Page 52 of Angel's Kiss
“You said your name came to you by accident, what did you mean?”
Erik immediately looked down at the keys in a manner she might have thought sheepish if he was anyone else. “It’s not important.”
“Well, now I must know.”
“Must you?” Erik shot her a gentle glare and Christine gave him what she hoped was her most supplicant look. He heaved a powerful sigh and looked to the ceiling. “Fine. But you mustn’t laugh.”
“Why would I laugh?” Erik’s second attempt at a glare was more successful and Christine schooled her face into seriousness. “I won’t laugh. Or I’ll try.”
Erik looked dubious as he began. “It was Aneka, the servant who I told you about. We lived on the edge of the town in an old farmhouse, so we had a few animals she took care of. Chickens and goats, and a few cats to keep the mice at bay. I liked the cats best, especially a big ginger one. Aneka named them all. Names from her homeland after Vikings and Scandinavian saints. My mother didn’t want to give me a name, but Aneka noticed that I’d look up when she called...”
Christine fought to keep from smiling as realization dawned. “When she called the...”
“The cat. I somehow decided I had the same name as...the cat.” Erik looked back at her, challenging. Christine fought to keep her mouth a straight line as the infamous Phantom held her gaze. She kept her composure for only a heartbeat before exploding in laughter. “I shouldn’t have told you,” Erik said, but there was no venom behind it, in fact, she could see him smiling. She liked that.
“Why don’t you play me something else and I’ll try to forget?” To her surprise, Erik rose from the piano and moved towards his hoard of instruments and chose one Christine had never seen him play before, but she was curious to hear. It was a simple flute, a pennywhistle really.
“This was the first thing I learned to play,” Erik mused. “Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes, please.”
––––––––
Raoul had missed thewater. A decrepit pub near the banks of the Seine was not the same as the deck of a ship, but it reminded him enough of the freedom of the last few years that he didn’t mind. It was the company more than anything that made him ache for that liberated time, as the sailors he had not seen for months caroused around him.
“So, my friend, are you tired of your silver spoon and gilded cage yet?” Vincenzo asked. He had been the one to tell Raoul the tale of Zambelli, not that it did much good. Now his tanned features were brightened by a wicked smile in the dim light.
“That’s a bad mixed metaphor,” Raoul grumbled.
Vincenzo laughed and took a swig of the cheap wine that always flowed when he was around. “So the answer is yes? Sounds like I win our bet.”
“What bet?” Raoul grabbed the bottle and took his own swig. It tasted like jam mixed with vinegar.
“Don’t you remember? Before you got off in Le Havre, I bet you that you’d be begging for a new commission within six months!” Vincenzo grinned as Raoul rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you were too drunk to remember.”
“You’re the one who gets that drunk,” Raoul said, knowing it was a lie. It didn’t feel like it though. The person he was allowed to be at sea was a different man who did different things and had different worries and rules to follow. He missed being that man.
“You’re only saying that so you don’t have to pay me twenty francs.”
“Now I know you’re lying because you don’t have twenty francs to bet.”
“Not when I know I’m betting on a sure thing.” Vincenzo snatched the bottle back. “And you coming back to us is a sure thing. Now that your heart’s been broken, you can come to your senses and join us on the new expedition.”
“Has it been announced?” Raoul asked, perking up. Vincenzo’s teeth were bright white as he grinned.
“Didn’t you hear? We’re going to be the new heroes of the North Pole.” Raoul had not heard that. “Don’t you want to escape this silly city and see what the edge of the world looks like?”
“I’d like that. I’m tired of Paris,” Raoul muttered.
“Paris doesn’t deserve you,” Vincenzo purred, and Raoul’s cheeks heated. “So, was it the singer? I still can’t believe you found her after you wouldn’t shut up about her for the first month at sea.”
“At this point, I wish I hadn’t. She has another suitor and I don’t know if I can trust her.”
“Who’s snagged her? I bet I know him,” Vincenzo said. Indeed, the Italian cared more for opera than Raoul ever had. It must have been in his blood.
“The bass who sings the devil inFaust. Rameau.” Raoul was not prepared for Vincenzo to burst out laughing.
“He’s not her lover,” Vincenzo replied when he caught his breath.
