Beneath the Porcelain Mask

19. None Of Us Can Choose Where We Shall Love.

Yes, this chapter is quite long. Do I have any regrets? No. You'll see why at the end. I know this is being posted a bit after Christmas, but hopefully it's not too far from the festive season to be completely out of place. Enjoy! Also, Jeremy banner.

"Any cruelty I show tonight I learned from you, my dear, on the roof of the Opera. Oh, yes, I heard it all— everything... that boy has a very penetrating voice, you know. Of course, you can't help loving him, I know that, none of us can choose where we shall love. I'm perfectly willing to be reasonable and accept that it's all his fault. Yes, it's him I blame... and it's him I'm going to punish when he comes here to take you back."

~ Erik

Susan Kay, PHANTOM: The Story of His Life.

~•~•~•~■~•~•~•~

"You've been here for seventy-two hours," Erik grumbled, folding his arms as he leaned against the doorframe to my bedroom in the Lair, "and you are beginning to annoy me."

"Merry Christmas Eve to you too," I sighed, setting my sewing down and pulling my mask on. "Were you once  sent a death threat for knocking? Or are you just rude?"

He scoffed a laugh. "We can't all be a Desrosiers man. Any progress with that dress?"

I looked down at the heap of fabric and let my hands fall into it. "Hardly. You know I'm useless when it comes to dressmaking! And Christine couldn't go shopping with me, she said she's too busy with Madame Valerius."

I looked back at the garment, hoping he wouldn't see through my lie; she'd made me promise not to tell Erik that she would be out for a carriage ride with the Vicomte again.

"Is that so?" He paced over, holding a folder stuffed to the point of splitting the leather seams and sat on the end of the bed, regarding the heaps of fabric with a curious eye. "Your Red Rose never offered to take you?"

When I squinted at him and canted my head, he rolled his eyes and huffed a chuckle. "Desrosiers, you glock."

"Haven't seen him."

"That's because you've cooped yourself up in here for three days. I was Up Top earlier; you've driven him mad, you really have! He's supposed to take you to the Christmas dinner tomorrow and there's neither head nor tail of you!"

"But my dress— "

He held up a hand and eased himself from the bed, careful not to drop the hundreds of sewing needles I'd left on the sheets - I'd been sleeping on the divan at night, much to Ayesha's annoyance.

"Don't start; a basket of oranges like you doesn't need a fancy dress," he sighed, leafing through my intricate designs.

I rolled my eyes. Basket of oranges, my foot.

He left the folder on the bed and walked to the armoire in the corner of the room, procuring a key from his pocket. I watched in defeat as he unlocked the door and drew something from inside, turning back to me with the fabric draped over his arms. "This is what you will wear."

~•~•~•~■~•~•~•~

To put it mildly, Christmas dinner the next evening was a lavish affair. In one of the larger rooms out of the public eye, adorned in the golden light of hundreds of candles burning away in their candelabras, a long table set with shining silverware, fruit, meat and a large variety of wine, all upon a vast white tablecloth that draped over the sides, entertained a mass of opera staff and patrons. It was an affair for all, but decorum tonight was stricter than ever. I would need to be on my best, ladylike behaviour.