warning me to watch my back.”

“Hmmm, might be both.”

With those unpleasant thoughts in my head and my arms loaded and unable to carry any more bags, I headed home to prepare for Aaron’s arrival. I had just enough time to brush out my hair, put on a fresh sweater and grab my handbag before my buzzer rang.

He was waiting out front with what looked like a very expensive car. A Mercedes or BMW, I didn’t really know which, but it screamed money. He looked dapper in casual slacks and chic leather jacket and his smile radiated with confidence.

“Ready to see what New York has to offer?” he asked as he pulled onto Amsterdam and headed for the Lincoln tunnel. “New York State that is.”

I leaned back into the cushy leather seat and felt heat radiate from my bottom. Louisiana hardly had a need for cars with heated seats and I was at first perplexed. I passed my hand under me, wondering if I wasn’t the problem. Was I running a fever?

He glanced sidelong at me and smiled. “Don’t worry; it’s normal. I heated up the seat for you. It’s a bit nippy and I thought you’d like to keep warm.”

“Oh.”

Before long we were leaving the busy interstates behind and were cruising through the countryside.  Scatterings of snow appeared here and there, but not enough to anticipate a white Christmas. We stopped to buy fruits from a roadside vendor, found a few antique shops to browse through and strolled the streets of the little town we stopped in for a light dinner.

“I have a friend who might have exactly what’ll take to put a bright smile on your face.”

Up until now, I thought I’d been smiling plenty.

As he pulled into the long, winding drive of a quaint country home, he reached for my hand and squeezed it affectionately. “I can see right through you, Annette. Your lips may be smiling, but your eyes are haunted and far away.” He stopped the car and opened the door.  “Hopefully, this’ll do the trick and bring that smile to your lovely eyes.”

I stepped out of the car and was immediately greeted by the cool nose of a large golden retriever. His tail wagged, his eyes glistened with joy and his tongue was quick to lick at my hand.

“He’s beautiful. I’ve always wanted a dog like this. They’re so absolutely lovable.

“She.”

“Huh?”

“He’s a she; Jeanie.”

I took the dog’s face in my hands and bent down to rub noses. “Hello, Jeanie.”

“Aaron, what are you doing out here, you dog?” A tall blond with working boots and soiled dungarees came from around the old clapboard house and headed for Aaron. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Aaron took the woman in his arms and gave her a great hug. Her long hair was in a haphazard looped up ponytail and her face was bronzed by the sun. She was the epitome of healthy country living.

“I was talking to Jeanie.”

“Of course you were.” He chuckled and came around the car to where I stood with Jeanie. “Brenda, I’ve spoken to you about Annette.”

“Yes.” Her genuine smile was beaming as she reached out to offer me a hearty handshake. “Taking a break from the glare of the city lights?” she aimed at him.

“You know you miss it,” Aaron teased.

“Look around you, honey,” she said with a proud tilt of her head as she gestured towards the endless yard that seemed to go on for miles. “I ain’t missing anything out here.”

“It certainly is lovely,” I said.

“Finally, someone who appreciates what’s good for you.” She turned to Aaron. “What has you fleeing the city this time?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and followed her to the back of the house. With Jeanie at my side, I tailed behind them.

“I have a friend who’s a little down in the dumps and I was hoping to find something here that would cheer her up.”

“Ah, yes,” she said with a degree of suspicion. “A puppy to lift the spirits.”

We reached to back patio to find a small enclosure that housed half a dozen mini Jeanies, each one more gorgeous and adorable than the next.

My eyes lit up and my heart melted. I glimpsed Aaron’s self-satisfied grin from the corner of my eye, but ignored him. Of course I would break in face of such adorable little creatures; who wouldn’t?

“Can I hold one?” I felt and sounded like a seven year old.

Jeanie looked up at me with pride and trust. One little fellow in the enclosure stood on his hind legs and clawed the enclosure, begging to get some attention.

“Sure, they love being held.”

I scooped up the little guy and cradled him in my arms. His soulful eyes met mine and I knew I was in love.

“Life in the city has been stressing our mademoiselle from New Orleans and I thought she might need a little company to sooth her frazzled nerves at the end of a hectic day, or night as it were.”

As delicious as the thought was, I knew I had no place in my life or my apartment for a dog that promised to grow so large. Although I had all the place in my heart for him, it just wouldn’t be fair to raise a puppy under my circumstances. “Aaron, I…”

“You know how I feel about bringing my dogs into town, Aaron,” Brenda cut it. Apparently she was going to save me the argument. “These dogs need space and a puppy is a lot of hard work and time.” She looked up at me, her eyes telling me what I already knew. “I’m sure you’d love him and do your best to give him a good home, but under the circumstances, I don’t think he’d really grow to be happy.”

I nodded, but Aaron seemed unwilling to let it go. “I can bring him home with me. I have plenty of space, you could come by to see him whenever you want and I would tend to him when I’m home.”

“When are you ever home, Aaron?” Brenda asked.

“And you live too far from me,” I interjected. “I can’t take the time to go to your place very often.”

“Then why don’t you just move in with me?”

Brenda threw up her hands and backed away. “I think that’s my cue to go in and get some nice hot tea.”

I tried to laugh off Aaron’s suggestion, but he wasn’t smiling at all. “It would only be temporary; until you found yourself a larger apartment.”

“That could take quite a while.”

“I’m in no hurry.”

“Aaron.”  The puppy wiggled in my arms and I set him down. “Whether the puppy is at your place or mine, I have no time right now to take care of anything other than what I already have going on.”

His jaw tightened and I could see he was unhappy with my answer. But moving in with him was out of the question.

December 21st, 2009

Dear Diary

I’ve still not heard a word from Eric. Although his note made his feelings clear, I still don’t understand why he’s doing this. How could he have spent so much time with me during my training for the part only to now leave me with no support at all?

It’s too much to think about, yet I can’t stop thinking.  Kristine.  Aaron.  Rupert. I know they all have a connection with Eric, but I can’t fathom what that connection could be. With Eric only a few years older than I am, what possible connection could he have with the Kristine from a hundred years earlier?

I must speak to Aaron. Not to discuss this, I doubt he could give me the answers I’m looking for, but to ask to be excused from the show for a few nights.

“Annette, the show is off and running, and you’re the reason behind that. How can you possibly consider taking a few days off?”

“I know the timing is bad, but I’m greatly needed back home.”

“But how will we…?”

“Caroline can take over. She does a wonderful job of…”

“People didn’t pay to see your understudy, Annette. They want to see you. They paid hundreds of dollars to see you.”

“You were ready to whisk me off to Paris,” I accused.

He had no argument for that one.

“Look,” I said with a softer tone. “It would only be for a few nights, Aaron, I promise.” We were seated in his office at the Met and I was suddenly feeling suffocated by the dark walls. Why was he being so difficult? “I could take a late flight Saturday night after the show. There’s no show on Sunday, so if I come back for Tuesday afternoon, I’ll have only missed one performance.”

He nodded but was plainly unhappy with the situation.

“One night,” I pleaded.

“Fine. I’ll advise Tom to prepare Caroline.

***

“Maman,” I cried when I opened the door and rushed into the home I’d grown up in.

“Chéri,” I heard  her call out from the kitchen. She rushed out and I was soon smothered in kisses. “Ah, ma petite coquette.  Let me see how New York has changed my little girl.” She grasped by shoulders and held me at arms length for an inspection.

“Maman,” I lamented. It was the same inspection I’d often received after being sick or coming home from a date.

“You’re pale and thin.” She pinched my cheeks.  “And look at those circles beneath your eyes. What are they doing to you up there, ma belle?”

“I’m just working a bit too hard, Maman.”

“Hmmm,” she groaned in disbelief. “Wait ‘til your father sees you. He’s likely to not let you leave New Orleans again.”

I smiled and sat at the kitchen table. Hot tea was already steaming from an old family teapot and I poured myself a soothing cup.

“Is your fatigue the only reason for making your way home?”

She always knew how to get to the heart of the matter. No matter how hard I tried to hide what was going on in my life or in my head, she always knew.

