Page 28 of Our Strange Duet

Madame Giry placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, offering strength in numbers. “Let her sing for you, messieurs. She has been well taught.”

From the pit, Maestro Messenger sighed. “Do you know the aria, girl?”

I faced him, feeling panicked, but managed to nod. With a whisk of his hand, the members of the orchestra began flipping through their scores once more. He peered up at the new managers, awaiting their decision.

“What will the patrons think? They’re coming to the gala expecting to hear greatness and instead we give them a mute ballerina?” Monsieur Firmin hissed.

“Richard, I don’t see what other choice we have.”

The taller man grumbled but finally nodded. My knees trembled as they both turned, assessing me.

“Very well. Go on, girl,” Monsieur André said, and waved his hand to the orchestra.

The piano began, and Meg raced over, foisting Carlotta’s Elissa scarf into my hands as she offered me a hopeful smile. I wanted to cry out for them to stop, to give me a moment. I wasn’t warmed up. I wasn’t mentally prepared. I just needed one—

But the bars had played out, and I was meant to be singing.

“Think of me,” I began, breathy and breathless, and why couldn’t they at least let me warm up? “Think of me fondly, when we’ve said goodbye.”

I’d never before stood on this stage, trying to fill the house with my voice. It was cavernous, nearly two thousand seats strong. I felt as if I stood before an enormous beast, a behemoth ready to swallow me whole.

From the corner of my eyes, I could see Monsieur Firmin shake his head, and I caught the tightness of Maestro Messenger’s lips as he readied the strings. This was my chance, my one chance, to prove to all these men that I could do it. This was my opportunity to seize my dreams, and I was making a mess of it all.

Soft palate, strong posture, unlock your jaw.

The Angel of Music’s notes flooded through my mind.

“Remember me, every so often—promise me you’ll try.”

Tall vowels, sing with your heart, sing from your diaphragm, relax your throat.

As I eased into the song, I felt myself grow loose. I knew this aria. I knew this role. I knew how to do this. I just needed to connect my body to the music and stop letting my mind overthink it.

“On that day, that not so distant day, when you are far away and free…”

The melody swelled out of me. My voice sounded strong and warm, like golden honey. Even Maestro Messenger brightened and attacked his conducting with a more inspired effort. I saw the moment the managers heard the change. They stopped fidgeting and simply watched. I wanted to smile in triumph, but instead I let the emotion color my voice, gathering it all up and casting it into the auditorium, filling the space with everything in me that was bright and beseeching.

“If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me.”

The two men glanced at one another and, in time with both the music and each other, nodded.

I felt as if I might burst. I wanted to shout and cry out my joy, loudly enough so that the Angel of Music could hear me wherever he’d gone.

I’d done as he’d wanted.

I’d done what I’d dreamed.

We’d done it, together.

Would he ever return so I could show him?

Chapter 9

The next day passed in a flurry of costume fittings and coachings with Maestro Messenger. There were wigs to try on, and there was blocking to learn. Ubaldo and I met once to run through our duets, and when I returned to my dressing room for my makeup call, it was filled with so many bouquets of roses the air seemed to shimmer with their verdant scent. My eyes danced over the soft red and pink hues, desperately wishing to see a pop of crimson from a cluster of Rosa Joséphines.

In only a flash of stage light, it was suddenly Act III, and I was onstage by myself, alone for what felt like the first time all day, even as I sensed the multitude of audience members before me.

I, Christine Daaé, was performing before a sold-out house.