No Return: A Contemporary Phantom Tale (43 page)
Read No Return: A Contemporary Phantom Tale Online
Authors: Christine Pope
The car stopped right in front of the door with a small spray of gravel, and then Meg got out, still outrageously gorgeous in a scarlet sweater with a fur collar and slim jeans. She trotted up the front steps in her high-heeled boots, then gave me a quick hug as if she’d only seen me yesterday.
“Well, you look fabulous!” she exclaimed.
“So do you,” I said truthfully, because I’d never seen Meg look anything except drop-dead gorgeous.
“Oh, well,” she said, waving a hand. “Okay, I am dying to see the inside of this place. Vanderbilts, eat your heart out!”
So I led her inside and let her exclaim over the antiques and the fireplaces and the general size of the place. Truly, she didn’t seem at all upset with me—neither had she when I first contacted her, but Meg had always been good at being publicly polite when she had to. I hadn’t been able to stop worrying about what she would say once we were alone together, but apparently all my fretting had been for nothing.
When we were finally seated in the small salon that overlooked the loggia—where Erik and I had first ventured out into the sunlight together, so many days ago—I finally found the courage to ask, “So what exactly did Randall tell you?”
“Oh, please.” She shook her head and then took a sip of the espresso Ennis had brought for her. “God, I’d kill to live in a house where someone made espresso like that for me every day. Anyway—Randall was just flipping out. Who knew Mr. Mild-Mannered Accompanist had such a crazy streak? I told him he was acting crazy and that he needed to settle down. Then he started talking about how you were living with some freak who had brainwashed you into staying with him, and that’s when I told him to put down the crack pipe. He got all pissed off, and so I hung up on him.”
Good for you
, I thought, but said nothing, instead sipping at my own
café au lait
.
“So then I called Detective Ortiz to get the straight scoop, since Randall had said he’d met with you and Erik as well, and he told me what was really going on.” She cocked her head, her favorite gold chandelier earrings sweeping at the fur collar. “But he did tell me that Erik was, well—”
“Disfigured?” I supplied. “Deformed?” I met her dark eyes squarely. “Well, he is.”
“And you don’t care,” she said, finishing the thought. “Well, good for you. Beauty fades, anyway.”
At that I couldn’t help laughing, and after a moment she joined in.
“Seriously,” she said, “if he’s right for you, no one else should care except you, right?”
And that was all I would get from her. No recriminations over my disappearance, no anger. I was happy, and so she was happy. If Randall wanted to agonize over the situation, that was his problem, but Meg was ready to move on.
“Meg, you may be the sanest person I’ve ever met in my life.” I said.
“Ha—tell my mother that. She’s convinced I’m completely
loca
. But whatever.” The dark eyes glinted at me behind the black eyeliner and mascara. “So do I get to meet him?”
“Of course. I told him you were coming.” And the announcement had met with surprisingly little resistance; Erik had only said he was glad I felt comfortable having a friend come to the house, and that of course he’d be happy to meet her.
“You should tell him it’s all because of me,” she whispered as we approached the music room. “If I hadn’t convinced you to put on more lipstick at that Halloween party, he might never have looked at you twice.”
“Your mother’s right,” I said fondly, realizing then how much I had missed her. “You really are
loca
.”
Then we were outside the music room, and once again Erik was playing
Claire de Lune
. I could tell by Meg’s sudden silence, and the dreamy look in her eyes, how impressed she was by his virtuosity. By tacit consent we both waited outside until he was finished, and then I entered, saying, “Erik, here’s Meg. She really wanted to meet you.”
Meg took the mask in stride, as I knew she would. She simply approached Erik at the piano and extended her hand. “Hi, Erik. It’s really great getting to meet you at last.”
“It was very good of you to come,” he said with that grave charm I loved so much. “I know Christine has missed you very much.”
“Well, next time don’t let her disappear on me like that!” Meg responded, and for a second I was afraid Erik would be offended, since he hadn’t any experience with Meg’s airy irreverence.
But instead he simply smiled and said, “Well, you and I will both have to make sure that never happens again. Would you like to stay for dinner?”
“Absolutely!” she said, and then suddenly all three of us began chatting about music, about my decision to attend UCLA, about the upcoming holidays—anything but how I had come to live here, or what had happened to Randall Cagney.
