Him.

Chapter X

Anonymous Composer's Works set up to be performed this week in hopes of claim! Performances will be each night at eight for a single week only!

Erik looked at the headline with no less than disdain.

Who did they think they were to just show a composer's work even if anonymous? Without their permission, too! The gull some people had these days nearly made him sick.

"What's the matter now?" Philippa asked Erik as he read through the newspaper and sighed constantly as every story was either completely non-sensical or it was politics he cared not for. He'd never bothered with the ways of the world, and in his elder age he wasn't about to start.

"Headlines dear, headlines."

Philippa giggled and sat next to her husband, snuggling in close to his side with a content smile.

"Marjory and Henri are asleep, we should not worry of the paper, Erik," the blonde insinuated heavily, watching the masked-man closely as he turned the page of his paper.

"You are four months pregnant, darling," Erik told her sincerely concerned for her and the baby's health since her age was that of an elder woman's. Late thirties was not healthy for a woman to have a child, and the worry that she would die still plagued him.

"Yes but," she began to slowly kiss the divots in his neck, each one carved from his beautifully chiseled neck and features characteristically of his skinny nature. "I can sense your need. I know very well you are attracted to me most when I am pregnant."

Erik chuckled and set the paper down, understanding that she was only acting this way because of the pregnancy. Never were her words so brazen, and never was she this wanting, as it only happened during her pregnancy stage. Erik likes to deal with her like this, however, as Philippa was generally more easy in this stage.

"Listen, love, why don't you go to bed and I'll join you- wait!" Erik exclaimed as she went to get up, an excited look on her now reddened face, "So I can kiss you goodnight and then we will rest."

Philippa rolled her eyes and stomped off, but Erik just picked up his paper again knowing he had about twenty minutes still.

He looked at the pieces they would be playing for the anonymous composer and was rather impressed by the instruments and piano that was required with them.

"Wow," Erik muttered as he glanced over the list, his audible expression startling even himself.

He didn't expect there to be something familiar, however, in that list of musical pieces. But there it was, a song he knew was composed by Haya.

Erik jumped from the room, excitement suddenly threaded through him. Now he had a plethora of questions, but only one for his wife.

"Would you mind if I went?" He asked suddenly, vivid excitement in his eyes as he looked for Philippa in their bedroom. He found her surfacing above the covers in a thin negligée her hair pulled down and her eyes tired.

"Went where?" She asked tiredly.

Erik chuckled before taking his shoes and jacket off, getting into bed with his wife and pulling her close.

"To the anonymous concert, of course," he said easily, kissing her neck to appease the woman.

"Mhm, sure."

"Thank you, my love," Erik muttered as they both drifted to sleep.

-

He poked and prodded at his cravat with each passing second though his hands only got more fidgety as he got closer to leaving, closer to possibly seeing Haya. His suit was pristine, and Erik felt the black material construct as though it knew he was suffering. The heat from it was nothing compared to he pounding sound of his heart. After years of back and forth one would have imagined that they would be done with this asinine back and forth of torturing one another. He wasn't sure how, but could he and Haya be over this awful stage of insanity? They were simply driving one another off the brink, and he was sure she was as sick of it as he was.

Of course, there was a huge probability that Haya wouldn't even show up to her own event, yet he didn't care. There was always a chance something bad could happen no matter how solid the plan, Christine had helped him realize that. Still, as long as she was there Erik would find her and speak with her. He was determined to just see her if anything at all.

Erik just wanted this plan, for once in his measly mistake of a life, to work out for him. Couldn't he be blessed with at least the opportunity to see the woman who had dedicated her works to his life? He damn well hoped so. Erik knew what work colliding was, and the only thing that meant was proved how much she still loved him. Still. As a composition took weeks or months to perfect, and dedicating that much time and effort to a person? Erik knew well from experience that that was love.

"Erik?" Philippa said gently and came into the room where Erik was readying, one of his best suits stretched across his body like it had been made for only him.

"Yes?"

"Don't do anything stupid, please," she advised worriedly, not entirely sure herself where it was coming from. There must have been something in the air she picked up on, and he was genuinely curious as to how he'd let it slip by.

Erik felt disconcerted by her uneasiness and walked over to his wife. He placed a single hand on her waist and the other in her blonde curls, ones that rested low that day, not in their kept style as usual. And then he placed his lips on hers, kissing her with more vigor than he thought he could muster. It wasn't often they kissed like lovers.

"It's just a concert," Erik lulled her with his voice, returning for yet another kiss onto her lips.

Philippa accepted the kiss happily, allowing her husband to soothe her nerves. She wasn't entirely sure why she was nervous, but in the back of her mind something was pulling at it. Maybe she was simply getting a headache.

"Have fun," Philippa bid and kissed Erik one last time before he grabbed his coat and left.

Erik took a single horse to the opera for the night, hoping that no one recognized him. Though, no one truly said anything if they did recognize the man. But he just had to go, especially if Haya was the woman who had been anonymously composing. Then again, what more proof did he need than what he'd already obtained himself? The compositions were hers, there was no mistake. A composer's works were like a writer's. They used certain words in abundance and it was as discernible as one's face. Music was passion and Haya's passion just so happened to be Erik.