A Woman's Devotion (Phantom Of The Opera x Reader)

23. Damned to Paris

Y/n's POV:

Tears threatened to soak my cheeks any minute now. Squished between Uncle Mike and Christine in the back seat of a clunking, not to mention freezing, automobile was the last place I wished to be. Both Harmony and Rhapsody, in their respective slings, still hung off my shoulders. They both fussed, ready to explode into screams without warning. Christine also had a baby nestled in her lap. I'd never even heard she was with child, but then again, what was I expecting? Kindly letters from the friends I had abandoned back in France? Part of me wanted to ask about her baby, at least learn the child's name, but all words stuck in my dry throat.

I didn't find a chance to slip in a word anyway. Mike kept me busy with his goading and triumphant smirks.

 "How does it feel, Y/n-girl, knowing you're headed straight back to France? Oh, how I worried for my only niece."

His breath curled to a mist in this horrid weather, and that mist fanned my face. I wrinkled my nose, recoiling.

His words, in themselves, only portrayed a relieved uncle. But I saw the greed glittering in his eyes. As soon as possible, he'd toss me in another thread factory to fend for myself. At home, he could neglect me once again and drink up every cent I earned.

My stomach clenched with dread. This was not the life I'd intended to live. More specifically, it was the life I had been desperate to escape forever. Now, I would be hurled into it once again, this time with the ridicule and gossip of others for marrying Erik.

What had I done? Shaking loose hair in front of my face, I tried to conceal the tears slipping past my cheeks.

 "Someone's real quiet, Y/n-girl. What's the matter? Are you not excited to go home?"

Uncle Mike was taunting me into blowing up and screaming at him, ultimately embarrassing myself in the process. Maybe he only wanted to see me dissolve into tears. Either way, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction, but my resolve rapidly fettered off.

 "Damn it! Can you drive any faster?" The man in the passenger's seat said.

I knew him already. The minute I'd been shoved into the motorcar, he introduced himself as Hervé Mattis, chief of Paris' sûreté, and my newfound 'protector'. I'd almost said I didn't need protection from my own husband, but I decided now was not the time for dramatic declarations of undying love. I'd already done that, and it proved futile. Mattis had been ordering Raoul around the road the whole night, yet insisted to not drive himself.

For some reason, Gabriel Rousseau was between them. When I first got in, he glared at me like I personally killed his father. I didn't have the energy or heart to ask why they'd lugged a ten-year-old across the country in search of a murderer. Did he not have an aunt or something they could send him off to?

 "Unless you want everybody killed, no." Raoul said.

Christine opened her mouth, probably to remind everyone to be nice, then closed it again. It was no use anyway. Everybody's temper was out of sorts.

But I couldn't lament our slow drive. The road was actually just a dirt path, which had been paved by grazing cow herds and the occasional cart and buggy. Because of this, treacherous indents and rocks imperiled the trip. The slow travel gave me time to brood over my future. It gave me time to mentally say goodbye to Erik, tell him all the things I should have earlier, at least in my head. Even if not to his face, I could daydream about saying I loved him one last time and promising I would raise our children lovingly, never letting them forget the love of their only father.

The only noise was Uncle Mike's continued remarks about his darling niece and how oh-so relieved he was to find her safe. Maybe it touched everyone else's hearts, but it filled mine with icy fear.