Page 51 of Our Strange Duet

“Of course not!” Meg said over me. She grabbed her purse. “I was just on my way out.”

“Meg.” I drew out her name, trying to stall her, but she easily slipped past me. I turned back to Raoul, hoping he might convince her to stay. “We were just discussing a bit of casting news.”

Meg jabbed a long pin into her hat with fluid ease. “Exactly. And now I must be off. So many other people to tell!” She stopped to press a quick kiss to my cheek. “Congratulations again.”

“Don’t leave me!” I hissed in her ear.

She lowered her voice with impish glee. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!”

“Please stay.”

I grabbed at her hand, but she was already off, bustling out the door with a cheery wave of her fingers. “See you back at the theatre, Monsieur le Vicomte,” she called back blithely.

I stood on the steps of the apartment as she left, not even turning around for a final goodbye. I could sense Raoul watching me. When I shut the door, I felt as though I’d sealed myself into a tomb.

I’d never been alone with a young man in my apartment before. Frederick and Jean-Luc and the other ballet boys were regular guests, but there was always a group. There was always laughter and merriment.

There’d never been just…this.

My skin felt too hot and yet somehow chilled, and my mind raced; I was unsure of how to act, unsure of what he was expecting. Did he think I was now some grand singer, elevated with a level of sophistication that outranked my lower-class standing and set us on equal terms? Would he lord his new status as the Vicomte de Chagny over me with a swagger and bravado I couldn’t dispute?

But when I turned, all I saw was Raoul and his sweet smile, his kind eyes.

“Well,” he began, clapping his hands together and giving me hope.

Was he as nervous as I was?

“I…I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come to the party with you last night.”

He waited for me to give a reason, an excuse, and an awkward silence passed as I did neither. I couldn’t begin to explain all that had happened since I’d last seen him.

“It was a splendid gathering,” he finally said, then let out a short laugh. “Though everyone kept asking where all the opera’s sopranos had run off to.”

“It’s wonderful to see you,” I said instead of elaborating. “And thank you for the flowers. I’ve never seen a more beautiful bouquet.”

He shrugged, though I could tell the praise pleased him. “I remembered how fond of pink you were.”

“Those pink pralines!” I exclaimed, recalling the cones of candied almonds he’d bought during afternoon walks along the pier. A rush of nostalgia warmed me, and I could all but taste the sugary confection now. “My best pair of gloves was stained and sticky for the rest of the summer because of them!”

Raoul looked unsure if he should laugh or apologize. “I would have bought you more if I’d known.”

I waved off his worry. “A happy memento. And you were so good and generous to me that summer. I still have the hair combs you gave me,” I confided, and gestured him toward the settee. I hovered, indecisive, before taking the wooden cane chair at its side. “And the charm bracelet.”

“From La Touques?”

“I wear it every time I have a big audition. That little silver horseshoe has always brought me luck.”

His eyes sparkled as brightly as the white-capped waves along the beach where we’d met.

“It is wonderful to see you,” he said, echoing my earlier words. “When you first came onstage last night, I couldn’t believe it. There you were, my first love—so radiant, so brimming with talent and beauty.”

“First love?” I repeated with disbelief. I’d assumed Raoul had forgotten me as soon as his family departed Deauville, certain I’d been nothing more than a summer fling.

“Oh, yes,” he confirmed readily. “Our time together was so dear to me. Mother spent all fall trying to convince me it had been nothing but a passing fancy, but I had fallen hard. I admit I felt rather a fool when you never wrote me back.”

I frowned. “You wrote me?”

“So many times!”