Page 37 of Phantom
I’m shaken from my musings as Jilliana finishes her piece with an overly dramatic flourish and arm raise. She waits breathlessly, only for Monty to ignore her.
He’s scared. Good. Let him fear the Phantom.
“Scarlett Day,” he calls out. “You’re up.Il était un Roi de Thuléfrom the top. Let’s see if you can surpass Jilliana’s rendition since you have such ahugefanin the Phantom of the French Quarter himself.”
My jaw tics at his jab. Clearly he is not fearful enough. I glance at the shadow in the control booth in the center balcony. He nods before exiting the booth toward the far wall, and I shift my gaze onto the stage again.
“What’re you up to, Sol?” Sabine asks with an edge to her voice.
“Not your concern, Sabine,” I growl.
Scarlett responds to Monty softly, stoking the flames of my anger at this piece of shit for making her feel small. My spine straightens as I shift to keep an eye on the beauty, while still careful to remain in the darkness.
Scarlett is a vision in blush and gold, flawless in every way as her gown drapes loosely from her shoulders and hugs her breasts in the shape of a heart. Her dark curls fall down her back and twist over her chest to kiss her neckline. She is perfection.
But she wrings her hands as if she’s nervous or uncomfortable on the stage. My brow furrows and I itch to go to her, to calm whatever discordant notes are causing her worries. As Jilliana walks off stage, Scarlett tries to make a wide berth, but Jilliana won’t let her. The bitch I’ve been trying to help goes out of her way to bump into her so hard that Scarlett crumples to the ground.
I jerk to my feet but Sabine grabs my arm. Even her viselike grip couldn’t stop me, but I glare down at her anyway. I yank free and barely resist the urge to leap over the fucking railing.
“Do you want to reveal yourself? Your interest inher?” she asks coolly.
I don’t argue. I can’t, because she’s right, goddamn it. Revealing my interest in Scarlett, showing my hand in this game of cat and mouse, will only further put a target on her back. I’ve already done enough damage. Ben’s right. As much as I crave my obsession, that’s all she is. An obsession. I need to let her go.
But I don’t know if I can.
Scarlett gets back up on her feet and carries her head high and proud. She stands in the middle of the stage right underneath the spotlight and takes a deep breath.
“Hurry up. We don’t have all night,” Monty barks, making her jump and revealing the anxiety that’s plaguing her right now. I want to hurl my Sazerac glass at him but I snatch it up and pull a drink from it instead, keeping it in my hand for something to do while I remain standing to listen to my pretty little muse, my siren.
“Sorry. Okay, I’m ready.”
The music begins and as she starts to sing, I lean back against the real column in the box and watch her. My eyes follow every note’s trail as it begins and escapes her body. Her palms face up, seemingly drawing emotion and energy from the very air around her. The melody starts in her diaphragm, making her soft belly expand and contract. Her breasts rise and fall with each belted breath and the lyrics travel all the way up her delicate, fair neck. My free hand flexes and my cock twitches.
I’m aching to hold her in my arms right now, but I can’t let my resolve disintegrate already. This will have to be the last time I see her perform—
“Leave,” I command my second, not wanting an audience to witness my last moment of joy as I watch Scarlett take flight with her music for one final time.
Sabine doesn’t hesitate, disappearing into the faux column again.
Scarlett’s perfect bow lips surround each word, a small circle that would strangle my cock should she keep the shape. Her cheeks are flushed with exertion, no doubt exactly as they’ll look the first time she’s ever fucked. It’s an image I’ll have to take to my grave should I actually leave her alone.
“Cut!” Monty yells abruptly, forcing Scarlett to halt. “I’ve heard enough!” He stands in the center of the auditorium seating and screams at her. “That Phantom has got to be out of his mind if he thinks you deserve the lead over Jilliana! Are you even trying? Your high notes make my ears bleed—”
I glare at my shadow, now near a hidden pulley on the far wall, and raise my fist. At my signal, he grabs the lever with both hands, having already unlocked it, and pulls it to the side, letting the lever go free. A loud tinkling begins as the crystal chandelier above us shakes. Monty stops his tirade when the sound crescendos and the links holding up the grand fixture groan.
Suddenly, like ice in a glass, the chandelier tumbles to the seats below while Monty scrambles away, screaming for his life. Right before the fixture causes a definite crash, it stops midair. The crystals clink together like wind chimes as they settle.
Scarlett’s jaw is slack and I can’t read her expression. It’s either stunned horror or guilty satisfaction, possibly a combination of the two.
From the stage, the poor thing doesn’t have the delicious benefit of seeing Monty plastered to the ground, his face stark-white as he hyperventilates at what would’ve been a brutally painful death.
My great-grandfather heard a horror story from Paris about a chandelier falling in the middle of the Palais Garnier, killing a woman. He put a stopgap in place, allowing the chandelier to be lowered enough to clean or change the crystals by ladder, but not so low as to endanger patrons. Or in tonight’s case, shitty directors.
Monty scrambles out from under the chandelier, unscathed, like my great-grandfather and Ben would’ve wanted, and stands up to brush off the imaginary dust clinging to his ridiculously cliché tweed blazer.
“Th-th-that’s it. N-no more. I’m done! I quit!”
Triumph rolls through me. Monty quitting is the best-case scenario for him. Mediocre directors and professors are a dime a dozen and Bordeaux Conservatory of Music deserves the best. I’ll have fun blacklisting him across the country. He’ll never have a job where he can leverage his position of power over his students again.
