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Christine sighed and slumped against the edge of her dressing table, the energy that had buoyed her through her performance wearing off. The constant buzz of excited patrons and eager suitors was barely kept at bay by her dressing room door. Soon, she would go out to face them, but, for now, she would steal these moments for herself.
It was nice to be recognized—and the pay raise was definitely not something to be scoffed at—but the constant bombardment of patrons and admirers was exhausting. She turned to the mirror and began to adjust her hair, then wiped the sweat from her face and neck. Her makeup was—
The door swung open.
Christine whirled around and rose to her feet. She gripped the side of the dressing table for stability.
A young man stood at the entrance to her dressing room, his cheeks beet red. He glanced sheepishly at the floor, then at her.
“Sir? Can I help you?”
“Christine—Miss Daaé!” He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
“Sir, I—”
“It’s me, Ch—Miss Daaé! I’ve returned to you.” He grinned.
She tilted her head and stepped closer, trying to get a better look at the young man.
“I was the little boy who rescued your scarf from the sea!” He stepped closer to her, his arms outstretched.
No name came to her mind. She bit her lip.
“Little Lotte! Surely you must remember that?” The young man’s smile fell slightly.
“Little Lotte… My father used to tell stories about Little Lotte… How do you know that?”
The smile was gone now. He stepped forwards and took her hand. “It’s me, Christine. From Perros. Raoul de Chagny. We spent all those months together on the shore.”
A faint memory filled her mind. A small, blond boy from long ago. One of many children she had befriended growing up.
She forced her lips into a smile. “Oh, yes. I believe my father taught you when we were young? How are you? I hope you have been well in the years since?”
His face lit up again. “I knew you hadn’t forgotten me!” He pulled her closer and put his arms around her. “We had such fun as children, playing along the sea, collecting stories from the townspeople.”
Gently, she extracted herself from his arms. “I’m sure it was good fun, but that was many years ago.” She stepped back, placing a polite distance between them.
“But…” His face fell, the shine leaving his eyes. “Well, I suppose that is fair, it has been a considerable amount of time since we last saw each other. You must let me take you to supper. I can regale you with tales of my adventures in the years since. It will be just as before!”
Christine sighed and shook her head slowly. “I’m afraid I am going to have to decline your offer.”
He tilted his head. “I don’t understand. Have you a previous engagement?”
“No, I—”
“Are you…” He cleared his throat. “Are you seeing someone?”
“I don’t see how it’s any business of yours!” she snapped, and immediately bit her lip. Raoul de Chagny may have worn out his welcome, but his family were still patrons of the national opera.
He stepped forwards and caught her hand, his eyes pleading. “Please, you must tell me, Christine. I must know. You must be seeing someone. There is no other conceivable reason that you might turn me down.”
Who was he to assume? Her private life was her own. But if she turned him down, what rumours might result? Perhaps he could be appeased with a counter offer…
“Christine…” he moaned.
She sighed and pried her hand from his. “I will go to supper with you tomorrow evening. You can pick me up here after my afternoon rehearsal.”
He straightened instantly and nodded. “Thank you, Christine. Thank you so very much! You won’t be disappointed. I promise!”
She opened the door, and he dashed out, bowing and continuing to thank her. She closed it with a sigh. Yet another young, wealthy suitor, trying to get the attention of Paris’ newest prima donna. He was just like all the others. Why could they not learn?
True to his word, Raoul de Chagny met her after her rehearsal and brought her to an elegant restaurant in the city.
The many-coursed meal was delicious and elaborate, but even that was not enough to drown out the oppressive stares of the aristocracy around them. Would they be in the papers tomorrow? They did love their gossip.
“...Christine?”
“Pardon me?” She looked up from her food.
“I asked how your father is doing. Is he in Paris? He must be so proud of you.”
Christine’s stomach dropped. “My father is dead. He passed away several years ago.”
He paled. “I’m so sorry.” He took her hand. “I wish you had written. I would have come to pay my respects. He was like a father to me as well.”
“He is at peace now. What has passed is past.” She used her free hand to take another bite of food. It settled heavy in her stomach, already growing cold.
“Of course.” He nodded and squeezed her hand. “Do you live alone now?”
“No.”
“You can’t be married, you have no ring.”
Christine huffed and took her hand from his. “I told you, that is my business.” She paused, holding back a wince. “But if you must know, I live with Mme Valérius. She took me in after my father’s death.”
“Oh, that is wonderful news!”
“Yes, she’s been quite kind—”
“At first, I had thought that you had forgotten me. Now I know that you were simply teasing. You waited for me, my dearest Christine.”
Christine looked up at him, her food forgotten. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I knew you would! Just as I have been waiting for you. Ever since we parted that day at the beach. I have worked hard in the years since and now that I have found you again, I intend to make you my wife!”
“Your…?”
“Yes! Just after returning from my tour, I returned to Paris to find that you had become the new prima donna. It is fate that has reunited us! You must—”
“I did not wait for you.” Christine’s voice was cold and stony.
“Of course you did, you—”
“I am an actress… And all that entails.”
He shook his head. “No. You don’t mean… You can’t have. The Christine I knew—”
“The Christine you knew?” She laughed. “The Christine you knew was a child. It has been over five years since we last saw one another. Nearly a decade since we played together. I have grown since then.”
“I don’t understand. I worked so hard for you.”
“I am not a prize to be won. I have worked hard to obtain the position I have today, and I did it for myself.”
The murmurs around them rose. She was making a scene. This would certainly make the papers tomorrow. She stood up. It was time for her to go.
“Christine, wait!”
She ignored him and took her coat from the waiter, heading for the door. Behind her, a chair scraped across the floor as her companion rose as well.
He caught up to her outside the entrance. “Christine, please. I’m sorry.”
She hesitated, turning back to him.
“Please, if you can find it in your heart to forgive my outburst, I believe I can find it in mine to forgive you as well.” His eyes pleaded with her, oblivious to the glares of his fellow aristocrats.
“Forgive me for what?”
“For not saving yourself for me. I am willing to look beyond that. I would still…would still make you my wife.”
She laughed. It bubbled out of her chest and consumed her. “You do not understand. I do not want to marry you.”
He stared at her, dumbstruck.
“You do not know me. Perhaps you once did, but that time is well passed. Even if I were interested in marriage, one between the two of us would never work. Your peers view me as scarcely above a prostitute.”
“I would tell them otherwise! They’ll have to understand!” He clasped his hands in a plea.
She shook her head in dismay. “We are from different worlds.”
“But I—”
“You’ve never known what it is to have no roof over your head, no food in your stomach! It’s best you realize that and stop chasing a childhood daydream.”
Tears now streaked the cheeks of the young man’s face. Perhaps she had grown up, but he was still very much that little boy from the beach.
He took a step towards her. “Christine… I love you.”
Christine sighed and turned to go. She had a rehearsal in the morning, and lingering would only make the rumours worse. “So do all the men who come to see me at the Opera.”