Once again I blessed Meg for her easy rapport with people, her ability to sail through any social situation with aplomb. And I loved her even more because she obviously liked Erik very much, and approved of the two of us together. I could only hope that the rest of the world would see it that way as well.
Later that evening, after Meg had left, and Erik and I sat in companionable silence by the fire in the second salon, he turned to me and said, “Meg’s a very charming girl. I hope she comes to visit often.”
“Well, you two definitely make up the mutual admiration society, because she likes you very much. She asked if you had a brother.”
At that he laughed. “God—I’d hate to inflict two of me on the world.”
I reached out and touched his hand. “I’m glad there’s only one of you, because I’m selfish and want you all to myself.”
His eyes were almost the color of amber in the firelight. “I must be selfish as well, because I want you all to myself, too.” Then I saw a glint of his eyes as he added, “Except for the times when I must share you with the opera aficionados of the world, of course.”
I smiled then, thinking of the road ahead. There would be disappointments, no doubt—even the most successful singers met with their share of setbacks and roadblocks. But at least I would be able to go through it with Erik at my side.
“Christine?” Erik’s voice was very quiet.
I pulled my thoughts back from the hazy future to look over at him. Since we were alone together, he had removed the mask, but the right side of his face was in shadow, and for a moment I could see him as he should have been. In his hand he held a small box.
My heart began to pound. I had known this was coming; it had been an unspoken agreement between the two of us almost from the very moment we had been intimate. But now that the time had come, I found myself trembling, waiting to hear his next words.
Once again I was as thrilled by the beauty of his voice as I had been the first time I ever heard him speak. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “You have brought so much to my life—so much light, so much love. You looked past the scars to the man inside. You forgave me when I couldn’t forgive myself. Some part of me still thinks I have no right to ask you this—but I will.” He paused, and I could see him take a ragged breath. “Christine, will you marry me?”
“Of course I will,” I said, blinking back the tears that had started to my eyes as I listened to his words. “I want to share my life with you. I want your face to be the first thing I see in the morning, and the last thing I see when I lie down at night.”
And then I was in his arms as he kissed me, holding me so close it was difficult to draw breath. But I didn’t care—I pressed myself against him, feeling the strength of his body, taking in the warm scent of his skin, the marvelous sensation of his lips on mine. After a few moments we pulled apart, and then he smiled at me.
“You haven’t even seen the ring,” he said, retrieving the ring box from the hearth rug where he had dropped it.
“I got a little distracted,” I replied, with a shaky laugh.
“I’m sorry,” he said, but his tone was anything but contrite. Then he opened the box and slipped the ring on my finger.
It was exquisite, of course; I had expected nothing less. The delicate filigree and accent stones reminded me of pieces from my grandmother’s jewelry collection. But never before in my life had I seen a diamond that seemed to collect all the light in a room and then refract it in a thousand points of shimmering fire. It was absolutely flawless, and the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
“It’s stunning,” I said, knowing even as I said them how inadequate the words were.
“Then it meets your approval?”
“Of course it does. How could any woman
not
love it?”
“I was afraid you might want something larger—it’s only a little over four carats, after all.”
Only
, I thought, and then started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. After a moment, Erik began to laugh, too. Then he took me in his arms again, and diamonds of any carat weight were the last thing on my mind.
We must have dozed off in front of the fireplace, for I awoke some time later, feeling the weight of Erik’s arms around me, the deep rise and fall of his chest against my back as he slept.
I lay there for a long moment, comforted by his presence, the warmth of the fire, even the spicy scent of the Noble fir as it sat in splendor in a far corner of the room. The aura of contentment and peace in the room was almost palpable, and I sighed, hoping it would never end.
There would be some people would never understand. There would be those who would question and pry. But I also knew that Erik and I were meant to be together, two broken pieces who somehow made up a whole. Whatever bitterness and pain we had endured was now in the past. Now we had each other, and the future.
Then I turned so that I faced him, and he sighed and settled against me once more in sleep.
I smiled then, and kissed him very gently on his scarred cheek.
“I love you, my Phantom,” I whispered.
Even in his sleep, he smiled.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
NO RETURN
Originally copyright © 2006 by J.C. Sillesen
Revised edition copyright © 2012 by Christine Pope
Published by Dark Valentine Press
Cover design and ebook formatting by
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. Permission is granted to make ONE backup copy for archival purposes.
Please contact the author through the form on her website at