“You know, when I was younger people used to call me Michelle La Savante?”

“I know, Maman.” It was almost like a sixth sense. She could pick up on the most minute detail and read a host of emotions in it.

“Then stop stalling and come right out with it.”

“I guess meeting new friends in New York has led me to question a lot about where we’re from. I mean, they asked me about my heritage and I wasn’t really sure what to say. And I guess the opera I’m singing has me intrigued about Paris as well.”

“So you’d like to find out more about your lineage.”

“I was really too young to remember my parents when I was sent to the orphanage, but I do remember the nuns talking about me when they thought I wasn’t listening.  I’d always wondered why they looked at me strangely, almost as though they feared me. Well, it turned out they thought my parents were gypsies.”

“You never told me that before.”

She sipped her tea and gazed heavily into her cup. “I’d never really given it much importance. Just the babbling of some old fools who had nothing else to talk about. I was tiny, with long dark hair and I was able to do what many girls twice my age couldn’t do. I knew things; things that a young child shouldn’t know. I thought all this might have spooked them and led them to fabricate some explanation for my strange ways.”

“Do you think they were gypsies who…?”  I didn’t even know how to finish the question.

“Performed magic?” she finished for me. “As I got older, I heard more and more rumors. Sometimes even from the girls I boarded with. Some claimed an ancestor of mine had played so much with the black magic that she’d gone crazy. Had completely lost her mind to the potions and spells. Her heart filled with hatred and a need to avenge everything that had ever gone wrong in her life and that of her family.

“She’d been set to marry a rich aristocrat and when her plans failed, she vowed to see the family ruined. Instead she just ended up ruining herself.”

Stunned, I stared at my mother, reluctant to ask the question to which I already knew the answer. “What was her name?”

“Kristine.”

I felt as though someone had punched me in the chest. I choked on my tea and felt the world slip out from under me.

“You okay, ma belle?”

“Hot,” I said, fanning my mouth. “What ended up happening to this Kristine?”

“Her career ended not long after that.” She stopped cold and stared at me. “Do you know that they say she was a world renowned opera singer for the Paris Opera House? And here you are following in her footsteps. I guess you were destined to be famous, ma chérie.”

I guess, I thought wryly.

“Although I certainly do hope you don’t meet the same fate. For all her talent, no one knew her name a year later. She threw it all away in her need to get back at the family of her betrothed.” She tapped the edge of her teacup and glanced at the ceiling. “Now what was his name?”

A wave of nausea swept through me. “Aragon.”

Her eyes were on mine in an instant. “Yes, Rupert Aragon” she whispered in awe. “How did you know?”

“First tell me more about Kristine, Maman. What relation is she to you; to me?”

“I’m not quite certain, but I believe she was a cousin of my grandmother.”

“And what did she do after her career ended.”

“She delved deeper and deeper into the potions and spells. Her life revolved around casting a spell to put an end to the Aragon name. From what I’ve been told, she died, young and alone in the countryside east of Paris.”

“Do you know what she looked like?”

“She was beautiful; captivatingly so. No man could resist her. Some claimed it was the magic, others simply say she was that magnificent a creature. Alluring, seductive and with a way with men few women in her day had. Other than that, I can't really say what she looked like. But if you’re really that interested, I’m sure you could find some old posters from the operas she took part in. Look up the Paris Opera House. I believe she would have played there in the late 1800s.”

“I’m going to take an hour or so to go to the library to use their computer,” I said as I stood and reached for my bag. “I’ll be back for supper.”

As I entered the library, I felt shadowed. Perhaps I should have asked my mother to come with me; offer moral support. The very thought sounded silly. I was grown up.  I lived in New York City for heaven’s sake. I could do a little research on my own without… without what?  Freaking out? My fear of what I might find was almost paralyzing.

I rushed to the wall of computers before my legs could give out on me. My fingers clumsily tapped over the keys and I was easily able to find something on the Paris Opera House. Finding a poster of a show Kristine had taken part in was a little more complicated, but I finally came upon a poster and without even seeing her name I knew it was her.

She was elegantly dressed in a gown from the 1700s and her dark hair was pulled up with ringlets framing her face. Despite the outdated allure, there was no mistaking the resemblance.

Her cheeks, her lips, her nose and most startlingly her eyes were the same as mine. The poster even had her looking quite charming and demure, words I’d never heard mentioned in the same sentence as Kristine’s name.

I thought of Eric and his reluctance to get closer to me because of my resemblance to Kristine. “My God, Eric,” I murmured as I stared at the screen.  “How can this be? How can you have loved her, been betrayed by her?”

Chapter 17

December 22nd, 2009

Dear Diary,

Though I was home with my mom and dad where I’ve always felt secure, I had a restless night as thoughts of Kristine swirled in my mind repeatedly. Nothing makes sense.  The connection between Kristine and Eric is absurd. And my part in it all only adds to the absurdity.

Adding to my confusion is a call I received from Judy. Apparently my absence from the opera house isn’t going well.

“What do you mean the Phantom’s back?” I asked. I noticed the odd look on my mother’s face and took the phone out to the terrace.

“Caroline went the way of Marie; freaking out when strange sounds started to interrupted her rehearsals. She tried a few times, but the roar became deafening.”

I remembered hearing the strange sounds that had resulted in Marie leaving the role.

“I mean, I don’t scare easily, but man, I was running out of there shaking.”

“What are they going to do?”

“They’re trying another girl now. She usually plays the role of Vivian and says she knows all the songs. Of course she doesn’t sing like you, but she might be able to pull it off.”

My brain reviewed the cast and tried to find who played Vivian; Midge, an older woman with raging red hair and a portly figure. How in the world was she going to fit in any of the costumes?

I started and almost dropped the phone when a loud crash rang in my ears accompanied by a screech from Judy.

“Judy?  Judy? What happened?” I screamed into the phone. “Judy, are you there?”

“Annette, oh my God.” Her voice was shaky and frightened.

“What happened?”  I felt on the verge of panic.

“The huge chandelier, the one that hangs in the ballroom for the big dancing scene. It fell. It just fell. Hang on a minute.”

I could hear Judy’s footsteps and with every step I could hear the chaos in the background increase in volume.

“Jesus,” she whispered.

“What?” I said, also in a whisper.

“The damn thing almost decapitated the poor woman. It must have missed her by barely an inch.”

“Is she okay?” I felt frantic and responsible. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have left.”

“She fainted, but I think she’s okay. And don’t be ridiculous. You have nothing to do with this. You have every right to go home for a family problem. We all understand.”

A chorus of screams came from a distance.

“What is it now?” I asked.

“Hang on.”

Her heels again clippety-clipped their way to the source of the sound. “Oh, Annette.”

“What?”

“Oh, my God.”

“What?!”

“Damn.”

“Judy!” I screeched.

“Only Annette.” Her voice was strange.

“Huh?”

“It says, only Annette.”

I shook my head and walked to the edge of the terrace. She wasn’t making any sense. “Judy, please. Be more coherent or you’re going to drive me crazy.”

“Sweetie, the mirror in the dressing room; someone wrote on it in blood red lipstick.”

“Wrote what?”

“Only Annette.”

My head began spinning and I had to sit down. The Phantom didn’t like the other singers. I wasn’t too surprised by that considering what I’d witnessed with Marie. But he knew my name. He’d asked for me by name.

Despite the sun that beat down on me, my skin puckered with bumps as a chill ran through me.

“You still there?” Judy asked.

“Yeah,” I murmured.

“All the girls have left. And I have to admit, quite frankly, that I’m freaking out myself. This is weird stuff, even for the opera house.”

“The Phantom,” I said.

“Annette, I gotta go. I’m going to get out of here before anything else happens. I mean, what if the Phantom knows I’m on the phone with you?”

The line went dead before I could reply. It was just as well. There was nothing more to say.

The Phantom knew my name, wanted me to sing and was frightening everyone away.

My thoughts returned to Eric. My enigmatic Eric. From the very beginning his presence had been strange and unexpected. Dressed as though from another time. Even his pattern of speech had little place in modern day New York. His love of Kristine. His recognition of Aaron as an Aragon.

