Immortal Darkness (Phantom Diaries #3)

immortal darkness: Book 3 of The Phantom Diaries Series

Published by THE EDGE

THE EDGE is an imprint of Sparklesoup Inc.

Copyright © 2011 Kailin Gow

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First Edition.

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To my violin teacher who pushed me in my youth to discover the music in me. Her dedication, strength, and belief in me gave me the confidence to reach first chair in orchestra, to perform in music competitions, and to have the confidence to perform in public throughout my life.

To my piano teacher who taught me to write and compose my own music. Thank you for teaching me discipline, a skill that has carried over to writing books.

Thank you, readers, for keeping me on schedule. Your letters and emails are very much appreciated. I hope you enjoy this third installment to the Phantom Diaries.

Prologue

Annette’s Journal

This trip to Paris has been full of excitement and surprises.  While I fully expected to be captivated by this thrilling and exquisite city, I wasn’t quite ready for all the drama and romance Aaron threw my way.  He’s put so much effort into making this trip special and I feel all the more guilty for not appreciating it all as I should.

I’m not sure if I can manage to put to paper just how romantic he’s been since we’ve been in Paris, so all I will say is… he proposed.

I should be ecstatic, thrilled and excited beyond belief.  I’ll admit the little girl in me was immediately taken in by the notion; the shimmering lights of Paris, the perfectly handsome and successful young man whom I have grown very fond of, a dazzling diamond and a future so many little girls dream of… a future fit for a princess.

But the woman in me, the girl who’s grown and matured, the woman who moved to New York City, who built a career and who has just had her first real taste of life…felt feelings that rebelled against my girlish dreams. I loved my life at the Opera House, regardless of everything that has happened. I just wasn’t sure if it was my love for the Opera House that endeared me to Aaron or Aaron himself.

My recent absence from the Opera House has made me realize just how much I love to sing.  I come alive when I get out on that stage and, despite those few mishaps and odd occurrences, despite a few questionable performances, I look forward to going back.

Or am I just looking forward to getting away from everything here in Paris.  Aaron’s proposal has left me with so many questions.  For starters, am I ready to marry at all?  I’ve just recently moved out of the home I’d lived in all my life.  Having now been in New York for a while and having tasted the thrilling life of an independent young woman in a city like New York and Paris, I know now how sheltered and protected my life with Maman and Papa had been in Louisiana. Yet despite my independence, I still wanted to cling to the sensible and down-to-earth Annette from Louisiana who believed in true love and a happy ending. Maman had waited to get married, marrying her true love, my papa. Their marriage was a happy one and lasted years and years through strife and fortune. I wanted a marriage like that, even if I have to wait for it, even though I have to sort through all my jumbled feelings. I knew I needed time. I’ve just begun to live on my own, to discover who I am.  How could I possibly be ready to give myself to someone else?

In the past hours, I have to admit I’ve envisioned the perfect wedding; the long, elegant and immaculately white dress; beautiful flowers, a decadent and extravagant cake, marvelous guests from all over the world, gourmet food, champagne… there certainly was something enticing about it all, but…

I can already hear Maman, so you have a grand and impressive wedding?  Then what?  And that was what I have to truly keep in mind.  What would marrying Aaron do to my career?  How would the public react to the news?  Or worse still, what would the cast and crew think of our marriage?  How long before they accused me of getting special treatment?

On the other hand, if I turn Aaron down, how will he treat me once we return to New York?  I know he has far too much business sense to make it difficult  for me on the stage, or does he?

Can his emotions override his business sense and smooth running of the Opera House?  Would he actually go so far as to fire me?  I’ve heard of young men going nuts and being unpleasant to the girl who turned them down.  But Aaron is a mature man, a man of the world, a man who has seen so much.  Surely he was capable of accepting and understanding the reasons why I could not accept his proposal.

There is also the question of Eric.  His part in all this brings on a whole other dilemma.

