Page 17 of Angel's Fall
“Well we all can’t be sweet virgins, hanging on nanny’s apron strings still, can we?” Antoine gave a self-satisfied smirk.
“I’m not a—”
“Of course not, dear boy. You’ve seen so much of the world in your vast travels on the sea.”
Raoul clenched his fist but held back his ire. Everything about Antoine was designed for provocation, down to the entitled way he took the cup of coffee the waiter brought and sipped slowly, peering at Raoul over the edge. “Did you have a purpose here other than to insult me and the woman I still intend to marry?”
“Speaking of marriage, I wanted to give you fair warning. I’m going to ask Philippe for Sabine’s hand tomorrow.” Antoine smiled but it did not reach his icy eyes.
“What if I object?”
Of course, Antoine chuckled. “I came to give you notice, not ask for permission. As my future brother-in-law, I wanted to keep an eye on you and remind you of the real objective.”
“To save Christine?”
“Toend Erik, you imbecile. If you can use her for that, then have at it, but don’t trust her. I want to save you from that heartache.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Raoul spat, and Antoine flashed a knowing grin.
“No, I supposed you wouldn’t. But your heartissoft, Raoul.” Something about the way Antoine looked at him made Raoul’s skin squirm. “It makes me doubt your resolve.”
“What?”
“If you can so easily be swayed to give Daaé another chance to deceive you, then I wonder how quickly you’ll lose your spine when the time comes to destroy this fiend.” There was no jest or humor remaining to mask the darkness in Antoine’s words or eyes.
“Iwas the one who proposed—” Raoul looked around the half-empty café, wondering if any of these Parisians going about their day would care about their plot. “Eliminatinghim.”
“Could you do it though?” Antoine asked, eyes drilling into Raoul. “Could you look a man in his face, however horrid it might be, and kill him? Could you point a gun at that monster and pull the trigger knowing what it might mean for your precious soul?”
Raoul swallowed. He didn’t know. He hadn’t thought of it that way. “I—”
“It’s one thing to dream about it, but it’s another thing to do it.”
Raoul suddenly had the wild impression that this was not the first time Antoine had considered such questions. And this was a man he was supposed to let near his sister? “Have you—”
“She’s here.” Antoine rose as he looked toward the window of the café where Christine had appeared.
Raoul’s relief and awe were instant. He had been prepared to return home tonight, once again betrayed and abandoned by Christine, yet here she was, stepping in from the chill of the evening with reddened cheeks and a tired smile when she caught Raoul’s eyes. There was such sadness in her face. Surely, she was suffering as he was. She had to be.
Raoul smiled back in spite of himself before turning to dismiss Antoine, but the cad was already gone. It was no matter. Christine was here, and he would finally have his answers.
“You came.” Raoul took Christine’s hands. She was wearing demure white gloves, which stood in stark contrast to the heavy black traveling cloak she wore with the hood down. Raoul had seen her in it many times before and honestly disliked the garment.
“I promised I would.” Christine sounded utterly exhausted. What had the poor thing been through? “I hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”
“I passed the time. Please! Sit.”
Christine took the seat across from Raoul, and her beauty and warmth were a welcome change from Antoine’s coldness. “I know you have questions. About...”
“About Erik,” Raoul finished, and Christine flinched. “Yes, indeed I do have questions about the man whose name you won’t speak and makes you tremble.” Raoul remembered why he had spent the last few days so upset with Christine. “Yet fills you with such musical ecstasy.”
“You make it sound very untoward,” Christine muttered, blush now coloring her cheeks. Raoul bit back a scoff at her sudden modesty.
“You mean to assure me that your connection with this—” Christine looked up, breath shuddering again. “Thisman, if he can be called that, is purely artistic? I saw you with him in the Bois, Christine. He tried to kiss you.”
“That wasn’t what it looked like. We were moved by the music. It was no more than what would happen on stage with Carlos Fontana,” Christine offered carefully. Raoul’s mind went back to that night.Washe sure of what he’d seen in the dark? “It was a performance.”
“It wasn’t a performance when he attacked me,” Raoul countered, his throat smarting at the memory.