“My God,” I whispered. “Who are you Eric? What are you?”

The last weeks streamed through my head as I tried to put it all together. All the time I’d spent with him. All the strange emotions he managed to conjure up in me. He’d lured me in so easily. And despite his darkness and his propensity towards remaining elusive, he was the one, above Chace and above Aaron, I wanted to be with.

I sat on the bench that looked out onto the massive live oak in the backyard and stared at the eerie limbs that seemed to call out to me. Curling up on the bench, I remembered how, as a child, I’d been so fearful of that tree, of how the slightest breeze seemed to bring it to life.

Now, that same fear filled me and the thought of returning to New York left me feeling anxious and stressed.

Chapter 18

December 22nd, 2009

Dear Diary,

My return to the Met resembled my very first day in New York. The cab pulled up to the Met and I was once again impressed by the immensity of it all. However, this time, I knew exactly how to get where I wanted. I headed straight to the cast entrance and made my way backstage. The place was deserted, adding to the notion that the place was haunted by this mysterious phantom.

The chandelier still lay broken across the stage, sheets of music and lyrics were scattered everywhere and a shoe still stood center stage where last someone had tried to take my place.

Determined to make peace with this Phantom, with Eric, I walked to the edge of the stage and stared out and up to the last balcony.

I knew I wasn’t alone. Though every seat was vacant, though the lights that glared clearly showed an empty house, I knew I wasn’t alone. Whoever or whatever was out there filled the air with tension and animosity.

“I’m back. I’m Annette.” My voice came back to me loud and clear. “You can stop harassing my friends now.”

The chill in the room intensified and I knew the presence there had heard me. I could hear it, feel it and thought that if I tried hard enough, I’d be able to see it. Aside from the air getting colder still, I saw nothing. It came closer and my breath caught.

“Eric?” I said in a small, feeble voice. While I knew I had nothing to fear from him, I felt apprehensive and ready to run. Perhaps he’d respond to me better in my dressing room.

“Annette.”

I turned with a start at the sound of my name being hushed directly into my ear. My body tightened up and the blood drained from my face leaving me feeling lightheaded and in need of air.

The voice hadn’t been Eric’s; not at all.  It had been that of a woman. I rushed off stage and headed to my dressing room. I was being choked, suffocated and I reached for my ruby cross to bring my breathing back to normal. I stumbled to the room, losing my balance and bumping off the doorjamb as I pushed the door open.

Macabre laughter followed me and I began to wonder if I was to suffer the same fate as Marie and Caroline. Was I mistaken in coming back to the Met? Was I going nuts?

Clutching my ruby cross in shaky fingers, I glanced back into the hallway, hoping to see the source of the loud steps I heard nipping at my heels. Nothing. No one. I was alone. The footsteps stopped and for a moment everything went silent. I held up my cross assuring it was visible and in plain sight. The air became damp and permeated with an odor of rot.

The cackling began anew and my dressing room door slammed in my face. Panic was building up and I knew that another minute of this would throw me over the edge.

Again the female voice, vile and dripping with century old hatred, whispered in my ear. “Annette.”

My senses left me as I turned to run. Blinded by fear I followed the way to the piano room where I’d first met Eric, running on automatic. Without thinking, my legs led me there, though I’d not consciously decided to go that way.

Breathing became difficult as the air thickened and cooled. The corridor was dimly lit and while the cackling continued to follow me, I felt a sense of cautiousness in the distance it maintained behind me. For whatever reason, it seemed no longer willing to remain at my side.

The piano room was only a few paces ahead and the air became notably warmer.

Just when I thought I’d perhaps shaken the vile laughter of the female phantom off me, I ran head long and hard, into something big and solid.  My breath was pounded out of me by the blow and I barely managed a painful shriek of horror.

As I struggled to back away and get my footing, two large hands grabbed my arms and held me steady. I opened my mouth to scream.

“Annette.”

There was no mistaking his voice and looking up at him in the dim light I could just barely make out his features. The beautiful features I’d missed so terribly these past days. His strong jaw, sure and confident. The gleam in his eye, reassuring and with a touch of concern. Eric; my Eric.

I fell apart and began to weep. “Eric.” My breath shuddered through my chest as tears trickled down my face. I leaned into him, heavily relying on his hold to keep me up.

Effortlessly, he swept me off my feet and I buried my face in the crook of his arm. The panic and fear of the last few moments still controlled my breathing, but my body was slowly warming up to the sensations of Eric’s arms wrapped securely around me.

His footsteps resounded in the cavernous corridors as he made his way to his abode. As I clung to his jacket, I glimpse his visage in the passing light and was awed by the determination in his eyes.

Everything would be alright. Kristine. Aaron. The murder plot. Rupert. Then. Now. The Phantom. The revenge. None of that mattered now that I was with Eric.

We arrived at the elevator and just as the doors were about to close on the dark corridors, I heard a loud screech of anguish.

Eric seemed unmoved by the feminine wail and I wondered if he’d heard it at all.

Candles made the room glow with serenity and peace.

He made his way to the bedchamber and set me down on his bed. His fingers moved slowly as he opened my leather jacket and pulled it off my shoulders. I stared at him, watching the concentration in his eyes as he then reached for the hem of my sweater and slowly pulled it over my head.

I should have felt vulnerable and shy. Where were my scruples?

Vanished, I realized as I was overcome with a powerful sense of well being.

“Eric,” I whispered. I placed my hand on his cheek. “Are you really here? Are you just a ghost or are you really here?”

He stood to tear off his coat and peel off his shirt, then savagely reached for my hand and pressed it to his chest. Beneath the soft skin, the powerful muscles, I could feel it. His heart pounded against my hands. His entire body was the response to my question. He sat beside me, pressed his lips to mine and gently guided me down onto the bed, his body covering mine. My lips parted, eager to taste him, while my body felt a chaos of sensations.

When he placed his hand to my bare back, I gasped, the sensation was so raw, so intense.

“I’m real,” he whispered between kisses. The groan, from the depth of his soul, reverberated with passion and urgency. “I’m as real as any man you’ve ever seen, my sweet Annette.”

He pulled away and gazed into my eyes. My lips were aflame and my body raged. Don’t stop now, Eric.  Don’t pull away from me now. I couldn’t bear it.

“I shall satisfy you like no man you’ve ever met.” He brought his fingers to my temple and tenderly pushed a strand of hair back. “You’ve no comprehension of the torture these past days have been; how black my days have become without you.”

“I’ve had to live my own torture,” I said. I barely recognized the sad voice that emanated from me. Until this moment I’d not realized, or had refused to accept just how empty my life had become without him.

He brought his mouth to my neck, and his lips and tongue began an intoxicating dance over my skin. I thrilled at the sensation, never wanting him to stop. My hands took on a journey over his shoulders, his back, his arms and up through his hair. I marveled at his strength, the pure masculinity of him.

And for all his strength, for all the power that raged through his solid arms and shoulders, his lips remained tender and soft as they made their way to the valley between my breasts.

My mind reeled. Don’t ever leave me, Eric, I silently begged. I knew I couldn’t bear to lose him again.

Chapter 19

Secure in Eric’s arm, I let go and completely relaxed. I knew no harm would come to me so long as he was at my side. As we lay together, our arms and legs intertwined, I caught the look of concern in his eyes.

“What had you running in such a panic? I’ve never seen you so frightened.”

I was embarrassed to say it. Had it all been in my head? Was I just fatigued and hallucinating? No, it couldn’t just be my head. The chandelier, the lipstick on the mirror; everyone had seen those. They were real.

“Strange things have been happening at the opera house. At first I thought it was you, unhappy that I’d returned to New Orleans. You’d cut the line to drop the chandelier on the stage and wrote my name in lipstick on the dressing room mirror. I was horrified at the thought that you could do such dreadful things.”

He frowned. “Those do indeed sound like what once happened, years ago at the Paris house. I used the very same tactics… But it wasn’t me.”

“The Paris house? You?”

His lips tightened. He’d said too much. But now that it was out, I wasn’t about to let him stop now.

