The Phantom Ascending |✔| [Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction]

Happiness

Erik

Enduring the following three hours of endless, vapid chatter with people who were either gawking at us or were falsely sweet, was as excruciating as any aria performed by Carlotta. I wondered how many of them were looking for some confirmation of gossip, and how many were simply interested in me as a composer.

True, there were a few people who were less annoying than most of the strangers around us, but even so, I had trouble relaxing. There was the constant need to glance over my shoulder, and this need was not entirely unfounded. I could sense that idiot Garten observing us stubbornly, even after he gave his dishonest felicitations to Christine. And he was never far from the refreshments table, which didn't bode well.

I used a moment when Christine went to the powder room with Meg and Giulia, and approached Garten.

"You still want to finish out conversation, don't you? Out with it, man."

His face reddened.

"Convince me! If you are not the murderer of the opera house, the legendary phantom, then who is?"

"The phantom is dead, hasn't it been said?"

"I don't believe it. Too many signs, too many odd coincidences point out that you are--"

"For god's sake, man, listen to yourself, look at yourself. You are drunk, and on my wedding! I should--" I clenched my jaw.

Should what? I had no idea how to peacefully handle this, and other options were not really options, and Nadir was nowhere in sight. There were onlookers and I didn't like the look of this scene.

"He is indeed not the Phantom of the Opera," a voice rang out, clear and pleasant, amiable and loud, and was immediately followed by a rush of whispers.

Impossible. I swung around to face the newcomer. How dare he! I've been fearing some disaster might strike, and it seemed now that this was it.

Viscount de Chagny, among the guests. This was turning into a farce. It seemed we were fated to meet on solstices, but unlike that brief Venice encounter, this was in broad daylight and more real, thus making it more bizarre.

I saw then the unpleasant lady, the one who was rude to Christine weeks ago, and I realized that she must have brought the vicomte here, probably to cause a scene, with the husband facing his bride's former betrothed. My eyes narrowed. I refuse to give her the pleasure.

"Vicomte..?" I greeted him, puzzled. My blood was pumping -- after all, we had wanted each other dead once -- but I held my composure.

"I have encountered both the evil Phantom of the Opera in Paris, and the renowned Mr. Dessler in Venice. They are not the same man. Besides, the phantom met his end beneath the opera house, likely at the hands of the angry mob. Now, ladies and gentleman, I believe miss Da-- pardon, Mrs. Dessler is about to join us, so let us skip further distasteful talk of such morbid themes on such a bright day."

He tossed an arrogant glance at Garten, grinned defiantly at Mrs. Bouvert, picked two glasses of champagne and handed me one.

"For god's sake, drink up, Dessler," he whispered to me. "And quit scowling."

We made a toast, and I forced a smile, and then Christine showed up. She paled upon seeing De Chagny, and exchanged an awkward hello with him, after which he congratulated us both. It was indeed awkward, but thankfully we all had a gift for the theatrics.