chapter 11

T he events over the past few days were still fresh in my memory as the carriage bounced along the road. I told her to disobey him. What the hell was I thinking? The stories were very clear on the Ghost's determination for Christine. Music and her alone was his obsession, his only reason for living. He'd kill anyone that got in the way of that.

Dread ran through me. And yet, soul piercing eyes tortured my mind more than before.

It'd been days since the catwalk incident, but I could still recall exactly how they managed to show so many emotions within such a short time. More than any eyes I'd ever seen into.

Last night, embarrassment may have told me to run, but I wanted to stay and talk. Maybe the high from speaking with Christine earlier in the night felt so good that I was willing to risk it. So desperate for connection.

I sighed and rubbed my temples, needing the invasive thoughts to go away.

It had to be a normal thing for him to be going around doing what he's doing. He's not zeroing in on me. Right?

Desperate to turn my mind, I pulled my phone from my shorts, which had seen better days before the constant washing and wearing.

I'm scared of the day that will come when it will no longer boot up.

16% battery life left.

Every time I turned the thing on, hope sat in my stomach. Please be a message or a missed call.

Wishful.

I thumbed through the photo gallery, catching a glimpse of home for a few seconds. Then snapped a quick photo of some of Paris from the carriage. Might as well. Just in case I got back home or if someone found my phone in 130 years.

130 years.

"Melody! My sweet." Antoinette's friendly smile beamed from the sidewalk. She rushed to the carriage door, opening it quickly before I or the driver could think.

I hadn't even noticed we stopped.

The café she called me to stood on the corner of two moderately busy streets. Just to get inside was a task as we weaved through passersby.

It smelled good though. Almost strong enough to mask the Paris odor.

It's still jarring to see all these people in period clothing. Knowing I am where I am. Where I think I am, anyway. How they interacted with each other. Mostly not that kind, but also kind at the same time?

The sun was warm on my face as we sat outside. Like sinking into a hot bath. What I wouldn't give for a hot bath.

The guilt was a little heavy now that I was sitting with her.

I hadn't visited since I'd left the hotel. They did this thing for me that I can never repay, and I couldn't bring myself to leave, "just in case".

She'd come to the opera a few times to check on me and bring food. But she never stayed long and was only willing to sit outside while eating and conversing. Like the Garnier scared her.

During our visits, she did most of the talking, which worked for me. I've been able to catch a few things here and there. But it was still difficult when she spoke more than single words.

Did I mention I failed Spanish after taking it for a year?

Today she's teaching me the menu. Pointing to the words and speaking slowly, like teaching a little kid. Patience is a virtue, and she has it. And I appreciated it more than her kindness.

Antoinette insisted I try something other than the chicken and rice she usually brought me. Pushing the chicken and cabbage pie, tarte au poulet et au chou .

That didn't sound appetizing in the slightest. But, I couldn't eat chicken and rice forever, I supposed.

I crossed my fingers after we ordered and hoped for the best. Anything but oysters. Which was half of the menu.

"How is the job?" Antoinette asked, sipping on her wine.

"Boring. Long. Completely soul crushing."

" Oh allez . Not bad?" Her tone was light and silly. It was nice to be out and with a friend.

"Oh! Carlotta fell through the stage," I said.

"Oh?" Her eyes lit up as she leaned in. The woman loved gossip. Ate it up.

One time while we were eating outside the theater, she listened in on a group of women chatting about something scandalous. At least that's what I got by the look on her face.

"Yes! Um. Le fant?me ," I teased, wiggling my fingers at her.

As if the ghost himself appeared, the color drained from her face.

Once she caught her breath and wiped the spittle from her mouth after choking. "Oh... that's interesting."

The rumors really did reach far and wide.

"You see him?" she asked.

My knuckles suddenly felt itchier than the wig, and no amount of scratching would ease them. "Well…"

"You stay with me, okay." Her worried smile hadn't wavered nor her insistent eyes as she squeezed my hand. Behind aged eyes was more than just worry. She really believed I was in danger. Or at least there was danger. "Stay away, with me. Help me again."

Yesterday I wanted to see about going back with her. Now that the opportunity had risen, I found myself hesitant.

"It's alright," I said, putting on a smile. "There's no ghost."

Worried eyes trailed away and glanced up quickly at something. Or someone.

"Are you certain of that?" a man's voice said from beside us.

Confused as hell, I turned and looked up to find Raoul, sweet and doughy eyed as always. And then there was Philippe.

"Pardon ladies," Raoul said.

Philippes face was slightly softer than the few times I'd seen him before. But he still looked bored. Very Colin Firth.

"Comte de Chagny. And Vicomte." I stumbled through, like a bumbling idiot.

"Raoul, please. And I didn't mean to interrupt your day. I only wanted to see how you were faring after the ordeal with the drunkard," he said.

It was hard not to smile when he spoke to you. He had such a sweet sincerity to him. Probably a genuinely good man.

"Oh, do you mean the fly King, Buquet?"

"There did seem to be a cloud about him, didn't there?" Philippe chimed in. Also realizing it was he who questioned about the ghost.

"Thank you, sirs. I'm alright," I said. "I will admit, I was very relieved to have you all there."

"I'm sure it would have been awful for him otherwise," Raoul jested.

"You'd be surprised what I'm capable of."

"I have no doubt of it, Miss."

Antoinette chomped at the bit with intrigue. This was probably the juiciest thing she'd seen in ages.

"Forgive me! This is Antoinette Descoteaux."

"Your mother?" Philippe asked.

"Friend."

The men each bowed as they introduced themselves. Antoinette fell in love immediately.

Both were very handsome; I'll give them that. This was a big deal for her. It wasn't often the wealthy conversed with the peasants, I guessed.

"Well, again, forgive the intrusion, ladies. Enjoy your day," Raoul said. " Bonne journée à vous ladies. "

Raoul joined a group of men near a stagecoach. Philippe turned to follow suit.

"Miss Reilly," he said, halting and turned back. "May I speak with you a moment?"

"Uh… sure."

Antoinette's eyes widened and a wicked smile sat on her lips as I stood up hesitantly and stepped away.

Philippe hesitated to speak. Like he was constipated or in pain. Clearing his throat, as if it was the most unhinged thing he was about to say, "Would you be interested in joining me for dinner? I am unavailable this evening, however, tomorrow would have to suffice before I leave town for a short time."

I lied before.

This was the worst thing to happen.

Like a deer staring down the barrel of a shotgun, I stared blankly. It hadn't occurred to me that something like this would happen. How would that even go?

No. The answer was no. Just tell him no.

On the flipside I might be able to have a conversation with someone. Use my voice. And he is pretty handsome.

"Thank you, but I…"

" Yes, Monsieur. Elle adorerait ," Antoinette said.

"What did you just say?" I glared at her. "What did she just say?" I asked Philippe.

"Perfect!" he smirked. It was an unsettling sight. "My carriage will be around at five thirty tomorrow evening. We will be going to dinner, so wear something very nice. Good day."

"What? No. I can't… No. ugh." He's gone.

Left standing dumbfounded, Philippe left to join the group of men piling into the carriage.

"A rich man." Antoinette stared with glimmering eyes, like she just did me a favor. "Handsome."

"Oh! No! Oh God no." I stumbled back into my chair and sunk down. "He's a patron at the Opera. And I don't want to do this, not really. Oh no."

"If I were young. Je chevaucherais ce gar?on toute la journée! "

"I'm so mad at you right now."

Antoinette winked and sipped more wine. " Ah! Yes! Thank you ." She said as the food finally arrived.

Please let me go home tonight.