“You’re the Phantom of the Opera; the one who created havoc one hundred years ago?”

He said nothing.

“Eric, please. I have a ghost on my back and all these horrible things keep happening. This isn’t the time to hide what’s really going on. How can you be here, young and beautiful if you haunted the Paris house of the 1800s?”

“Kristine, despite her beauty and for all her talent, was one of the ugliest women I’ve ever met. Her greed and blackened heart have done much to ruin the lives of the people around her, including my own.”

A heavy chill filled the air and I realized how painful it was for him to speak of Kristine.

“Helen, a gypsy who was Kristine’s mentor and teacher of the dark magic Kristine delved in took pity on me or perhaps cursed me that awful day I wanted to die from the misery of Kristine’s betrayal. Helen was thoroughly disgusted to learn how Kristine used her powers and how she’d ruined me. Ever since that day, since Helen pulled my crumpled broken form out of the tunnels of the Opera House, I have not aged a day. Instead, I have been haunted with the memory of Kristine and her evilness day after miserable day for over a century.”

Over a century? My mind was racing. What was Eric?

“It was Helen’s magic, I believe, that had kept me alive, yet tormented all these years. It was Helen’s magic, yet, that allowed the scars I had since birth, to fade away with time.” Eric gently touched my hair. “All the pain and loneliness I felt throughout the years. All of the memories I have to relive over and over again in my mind,” he grabbed my hands in his, drawing me closer, “is worth it for I have found you.” He cupped my face with both hands and leaned in close to kiss my lips gently, sweetly, and then more urgently. I melted into his kiss and felt his arms closed in protectively. “Annette,” he asked quietly, “tell me what happened. What frightened you so?”

I sighed. “Last night as I stood on stage, wanting to tell you that I was back and begging you to stop this nonsense, a woman whispered in my ear. It was the most frightening sound I’d ever heard. She knew my name, Eric.  I ran and her laughter followed me. I don’t understand what she wanted; what she wants.”

Eric’s gaze became veiled and distant.

“What is it?”

“Kristine knew of the tricks I’d used in Paris. I don’t understand what she might be trying to achieve, but I know her well enough to know it can’t be good.”

I looked at him, trying to understand the passage of time and how he and Kristine played on it. Why was Kristine here and what did she want with me?

And Eric. Did he belong here? Was he truly a man of blood and bone, or would he vanish the moment the whim caught him. If his presence here was based on a spell, could the spell be broken?

During our passionate embrace I’d allowed all my questions to seep away. The only thing that had mattered was his skin against mine; his breath mingling with mine. I missed him so much I didn’t care what he was when he held me so.

But now, all the questions, doubts and fears returned.

Was I falling in love with a man or a ghost?

Chapter 20

December 23rd, 2009

Dear Diary,

I have but a moment to write before tonight’s show.  I’m ecstatic about my reunion with Eric. Finding him again has given me the power, the strength and desire to perform I’d lacked during his absence. It lifts my heart to hear he too had suffered from our time apart. He DOES care about me. He cares so much to tell me about his past and to hint at what he is. Man or phantom? I still do not know surely, but I know I’m helpless to fight against this passion I feel for him, despite this nagging feeling of dread.

Now that Eric has confirmed my fear that it was Kristine’s voice whispering my name in my ear, my guard has gone up. Kristine was the Phantom and not Eric. Eric, I can deal with as the Phantom, but not Kristine. From everything I’ve heard about her, she was so diabolical, she was capable of anything.

Tonight’s performance was a triumph. I was positively radiant tonight. I felt it. I lived it. And I could see in the audience’s response how they felt my rebirth. I’d returned to my stage stronger than ever. When I took my final bow, I caught a glimpse of Chace, his face radiant as we caught each other’s eyes. He’d joined in the thunderous applause and smiled his endearing boyish smile. When he stood up to receive the audience’s applause for the first chair and orchestra, he held out a hand toward me, sharing the applause with me. I smiled, holding my hand out to him, and nodded. I had missed Chace, too. He was so supportive of me. I caught a glimpse of my dear friend Judy, who stood on the right side of the stage with the dancers. She winked at me and smiled. Then in the balcony seats nearest the stage, I saw Aaron clapping. He was dressed impeccably in a full tuxedo with tails and even a top hat. It brought a smile to my lips as I thought he looked like a wealthy young gentleman from the 1800s in that outfit. When we meet for dinner tonight, I would be sure to bring up Aaron’s interesting fashion sense.

As if sensing my thoughts, Aaron tipped his hat at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief. I felt victorious and was happy to be back where I belonged. I made a final curtain call, bowed one last time and headed backstage to my dressing room.

The moment I entered my dressing room I knew something was wrong. Nothing was out of place. Nothing had changed since I’d last left it. I tried to ignore it and sat before the mirror to remove my heavy theatrical make-up.

As I dabbed a cotton ball soaked with makeup remover against my forehead, cheeks, and nose, I caught the sight of a dark haired young woman standing behind me. I bolt up and turned to face the empty room. There was no one there.

I took a small breath and grabbed another cotton ball, dipping it into makeup remover and began to wipe away the rest of the makeup, leaving my face clean. Then taking my own handbag from the chair next to me, I found my own lip-gloss and quickly dabbed it across my lips, smacking it in place.

Out of the corner of my eyes, looking at the mirror in front of me, I saw a dark hair girl dressed in an old-fashioned white shift walk across the room. The air suddenly became very cold, and a chill spread across the back of my spine, sending goosebumps up my arms. I didn’t want to turn around.

“Eric,” I whispered, begging him to arrive.

A faint snicker filled the air then suddenly stopped.

Feeling chocked, I took a sip of water to moisten my parched mouth. In my haste I spilled the contents of my glass, making a mess of the exquisite ball gown. “Darn it,” I exclaimed. Photographers were sure to be waiting to snap photos of my return and I looked a mess.

Once again I spotted the dark haired woman behind me, and once again I turned and found no one.

I hurried as best as I could to rid myself of the complicated garment. It was virtually impossible getting out of it alone, but I twisted, turned and practically contortioned myself to get it off. The only concession was I had to remove the ruby cross around my neck when the clasp of the chain caught in the fabric.

Before dunning another costume, I tried to untangle the clasp from the fabric. I dreaded being without it and felt more nude and vulnerable without it than I did without my clothes.

Looking up from my dress for a second, I could make out the form of the young woman in the mirror. Her hair was thick and full, in long wavy dark locks, pulled up in an elegant half upsweep on her crown. Her eyes were doe-like and lovely, but hard. Her lips were full and curved into a mocking smile.

I closed my eyes, shivering. Hurriedly, I tried to get my dress off so I can change and get out of the room.

As my fingers worked to free the necklace from the dress I glanced up at the mirror. Suddenly, I remembered what Joana, the old Creole lady who helped out at my mother’s shop, said to me when I left for New York, “I will miss you, my Annette child, wear this cross necklace to ward off any evilness wherever you go.” I had admired the necklace’s craftsmanship and marveled at the brilliance of the red gemstones encrusting the cross. “Thank you,” I said to Joana. “It’s beautiful. I’ll keep it with me all the time.”

I remembered those words in horror, as soon as the necklace was freed from my dress and laid out on the vanity table. Ward off any evilness. The words burned in the air, as I felt a bone-chilling iciness filled me from head-to-toe, my head bursting with pain, and a throb deep from the back of my eyes.

“Annette, it’s time.”

The feminine voice, the same voice from the stage, had me dropping the gown as I pushed back my stool and stood. The Phantom! Kristine’s voice. Time for what? Time for what? I gasped as I tried to fathom what was to come. As soon as I thought of Kristine, my entire mind, my thoughts was filled with Kristine’s thoughts and memories, as though I was Kristine. The lady whose face I saw behind me in the mirror was gone. Instead, as I looked at my face in the mirror, I saw a glimpse of her staring back at me – those same eyes, now sad yet hard. And those full lips like mine now curled up into a mischievous smile.

I felt heaviness and sadness so deep, tears came to my eyes. Weariness weighed down on my shoulders, causing me to sit down on the vanity chair. I felt my thoughts filter in and out, becoming confused as to where I was. And who am I.

