Page 32 of Our Strange Duet

I picked it up and flipped it over, and the two words scrawled across its front made my breath catch.

Little Lotte…

Chapter 11

The knock came before I could open the missive.

I had expected Monsieur André and Monsieur Firmin, and was taken aback when, instead, a handsome young man entered without waiting for my reply.

He looked resplendent—tall, with dark-blond hair and blue eyes. He was dressed in a sleekly tailored tuxedo and carried a bouquet of roses so similar to what the wardrobe mistress had just described, I wondered if they’d been seized from the managers.

“Christine Daaé,” he began, striding into my room with all the confidence of a king. “Where’s your red scarf?”

I studied his reflection in the mirror before me, noting all the ways he reminded me of the boy I’d once known, and appreciating all the aspects in which he did not.

“Oh, Raoul, it is you!”

I turned on my stool, unsure if I should rise to greet him or if I was meant to let him come to me. Becoming a principal singer was more than just putting on winning performances. There was also a new offstage persona to consider and build.

But this was Raoul, my friend.

He didn’t seem to notice my hesitation, continuing with his bit. He poked about the room, pushing aside costumes on the clothing rack, peeking behind the door. “You can’t have lost it. Not after all the trouble I took to rescue it.”

“You were soaked to the skin,” I agreed as I accepted the bouquet of pale, silvery roses and remembered how that beautiful boy had shivered, even in the summer heat. “I can’t believe you’re really here now. We heard the vicomte had become the new patron, but I wasn’t sure if he’d bring you with him tonight.”

“Not my father,” he corrected, his smile freezing. “Just me. I am vicomte now.”

“Oh!” I said brightly before realizing what that meant. “Oh…Raoul, I’m so terribly sorry.”

He waved aside my belated condolence. “It was a few years ago. I was, of course, deeply saddened to learn of your father’s passing as well.”

We stared into each other’s eyes in silent commiseration and understanding. Words were not needed to express how we felt.

Then he smiled. “It’s so good to see you again, Little Lotte,” he said, using the nickname he’d christened me with during the fortnight we’d been together. “It’s funny. I feel like it was only yesterday I last saw you, and yet”—he gestured around the dressing room—“so much has changed. Did you see me cheering for you? I could hardly believe it when you came onstage. You enchanted everyone in the audience, myself included.”

I could feel my cheeks glow. “That’s wonderfully kind.”

His expression turned warm, and I was delighted to see that his smile was still as lopsided as it had been all those years before. “Your transformation reminded me of those stories your father used to tell. Do you remember the one about the Angel of Music?”

I nodded, both touched and surprised that he did too. “He always promised that one day the Angel would come and bless me with the gift of music.”

“Anyone who heard you tonight couldn’t dispute that he has.”

It felt so good to know he understood. “Yes! I have been visited by him, Raoul.”

He reached out and cupped my cheek, alarming me with this sudden, unasked-for intimacy. Though his fingers were warm, they sent an icy shock through me.

“There’s no doubt of that,” he agreed. “And now, let us celebrate!”

The change of conversation happened so swiftly I struggled to understand. “Celebrate?”

He nodded, all but beaming. “Your triumph! At the party, I want to be the arm you hold as the whole room turns to applaud you.”

“Oh, I can’t possibly,” I said, even as I began to imagine the moment, picturing the way the crowd would smile and cheer. All because of my voice. All because of the gift the Angel had given me.

His face fell immediately. “Of course…I should have guessed there was already another beau.”

A treacherous heat grew in my chest. Did Raoul de Chagny hope to become my beau? The idea was both flattering and absurd.