Unmasqued

"Meet me in the white room in twenty minutes," Maude told him with a liquid promise, and, removing the phallus from his pocket, slipped away… and around behind the two managers to Moncharmin.

Her little teddy bear had found a welcome audience in a middle-aged couple dressed as Romeo and Juliet. Maude stifled a yawn at their choice, and managed to pretend to drop her whip in front of Moncharmin.

Gentleman that he was, he bent to retrieve it, and she followed. Their masked eyes met as they crouched to reach for the whip, and she said, "This is for you. Meet me in the white room in twenty minutes."

Then she stood and hurried away. She could only imagine the fiery burst of red that must be flushing her poor teddy's face.

Maude stifled a gleeful laugh. If he was red now, he'd be purple by the time she was done with him.

"But, Christine, why must we keep our engagement a secret?" Raoul asked, clasping her hands fervently. He wore a mask tonight, a fact that deeply disturbed Christine.

Another man in a mask. What secrets did Raoul hide from her?

"If Erik finds out… he will be furious," she told him earnestly. "I just wish to give him time…" She toyed with the engagement ring he'd given her, a large square sapphire surrounded by tiny yellow diamonds. Instead of placing it on her finger, where it would be sure to garner attention, she'd chosen to wear it on a chain around her neck, tucked into her bodice.

"Time? Time for what? For him to abduct you again? Christine, you still have not completely recovered from your experience with that monster. You are still pale as a wraith, and you move about as though in a trance. If I did not know better, I would think you were ill."

She was ill. Ill with a broken heart. Ill with the thought of how she'd betrayed Erik. Ill with the knowledge that he'd seen her… seen her with Raoul.

And ill with the truth that she was too much of a coward to find Erik and to be with him.

It was easier, much easier to agree to marry Raoul. To become the Vicomtesse of Chagny. To live a normal life with a man who loved her, and who had nothing to hide. And who did not wear a mask every day.

Only at masquerade balls.

She forced a smile and took his hands, clasping them around the bulky ring. "Only for a bit longer, Raoul. When I… when I am used to the idea that we are to marry, we will tell everyone. I promise."

They were interrupted in their tete-a-tete alone in a small salon by a costumed young man. "Monsieur le vicomte, some of the other patrons have been searching for you."

Raoul turned to Christine. "Shall you accompany me, my dear? I must speak with them on a business arrangement."

"Oh, no, Miss Daae', I hope you will remain," came a smooth voice. "I wish to have a word with you, if you permit."

Christine and Raoul turned to the man behind them… He had somehow appeared in the corner of the small, lushly furnished parlor room in which they stood. Dressed as a pirate, with a heavy black mask that covered more than half his face, he brandished a long, gleaming sword.

"Ah, Philippe, it is you," Raoul laughed, a bit of a nervous tinge to his voice.

"What? Surely you did not think it was… the Opera Ghost?" his brother responded mockingly.

Raoul straightened. "Of course not. And I am glad that you have arrived. If you would stay with Miss Daae, I would be most grateful."

He turned to Christine, who suddenly wished for an excuse to leave with him so that she didn't have to be alone with the comte

. But before she could make one up, the comte had taken her arm quite firmly. Raoul gave a little bow and, taking her free gloved hand, brought it to his lips for a brief kiss. "Au revoir." And to his brother, "Take care of her, brother. I shall return as soon as possible."

Christine pulled loose from Philippe's grasp and moved with studied casualness toward the door. She would not let him know how he unsettled her, with those glittering eyes from behind a mask.

Masks, masks everywhere…

"What a lovely costume you have chosen, Miss Daae," the comte said. "A close, shimmering Greek-style gown, heavy gold jewelry and headdress, a tiny golden mask. But your identity is not clear to me. Aphrodite, perhaps?"

"What is it you wished to speak with me about?" Christine replied with a steady voice, though her heart was thrumming madly. Why was she so afraid of him, when the fury of a masked man who had the right to be angry merely made her weep?

She imagined he crooked an eyebrow behind his mask. "No conversational niceties, then, mademoiselle? Well, then, let us get right to the point." Philippe's voice was so smooth and low, but not like velvet… more like cold, hard silver. It sent unpleasant sensations trickling down her spine. He advanced upon her, tall and hawkish, and her heart pounded madly. She felt the cloth-draped wall behind her, and a chaise to one side. There was nowhere to move, to get away from him.