The cold intensified. My blood turned to ice as a deep freeze descended over me. My fingers went numb. I wrapped my arms around myself and felt the touch of my hot skin. The cold was coming from within. Surely my lips were blue, the cold was so intense.

I’ve read and heard about people being possessed before by evil spirits, especially from Joana, who knew about those things…Joana, the devout Christian woman who lived near my parents’ home in New Orleans. She helped out at my mother’s shop, and I’ve known her since I was a little girl. Living in an area where black magic was practiced, Joana had always warned me about the seriousness of playing with it, and the evilness it can bring.

Now it was happening to me. Why? Why did this evil spirit choose me to possess?

I glanced in the mirror to examine the effect of the cold. The eyes that met me were cunning and haughty. I tried to soften my gaze; it only hardened.

My God, I thought in a panic.  What’s happening?

A voice within me laughed triumphantly. Then the words, “your body and mind is now mine, Annette.  Your Aunt Kristine is here.”

Virtually naked now that I was free from my costume, Kristine positioned my body in front of the mirror and posed as if examining the body she now possessed. She turned my body one way then the next as her eyes scanned the line of my breasts, my waist and over my hips.

“Not bad,” She said through me, now controlling my speech. Not my speech!  I yelled from within. No Kristine. No!

“Women were a little fuller, more curvaceous back when I was a girl.” I saw my lips move and heard my voice, but couldn’t understand where the thoughts were coming from. “But I think I can make this toned figure work.”

Kristine strolled before the mirror with a provocative sway of my hips like a gypsy.

“Yes, I think I can make this work just fine. We should make the most of your curves.” She turned before the mirror and admired my backside. My hand passed over the curve of my buttocks and down to the stockings that were held by a garter. “You know, as a gypsy I learned of the many, many ways to pleasure a man. With my knowledge and experience, Annette, you will become irresistible to any man, like I was.”

I wanted to shout, to scream and to stop this nonsense.

“Calm down, Annette. Kristine will take care of you.”

Kristine? No. No! It was true what that voice said. Kristine was controlling my every move and speech, as though I was a puppet, helpless in her hands. At least she did not control my thoughts. I was still alive inside of my body. But my voice cannot be heard now, except within me.

A sardonic chuckle escaped my lips, which was not mine, and filled the room. “You’ve been letting this wondrous body go to waste, dear Annette. It’s time we put it to good use.”

Foregoing the formality of knocking, Aaron entered and stopped as he took in my state of semi-dress. “Oh, Annette, sorry…you’re still changing…” He averted his eyes politely, and was about to step outside when my lips moved.

“Wait, don’t go,” Kristine said to Aaron. Then she lowered her voice. “I missed you.”

I wanted to die.

Aaron then visibly swallowed while his eyes coolly took in my body from head to toe. “Annette, maybe I should step out so you can change. The photographers and reporters are waiting. Can you please hurry up?”

I can feel Kristine’s anger building up at Aaron’s coolness.

“Aragon, wait,” Kristine said, provocatively placing a hand on top of my breast coyly. “Annette, uh, I, haven’t seen you for a while. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Kristine, what are you trying to do? Please don’t play with my Aaron. He’s been so kind to me and honorable.

“Hush!” Kristine hissed to me.

“I… hmmm.” He swallowed again and fidgeted. “I came to see how you were doing. You were great tonight. I’ve missed you and wanted a minute with you before we go out to meet the press.”

Kristine took my hand to reach for his tie and I pulled him to me. “Never mind the press, Aragon. I’ve missed you like you can’t imagine.”

I was horrified and couldn’t imagine what Aaron could possibly think of my sudden wanton behavior. Kristine was going to ruin everything; was going to ruin me.

“Annette,” he whispered huskily slipping his hands around my bare waist. “What’s gotten into you? This isn’t like you at all.”

“I told you, Aragon. I’ve missed you.”

“Your voice…you…you’re so sexy. What’s gotten into you? I mean, I like this side of you, but where’s the Annette who wanted to take things slowly? D’you get some voodoo or something down in New Orleans? Has something changed your mind about us?” He pressed his body to mine and my breasts, barely contained by the revealing bra I wore, crushed against his chest, looking intently into my eyes.

I miss you Aaron, I shouted, remembering how much I miss his friendship and guidance. I do want to take it slowly.  I don’t want to jump into anything I will regret…

“Something like that.” I watched helplessly while Kristine controlled my every move, my every speech in her planned seduction of Aaron. Evil laughter filled the room while my arms wrapped around him. My hands into the back of his jacket collar and worked their way to the front. With expert movements I couldn’t control, my fingers clasped his jacket and pulled it back off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

“Annette?” he raised his eyebrows, questioning me.

Kristine ignored his question and continued on with the seduction. With feverish urgency, she tried to use my fingers to rid him of his shirt, but Aaron put his hand over mine, stopping me from completing the task.

“Are you alright, Annette?” he asked. “You’re so wild.” He took a deep breath. “I want you, Annette, but not like this. Not now.”

I felt the fury in Kristine rise to a dangerous level.

“What happened to the innocent Annette I know,” Aaron said.

“Who cares?” came the throaty response. “I want you, Aragon.”

Aaron looked into my eyes. Can he see through Kristine’s possession of me?

Aaron looked like he was struggling. “Oh, Annette,” he sighed, pressing his chest to mine as he pushed me onto the sofa. “I’ve been waiting so long for you to want me, and now you, this new sensual Annette, wild, free, uninhibited…”

“You’ve not yet begun to see what I can do to you, Aragon.” Kristine used my hands to grip his shoulders and pulled him to me, over me, encouraging him to press his pelvis into mine.

Aaron groaned as he pressed his face into my hair and whispered, “I missed you so much. If this is what you want, Annette…”

Kristine tossed my head back with wanton abandonment and a victorious and throaty giggle erupted.

Aaron’s head lifted from my hair to look again into my eyes before kissing me tenderly and then with more passion.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, the door opened and Chace rushed in. Why was everyone rushing into my dressing room all of a sudden? Then I remembered…first day back from my trip and everyone wanted to see me. This was the first opportunity for Chace to see me after my return. “Annette…I knocked, but you weren’t answering so I thought something was wrong, and…”

The expression on his face – the pain, the betrayal – killed me. I’d never wanted to hurt him, and here I was practically naked and wrapped in another man’s arms. Please forgive me, Chace.

I didn’t know how to fight her. Kristine had control over every move I made and no matter how much effort I put into trying to regain control, I was ultimately helpless.

Chace stared at me for what seemed an eternity. Kristine smiled at Chace, taunting him, letting him see how much she enjoyed being in Aaron’s arms.

Kristine, stop this! Don’t hurt Chace.

My heart broke for Chace. His face red and his fists white, he stormed out and slammed the door behind him.

No!  I wailed. I’m so sorry Chace.

Kristine – how dare you hurt sweet Chace!

“I didn’t hurt him,” Kristine murmured to me.  “You did it all by yourself. Let him go.”

“What?” Aaron asked. The loud slam of the door and Kristine’s murmuring brought Aaron out of Kristine’s seductive spell. Aaron straightened up. “As delicious as this is, Annette dear, we have people waiting for us.”

“I’m the star, my dear Aragon. They’ll wait.”

He pulled away and regained his composure. “I know you’re the star, darling. And as much as I enjoy this other side of you, the press, the public, the world is in love with the demure and innocent Annette they’ve always seen.” He pulled close, “As am I. I will always love my sweet Annette.”

Love? My head reeled and my heart skipped a beat. Did Aaron just said he loved me? What timing that he had to tell me now when I can’t even control my body and speech!

Kristine’s triumph turned to fury again. “That’s nonsense.”

Aaron grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet.  He gave me a final, deep kiss and released me. “Annette, that’s one part of you I don’t ever want you to lose. Now, put something on before I completely lose control,” he smiled.

He walked out giving Kristine no choice but to comply. She perused my wardrobe and picked out one of the raciest, most daring gowns.