It’s late and the day has been long.  If I’m to wake up with a semblance of an answer, I need to get to bed.  Hopefully the answers will magically come during my sleep.

Chap
t
er
1

T
he grand manor was silent save for the distant and delicate clink of tea cup to saucer.  I had hoped to be up far before anyone else rose, but the repetitive clinking of silver spoon against fine china made it clear someone had beaten me to the punch.

I tiptoed down to the bottom step, set my suitcase silently on the floor and stood frozen in place.  Feeling cowardly, I realized just how badly I wanted to avoid seeing anyone, least of all Aaron.

The soft hush of early morning conversation reached my ears and I slackened my hold of the banister as I let out a relieved breath.  Though distant and difficult to make out, the voices were decidedly feminine; most likely Francoise and a member of her staff.

Still tiptoeing I made my way to the breakfast table set out on the back patio.  Despite my desire to avoid Aaron, I felt I owed Francoise my gratitude and a proper goodbye.  As I approached, I crossed my fingers and hoped I wouldn’t turn the corner to find Aaron sitting there with his mother.

“Annette, ma chere.  How lovely to see you this morning.”  Francoise set her cup and saucer down and stood to greet me.  “You look positively beautiful.”

Dutifully kissing her on one cheek then the other, I softly said, “Bon matin, Madame Aragon, et merci.”

“Isn’t that the dress Aaron helped you pick out?”

“Yes,” I said with a quick glimpse back at the doorway.  Hoping to camouflage my sudden glance back, I twirled and held out the light and airy skirt.  Delicate and elegant, the dress was tastefully flirty with a fun and youthful floral print.  “He has impeccable taste and an eye for what really suits me.”

“Indeed he does.”  Gesturing to the chair beside her, she resumed her own chair then quickly clapped her hands.  “Estelle,” she called out.  “Please bring out some coffee for Annette.”

“I hadn’t really planned on breakfast.  I have an early flight and just wanted to…”

“Don’t be silly.”  She waved away my intentions.  “You’ll have plenty of time for a quick coffee and pastry.”

Not wanting to snub her hospitality, I sat down.  Within seconds, Estelle set a cup and saucer before me.

“Thank you.”  Admittedly, the fresh, rich brew smelled rich and aromatic.  “I guess I can take a minute or two to take a few sips.”

She’d been so good to me, so understanding, the least I could do was indulge her a few quiet moments of conversation before leaving.

“Actually, I’m glad I have a few moments alone with you before leaving.”  I glanced back at the doorway.  “I wanted to thank you for everything.  I’ve had a wonderful time in France.”

She smiled knowingly.  “You’re a dear for making your stay here sound so wonderful.  I know it’s not been easy.  I only wish I could offer more… more wisdom.  I know it mustn’t be easy for you.  My son can be quite persuasive when he sets his mind to something, and it’s clear he’s set his mind on you.”

The gulp of coffee, so delicately sipped and savored for all its rich flavor, remained lodged in my throat for an agonizing moment before trickling down to my empty stomach.

“He’s certainly given me plenty to think about.”

She set her hand, pleated yet regal, over mine and held my gaze with secret knowledge.  “I’m sure time will lead you to the best possible answer.”

I glimpsed the doorway once again, increasingly nervous of Aaron’s arrival.  I couldn’t face him.  I couldn’t stand here and tell him I wasn’t ready to marry.  I didn’t even feel I could wear his ring.

“I understand your reluctance to face him,” Francoise said.

I shot her a guilty gaze, the heat of a blush so quick to make it to my cheeks, the heat from my coffee was suddenly intolerable.  Shaking my head, I wanted to defend myself, to deny something as awful as my intention to leave without so much as a goodbye to the man who’d asked for my hand. He’d deserved better than that, but I couldn’t face him. If I did, I knew I might hesitate and change my mind… he was everything a girl could ask for, yet why did I feel such a heaviness in my chest when I thought about the prospect of marriage?