Darling. (Erik/Phantom x Reader)

Thirteen.

The Opera Populaire, Backstage of the Main Auditorium. 

***

"I cannot believe this is the last rehearsal!" Y/N exclaimed as Helena powdered her nose, causing Y/N to sneeze briefly. 

"Tomorrow is the real deal! When is your father coming?"

"He and Charles are coming for the last three performances... in three weeks. He couldn't get time off before then, but he will be able to stay a few days after the show is done. I cannot wait to see them -- my heart is on the verge of breaking without having them here."

Helena gave Y/N a snarky look, "From what I can tell, your heart has been quite preoccupied this past week with all your time outside rehearsal spent with this mystery man of your's."

"Helena, must you constantly tease?" Y/N asked, blushing, as she fixed her hair, "Erik and I just like to spend time together to speak about... about intellectual pursuits."

"If by 'intellectual pursuits' you mean you want to pursue that intellectual, I completely believe you." Helena's devilish smirk grew as Y/N blushed even more, her face now a light red. "So... have you and Erik discussed making your courtship official?"

"No!" Y/N shouted in reply, gaining several curious looks from the ballerinas and seamstresses in the room around her -- making her embarrassment worse, "No... I don't even think he sees me that way. To him, I am merely a vessel for music to come out of, that occasionally likes to discuss Shakespeare."

"Please," Helena stated flatly -- devilish smirk still on full display, "He visits you everyday for tea. No French man enjoys tea that much."

"But a Brit would?" Y/N asked. 

"Yes. A Brit would visit you daily for free, imported tea." Helena reached over Y/N to grab her glasses on the shelf above them. They were the glasses Helena wore to read, hand-stitch, and work on her needlepoint -- which made Y/N curious as to why she was wearing them now. That was, of course, until Y/N watched as Helena sewed shut a tiny hole which had appeared on Y/N's neckline, which she hadn't yet noticed. Helena began spoking as she sew, just inches away from Y/N, "Teddy, I know you better than most, and I can tell that you are attracted to this fellow and I haven't even met him yet. So, here is my offer -- you introduce him to me, and I will advocate for him with you father. You know your father's first question will be if I have met him, don't you?"

Y/N knew she was right. Her father would ask what Helena thought of Erik as soon as the subject arose. 

"I... I will talk to him and ask if we could all have tea together sometime, though... I doubt he will agree."

"Well, ask very nicely."

The bell sounded, and Y/N made her way to center stage.

***

The last dress performance was, at least in terms of its prima donna, flawless. Utter perfection, by all accounts. Despite this, Y/N was growing anxious with every thought of the next night's performance. It would be her debut in France -- in fact, she could even consider it her first international performance. 

What if she tripped? Hell -- what if she missed a note? Her career would be over! She would return to England and never leave the safety and comfort of her father's library. 

She returned to her room after the final rehearsal to find fresh-cut flowers at her bedside, along with a delivery of new mail -- far more letters than she expected. She sat at the edge of her bed and could smell the flower's perfume, which relaxed her anxieties as she opened the first of five letters. 

It was from William, her Brighton Bookseller, profusely thanking her for the show tickets and ferry tickets she sent in the week prior. He informed her that he would be coming, and insisted upon treating her to dinner. 

The second was from Charles, and began with a long apology about how he was unable to write more due to the sudden influx of work her father had undertaken. He then expressed his excitement to view her performance and 'meet this chap' Y/N had spoken so much about. 

The third was from her father, in which he echoes Charles' apology, as well s his excitement. 

The fourth was from a newspaper in London, asking her to write a statement about her performance. She would get to that later, no doubt. 

The last and final letter was the most shocking, by far -- it had the wax seal of the Royal Family. Hesitantly, with her hands nearly shaking, she opened the letter and removed its contents.

The letter, written in pristine handwriting, was from King Edward himself. She felt her heart physically stop for a moment. Quickly, she read the contents of the letter in her hand:

Dear Teddy (or as you may be known now, Y/N of Winchester), 

It is with gratitude to both you and your father I write the following. First, I congratulate you on your growing career as a singer. Your performance at Hampton Court Palace has not been forgotten in the past few years -- your voice is one of the best our fine nation has to offer. 

As such, I have conversed with your father and will be attending the final night's performance at the Opera Populaire. I sincerely look forward to hearing you sing once more, and have full faith that you shall surpass my expectations. 

In addition to myself, I will be bringing several of my advisors -- some of which you may know. We hope to bring a bit of your home country to you. 

Below was his signature -- the same signature she had seen on her father's most official documents and reprinted in newspapers. She felt a tear come to her eye, and happiness flooded her body -- the most patriotic kind of joy. 

She suddenly sprang out of bed, and yelled, "Helena!" Before she knew it, she was rushing out of her room and sprinting towards costumes to show her friend -- the only other Brit by her -- the letter.