“You know that young Chace fellow is rather attractive, in a nubile sort of way. Perhaps later we could…”

Leave Chace out of this.

“Ah, are we worried about the poor fellow? He’s just a boy, Annette. He’ll get over his broken heart and marry some nice little woman who’ll make him marginally happy.”

As we stepped into the clingy garment, she eyed our reflection carefully.

“You know,” she said with disappointment. “As amusing as it was seeing the heartache on that young man’s face, the intended victim here was Eric.”

Eric? I was stunned. Kristine, not Eric. He’s suffered enough.

She flashed a brilliant smile as she pulled up a shoulder strap. “Yes, for Eric to see his beloved Annette all cuddled up in the arms of an Aragon. How fitting.”

With the second strap in place, she examined the reflection.

The dress left little to the imagination, and I wondered how it could’ve gotten into my wardrobe. Then I remembered it was a dress left by Marie who wanted me to loosen and expand it by a few dress sizes. Mortified by what I saw, I tried to imagine what the press would have to say about this. I’d never paraded myself in such a revealing garment.

“We’re going to show them what an opera diva is, my dear.”

Don’t play with my public, Kristine.

“Don’t worry. They’ll be putty in my hands.” She opened the door.

“Hmm,” Aaron mused. His eyes drank in the vision of my body so artfully exposed. “Interesting choice. I must say you are tempting me more and more with every minute, Annette, but are you sure this is what you want to wear for the public to see?”

Kristine answered back curtly. “Aragon, why are you such a prude? You are not at all like Ru…ah…what I expected.”

Aaron’s eyebrows lifted. “Annette, I’ve had my share of ladies because of who I am, and believe me, I am not a prude.” Aaron lowered his eyes. “You’re special, Annette, you’re not someone men can just have their way with and toss aside.” He placed gentle fingers on my face, as I looked up into his eyes. “Remember that, Annette. You’re untouchable. Like an angel. Believe me, I want to ravish you, take you into my arms and make…” he stopped and took a breath. “Come on, we have the press waiting, and I don’t want to keep them any further.” Aaron escorted us to the line up of photographers and columnist eager to get a word on my first night back. Just as we arrived, Kristine slipped under his jacket, around his waist and down to grab his buttock.

“An angel?” Kristine mused. “Before you know it, Aragon, I’ll change your mind forever on how angelic you and everyone think sweet Annette is.”

“Play it sweet, my dear,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Let’s do this quickly and then we can find some time to ourselves.” He took both my hands in his and presented me to the masses.

Kristine smiled, waved, turned and winked back at the crowd. She played them to the hilt, wooing them, charming them and seducing them.

“You seem like a new woman, Annette,” one reporter asked. “What’s brought on this change?”

“Success,” Kristine declared. “The sweet, avenging taste of success.”

“How was your trip back home?”

“Oh, precious, let’s not waste time with that. I’m here now and that’s all that matters.”

“Are you and Mr. Aragon involved?”

I recognized the woman as a reporter who wrote for a trashy paper. She’d been hounding me for a scoop since opening night. I dreaded Kristine’s response to her question.

“Mr. Aragon,” Kristine said in clear and deliberate syllables. She reached out for him and brought him closer.  “Look at that angelic face. How can a young woman like myself resist the allure and charm of such a worldly man?”

“Are you happy to be back at the Met?”

“Delirious,” she crooned.

“Please, do excuse us,” Aaron said once a satisfactory number of photos had been snapped. “We do have to run along.”

He scurried us off to the back exit. “I’ll call to ditch Mr. and Mrs. Wainwright. I don’t think tonight’s a good night for you to meet them. How about we have a quiet dinner alone?  Choose the restaurant of your liking.”

“Why bother with a restaurant? They’re so noisy and crowded and –” She leaned in close to his ear. “ – public.”

“Well now, what did you have in mind?”

“A cozy and intimate dinner at my apartment.  Wouldn’t that be more pleasing? No interruptions. No gawkers. Just me and you.” Kristine was back to her seduction.

“Excellent, Annette.” He clasped my hands in his and gazed into my eyes. “I am baffled and thrilled by this change in you, Annette. I look at you and still see the innocent girl, but now I see an Annette who is not afraid. I see an Annette who is not just passionate in her music, but in her life. Is it because of all this success, really?”

Aaron, it is Kristine, but maybe it is also a part of me that Kristine is unleashing.  I don’t know.  I’m so confused!

Aaron looked a little wistful. “I supposed I helped turned you into this opera diva I see tonight. You’re now this woman who can see the man I am, and not just your manager.”

“Yes, Aragon. I have a very deep sense of the man you are. More than you can imagine. Take me home and I’ll touch you so deep within your soul, you’ll never forget the time you spent with Kr… Annette.”

Aaron gripped my hand. “It’s what I want, Annette. I want you to finally see beyond our friendship and my ridiculous role as your “employer” and see me as just a man, a man who wants more of you, more than friendship, Annette.”

Kristine laughed. “Oh, I do, Aragon. I do see you as just a man.” We crossed the street to my building and held each other all the way up in the elevator while Kristine planted kisses along Aaron’s throat and face.

Her throaty giggle had Mrs. Weinstein from down the hall opening her door to investigate. With a look of disdain, she quickly slammed her door shut.

Great, now alienate my neighbors.

So horrified with what Kristine had in store for Aaron, I missed seeing that the door wasn’t lock when Kristine opened it. Why wasn’t it locked?

We stepped into my apartment and Kristine kicked the door shut. Before she could reach for the light switch, Aaron was pulled away and a second later the loud crash of splintering wood was followed by a disgusting thud that echoed in my living room.

She finally flicked the switch revealing Aaron lying flat on his face, a small trickle of blood lining his forehead.

Oh no, Aaron! Why was Chace in my apartment in the dark? Chace, have you lost it? Oh Chace, no. You look horrible, and your violin. I’m so sorry!

Chace stood there with a destroyed violin in his hands. “Leaving the key under the doormat, Annette?” he said with an odd note of cruelty. “Haven’t you learned anything since you’ve been in New York? Anyone can get in.”

No, Chace! I want everything to be the way it was between us. Not this!

My heart was breaking. I was aghast, though I had no doubt Kristine hid it well. Back home we’d always left the key under the mat.

“How can someone so naïve end up acting like such a tramp? I thought we have something Annette…” His eyes held a depth of rage with an ounce of fear and sadness.

I never wanted to hurt you, Chace.

He stepped towards us and I was surprised when Kristine stepped back. Was she beginning to regret her deceptive game?

Chace would never hurt me.

“I guess now I’ll be able to play with the same passion, heartache and sense of betrayal with which you sing every night, Annette.” He winced and pinched between his eyes with his index and thumb. I can see his eyes glisten with unshed tears.

I wanted to weep for him; to reach out and explain everything that had happened.

“Well, well,” Kristine muttered. “If Eric can’t come in here and take care of Aragon like he should, perhaps this boy can.”

Chace looked at us strangely, but the rage still played in his eyes.

“You’re smarter than you look, Annette,” she said under her breath. “Having a back up for Eric is something I’d not even considered.”

“Chace, my darling,” she said in a loud and clear voice. “What chance to have you here.”

Chace looked bewildered as he tried to make sense of Kristine’s new tactic.

“Aragon is possessed; obsessed. I had to play along.” She stepped forward and brought my hand to his cheek. “My dear Chace. So resilient. So strong. So reliable. We do share something, Chace. You’re the one I want.”

“I’d do anything for you, Annette.” He pulled me into his arms. Then he said softly, “I don’t want to lose you. It’ll drive me crazy.”

“I know that, my darling.” Kristine brought my lips over Chace’s and within seconds his arms were wrapped around my shoulder, holding me tight while his lips, his tongue, his teeth devoured me.

“Oh, Annette,” he said between hurried kisses. “Why did I wait so long? I thought you wanted to go slow. I thought you wanted me to give you time. And now… look at you. Then you left and I thought I lost you. Seeing you in another man’s arms…” He plunged his tongue into my mouth and squeezed me to his chest, lifting me off my feet to carry me to my bed.

He released me and I bounced on the mattress before he leaned in to peel the clingy dress off my body. His eyes widened as he licked his lips. “The thought of Aragon’s hands on you, Annette.” He put his hands to my neck and slowly let them work their way down, over my breasts, my belly and the edge of my panties.

“I want you, Chace.” Kristine said seductively. My hands clawed at his shirt.

Not now! I shouted. Not with Kristine. This isn’t me, Chace. I don’t want you to make love to me when you’re like this!

“Oh Annette,” he said, caught up in Kristine’s seductive spell. He got off the bed to stand but fell backwards onto the floor. Unconscious, he just lay there.

A large figure I recognized stood over Chace. Eric.

My heart leaped.  Eric! No Eric, this is a trap.

“Annette,” he said. “Are you alright? I was at the press conference and you were not quite yourself so I followed you and Aragon…”

“Eric,” Kristine chimed. “What took you so long?”

His eyes played over my body; while Kristine had my fingers ran along a bra strap seductively, eyes lowered, trained on his eyes.

“I’ve longed to see you again, mon amour.”

Startled, he took a step back and stared at me, and for a moment I held the hope that he would know what Kristine was up to.

“Kristine,” he said.

Yes!

“Dommage,” she purred. “I’d hope to play this game a little longer. Don’t I work Annette well?”

“Annette would not yet use such an intimate term of endearment,” he said. “Mon amour.”

“Ah, oui,” she conceded. “Old habits die hard, my love.”

She rolled me off the bed, slowly, seductively, assuring all my curves were displayed to Eric. With sultry motions I didn’t even think my body was capable of, she brought me to stand before Eric. My hand went up to his smooth face. “How lovely. The scars are all gone. Time has played well with your face, mon amour. I assume this is all the work of that witch, Helen.”

Disgust plainly took over his features as he grabbed my hand and pulled it away from his face, but just as quickly, he gazed down at my hand, my fingers squeezed painfully together in his and realized the fingers were still mine and not Kristine’s.

I saw the apology in his eyes and wondered if he knew I was still in here. Could he see that I was trapped? Did he know the game Kristine was playing?

“Surely you did not travel all this way, all this time simply to seduce me once again, Kristine,” he spat.

The laugh that emerged was bereft of amusement and filled with anger.

“What have you done with her?”

Kristine stepped up close to Eric and traced her finger over his lips like a gentle kiss, all the while keeping my eyes on him. I saw the hunger in his eyes and wondered if he was going to fall for Kristine.

Don’t Eric. Not now. Not like this.

“Why, my love, she’s right here,” Kristine said. She reached behind my back and set her fingers on the clasp of my bra.

No!

“Don’t you recognize your beloved little innocent?”

Eric reached out to stop her and I felt her anger and disappointment sear through my body.

“Honestly, Eric. I thought you were more man than that. The Eric I remember would not have wasted so much time playing with a… a….” She grimaced and finally spat the word out. “Virgin.”

Kristine led my hands up his chest, fingering the hard planes of his muscles. Though his fingers still gripped around my arms, he did nothing to stop my touch.

“You’re worldly enough to know what a bore a virgin can be, mon amour. They know nothing of passion. Nothing of the games men like you loved to play. Remember how we would spend hours, days even wrapped in each other’s arms? They were days of such happiness, were they not?”

Then Kristine directed these words to me. “Stop being in such a tiff. Eric loves this side of you. He cannot resist.” She then leaned in closer to him and I saw the arousal in his every feature. His eyes narrowed hungrily. His jaw tightened in anticipation. And his lips… they parted, softened and waited.

The fingers that had held my arms so roughly now relaxed and trailed up to my shoulders.

I could feel Kristine’s victorious elation. She was winning and there was nothing I could do to stop her. She moved closer and my lips were barely an inch from his. My heart rate jump; whether from her excitement or my disappointment, I couldn’t tell.

Just before my mouth could cover his, his lips curled into a knowing smile. “Annette will never be like you, Kristine.” He pulled away and stepped back.

I felt her murderous rage. She was angry to the point of madness and for a moment I thought she would tear everything within reach to shreds.

“My control of her is complete, Eric. And the more time I spend in her body, the more permanent the situation becomes. Before long she’ll have disappeared forever…” she stopped.

No! Forever? Eric please help me! I wailed. Kristine can’t go on hurting, destroying people and turning me into something I’m not!”

Kristine answered me, “But you are me, Annette.  And I am you.” She turned her full attention to Eric. “Soon, mon amour… soon my way of moving her, of speaking her and of being her is slowly going to kill her.”

She took an arrogant step towards him and held out her hand. “Come, Eric. Come kiss your sweet Annette goodbye while you still can. She’s fighting me now, but soon, her body, her voice, her identity, and her life would be mine to do with it as I wish.”

Eric, I shouted, fighting to break free of Kristine from within. Eric! Only you know of Kristine. Only you know how she has come back! Please Eric, as long as I’m alive, I will fight her, but I need you to help me! Please!

Epilogue

Eric’s Diary

Décembre 22 2009

Mon journal,

It is hard to believe and virtually impossible to comprehend what Kristine has done to Annette. I only have myself to blame. How greatly I underestimated Kristine and her desire for revenge. She’ll never stop, and with her in control of Annette’s body, I don’t know how to keep her from ruining Annette.

So many men here desire her; Aaron Aragon among them. There’s no telling what Kristine will do, but there’s no doubt it would leave Annette’s body and reputation in ruins.

As difficult as it is to admit, I, myself, find that I am strongly attracted to the sensual creature before me. Remnants of my love for Kristine still remain, despite the obvious witch she’s become. My heart still sees the young woman who had such raw talent on the stage and such wild abandonment in my bed; the woman who took me from my lowest low and gave me something to look forward to everyday. I remembered and longed for the days when she and I would hold each other in our arms, feeling love and happiness in each other’s embrace. But that all changed.

And Annette. There’s no denying the depth of emotions I feel for her. Seeing her now, caged within the wickedness that is Kristine’s essence, I feel impotent. But I know this…I was determined now more than ever to not let Kristine destroy Annette’s life as she had done to mine.

My only recourse became obvious. I had to take Annette away and physically keep Kristine from harming Annette’s body or wantonly having her way with men. I had observed briefly when I entered Annette’s apartment and saw the young violinist friend of hers posed above her. Not too far away was Aragon’s unconscious body, an exquisite violin shattered next to him. I didn’t know how deep Annette’s love was for her first chair violinist, but it was obvious how he felt about her. The heartbroken young man was on the brink of killing Aragon.

Annette would not want that to happen. I cannot blame men for being drawn to sweet Annette, but I cannot help feeling the ugly surge of jealousy crept onto me at that moment. I acted by knocking him off of her, but recoiled that I had acted, had let myself lose control. I bent down to examine him shortly. He was unconscious, but not hurt. Aragon, on the other hand, needed some patching up. As much as I despised Aragon, I made a quick phone call to my butler to have him clean up Annette’s apartment and make sure Aragon was bandaged and brought back to the his office at the Opera House. Chace would stay where he was, but on Annette’s sofa. As soon as I hung up, I turned my attention to Kristine.

Annette’s lovely face was marred by Kristine’s hard eyes staring at me, daring me to bend to her will. With Kristine, as I have learned, I must play it coolly and not act with what is natural for me…with passion.

“I will never say goodbye to Annette,” I said.

The glimmer of defiance in her eyes was quickly replaced by fear as I approached. I grabbed her arm, threw a blanket on her loosely, thrust my shoulder under her torso and took a firm grip of her leg before hoisting her over my shoulder.

“Eric,” she screeched. “How dare you? Put me down. Put me down!”

I ignored her kicks and feeble slaps across my back and raced out to the elevator. A few of Annette’s neighbors peered out to see the commotion and were plainly shocked by her state of undress.

“Let go of me.”

I mustered up as much charm as I could and winked at the elderly women. “Just a game. A naughty game.”

We made it into the elevator where Kristine’s shouts of indignation continued. Out on the darkened streets of New York, people barely glanced at us. I rushed to the Met entrance that would lead to the maze of tunnels below.

Kristine bucked and fought with increasing fervor and I had just enough time to reach my residence before I lost my grip of her.

She stood there, ravaged, disheveled, angry and delightfully breathtaking. Her breasts rose and fell over the fine lace of her black bra, and her face, flushed with anger, almost had me forgetting the real woman I was looking at. I had to keep reminding myself this beautiful creature wasn’t Annette, but Kristine in Annette’s body.

After a few labored breaths, Kristine calmed down and began looking around, appraising my home.

She cocked an impressed brow then brought the most smoldering expression to Annette’s beautiful face. The combination was intoxicating and riveting. I couldn’t look away and I felt my body surge with the need to touch her.

How long I’d waited to fully touch Annette; her body, her soul.

“You’d prefer to make love to me here in your home, rather than Annette’s.” She smirked and put her hands to Annette’s trim waist. “I agree. Annette’s apartment is so sterile, so chaste. But here, sensuality and passion are imbedded in every fiber of these rooms. It’s all very much like you, Eric; to fill your home with the unquenched passion you still carry after all these years.”

Her lips parted in that practiced way she had. She stepped back to the bed, sat down and brought one heel to the edge, setting her in a provocatively inviting pose.

“I know what you’re up to, Kristine, and it won’t work.” Though the words came out forceful and strong, my legs carried me a few steps closer to her. “It’s Annette I long for, not you.”

With the experience of the stage actress that she was, she brought a puritan expression to Annette’s face and shifted over to kneel dejectedly on the bed. “I just want to get closer to you, Eric.” The voice was innocent, the eyes downcast and demure, and the pout on her lips childlike and pure.

I was transfixed. Annette. Was Annette finally breaking through Kristine’s hold on her? I wanted to believe it. I wanted Annette back so much! I moved to the edge of the bed, drinking in her beauty. My desire for her was blinding and it completely possessed my senses. I had always desired Annette since the first day she stepped into the Opera House. I knew I had to meet her, even if it meant being exposed as the Phantom in public. Even if it meant having to reveal my terrible secret after all these years. Annette was the reason I had for continuing my existence.

Annette put a shy hand to my chest and gazed at me with pure wonder, just as she had those first few days when we’d rehearsed her songs. Her lips met mine; soft, gentle and unhurried. Her breath was sweet and I had to fight to keep from ravaging her.

How wonderful it was to find myself in her arms again.

Décembre 22 2009

Mon journal,

As soon as I leaned over Annette, I noticed her eyes had shifted from demurred to hard and wicked. The Annette I thought I was embracing was not Annette, but Kristine acting as Annette. The treachery! Kristine was a master at playing with my emotions and my heart.

Much later when Annette could finally break free to tell me, I learned that Annette was trapped inside weeping, crying out for me to help her, to save her. “Only you know about Kristine!” she said. “Only you can help me, Eric. Do not fall for her once again. Please, Eric, don’t forget me. Don’t let her win. Don’t let her kill me.”

***

Eric, Annette, Kristine, Chace, and Aaron’s story continues in Book 2 of Phantom Diaries.

Dark Memories

October 2010

Excerpt from

PULSE

Book 1 of 5

kailingow

prologue

She ran like an animal. Her clothes were wet, sopping, clinging to her thighs and to her chest, hollow and transparent around the curve of her shoulders. Her hair shook out droplets of rain; her cheeks were flushed and she was breathless. He could see her heartbeat throbbing at the side of her throat, see it in the rhythmic panting, hear it from across the street, pounding in his ears, intermingled with the thunder bolting from the sky. He could feel it – it felt like an earthquake to him, shaking his ribs, his shoulders, his legs. It had been so long since he had seen a heartbeat like hers – since he had felt a heartbeat at all.

The skies had opened up – as they so often did in North California – without any warning, without any hesitation. It was as if the smooth blue glass ceiling of the world had shattered all at once, letting the primordial oceans pound down upon the pavement. He could see her consternation, her irritation – she wanted nothing but to get out of the rain, to dry herself off, to curl up into something warm and dry.

But Jaegar loved the rain. He loved the energy – the pulse of life beating down upon the earth. He could hear the scattered raindrops in their rhythmic approach to earth and pretend that each fall of rain was a beat of his dead heart. And she was alive with the energy, too – alive as he had never seen a woman alive, tossing her hair back, running into shelter, and her lips were pink and her cheeks were red. He remembered that his lips would never again be pink, that his cheeks would never again be red.

She was so young.

Humans so often surprised him in that way. They looked no different from him – he could have been seventeen; he had been seventeen for so long – but their youth never failed to surprise him. The way the world was so new to them – that rain could still take them by surprise, when he had seen so many rainfalls.

He could smell her. The wind carried her scent to him like an animal's scent, and it was all he could do to keep his fangs in check. He leaned heavily upon the branch and parted the leaves to get a better look at her. He could feel the blood – stagnant in his veins – begin something like a torpid, sluggish, shift towards life – the closest thing he would ever get to a heartbeat. She was the sort of girl who made young boys' hearts pound, he thought – and they never knew how lucky they were to experience that sensation.

For it was the physical aspect of it, he thought, that humans understood least of all. They romanticized vampires, of course – how terrible it would be to live at night! To drink blood! To prey upon humans! These were things they could intellectualize, understand. Humans had been forced to commit murder. Humans had been forced to bite back their most natural, primal desires – and so they could almost understand, when they imagined vampires, what it was like to feel that insatiable hunger for a woman's throat, her breast, her wrist. But not a human in the world had ever been alive without living, without a heartbeat – and so they took it for granted – what it meant, that constant linear throbbing, clock-like, towards inevitable death. For Jaegar was a vampire, and he was not alive, and the dull ache in his chest where a heartbeat should have been was for him one of the most agonizing things in the world.

They don't know, he thought. They'll never understand.

He had been told that she was the one. He had waited for her until sunset – the sun agonizing upon him, even with the ring around his finger. Vampires were not meant for light, and even the strongest magic could not take away the pain, searing, burning, aching, in his flesh. He was unnatural in sunlight, and only now that dusk was beginning to settle over him could he find relief. He sat perched in the tree, obscured by the leaves, staring at her as she ran down the street.

He leaned in too closely – the birds noticed at last that something was wrong in their midst and took flight; a flurry of wings beat up around him and the branch snapped from the tree and plummeted to the earth below.

It was enough time to make a distraction.

He concentrated, and in half a second he was behind her, so close he could feel the wind blow her hair upon his lips, and then he opened the umbrella above her.

“Miss,” he said.

She startled.

“What the...” She rounded on him.

“You looked wet,” he said. She did not seem amused.

“I'm warning you,” she said. “I know kung fu.”

He had learned kung fu once, many centuries ago. He thought it better not to mention it.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I was just trying to help.”

She softened.

“Thanks,” she said, lamely. “I'm sorry – I didn't mean to snap at you. But you need to learn not to sneak up on people like that. You scared me.”

Her eyes remained fixed upon the tree from which he had come. A suspicious glare clouded her gaze. Had she seen – was she wondering? He knew she knew something was wrong. He tried to maintain whatever pleasant normalcy he could. The sequoias were tall, after all. No human could survive a jump from them – he knew she knew this. He knew she thought he was human.

From Top Author for Young Adult

Kailin Gow

PULSE

17 year-old Kalina didn’t know her boyfriend was a vampire until the night he died of a freak accident. She didn’t know he came from a long line of vampires until the night she was visited by his half-brothers Jaegar and Stuart Greystone. There were a lot of secrets her boyfriend didn’t tell her. Now she must discover them in order to keep alive. But having two half-brothers vampires around had just gotten interesting…

BITTER FROST

All her life, Breena had always dreamed about fairies as though she lived amongst them…beautiful fairies living amongst mortals and living in Feyland. In her dreams, he was always there – the breathtakingly handsome but dangerous Winter Prince, Kian, who is her intended. Then she sees Kian, who seems intent on finding her and carrying her off to Feyland. If she is his intended, why does he seem to hate her and want her dead? And her best friend Logan has suddenly become protective. Things are getting strange…

A book about the Winter Fey.

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