49. DUALITY
ariella
His grip eventually loosens and slips away from my body completely.
I immediately miss the feeling of being anchored to him.
Alistair takes a step back. Then another.
Then he does something so unexpected that my brain short-circuits—he bows before me.
One hand tucked behind his back while the other extends forward, palm open in invitation. “May I have the honor?”
I can’t contain the smile breaking onto my face as I place my hand in his.
The look in his eyes softens for a fraction of a second before it darkens with such intensity that it makes my pulse skip. It lasts less than the duration of a blink, which I almost mistook for a fragment of my imagination.
He lifts my hand toward his lips and presses a lingering kiss against my knuckles. A gesture straight out of another century. Another lifetime.
His gaze never leaves mine while he straightens and gently draws me toward him.
His hand settles at my waist. Mine finds his shoulder.
And somehow, in the middle of flashing neon lights, expensive liquor, and hundreds of strangers packed into a modern nightclub, we’re dancing as though we’ve stepped into an entirely different world.
As though he’s some immortal prince and I’m the only mundane woman he’s chosen from a crowded ballroom.
The rest of the club disappears, taking the people and the music along with it. Everything blurs into the background until there’s only him.
Alistair moves with effortless confidence—guiding without forcing, anticipating each of my steps correctly before I even take them. Every turn feels natural. Every shift feels seamless.
His hand remains steady against my waist as he leads me through the rhythm, his movements precise but unhurried.
There’s an elegance to him that no amount of alcohol seems capable of dulling.
“Where did you learn to dance like this?” I ask softly.
“My mother,” the softness is back in place, lasting for a fleeting moment.
The answer raises far more questions than it answers.
And somehow, watching him move me beneath the fractured neon glow of the club lights, I find myself wanting answers to every single one of them.
The crowd parts around us, being commanded by an invisible force, leaving us standing alone in the center of them all.
Flashes of cameras erupt from every direction.
Somewhere amidst the cheers and movement, the music shifts. The pounding bass gives way to something older. Something hauntingly timeless.
The flashing neon lights dim, bleeding into deep shades of crimson and gold until the entire club resembles a gothic ballroom torn from another century.
Someone passes him a white masquerade mask. It covers only half his face as he secures it into place.
The moment he gives me a dimpled smile wearing it, recognition crashes through me.
“In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came.
That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name.”
The Phantom of the Opera.
Suddenly, I love that I’m dressed entirely in white.
While beside me stands Alistair in black from head to toe, a silhouette wrapped in shadows and mystery, if not for the white mask contrasting his darkness.
“And do I dream again? For now I find,
The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind.”
Christine and the Phantom.
Our hands remain connected as the music swells.
He steps back. I step back. We’re perfectly synchronized.
The distance between us grows, yet the connection never breaks. Not for a single second.
His fingers guide. Mine follow.
The entire dance feels less like a performance and more like a surrender.
When he turns, I do.
When he pivots, I match him.
When he pulls, I go willingly.
The lyrics weave through the air around us.
“Sing once again with me, our strange duet,
My power over you grows stronger yet.”
A shiver races down my spine. That’s exactly what this feels like. A beautifully strange duet.
We move around each other in widening circles, sometimes facing one another and sometimes standing back to back. Yet our hands remain linked throughout, a silent tether neither of us seems willing to break.
“And though you turn from me to glance behind,
The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind.”
Suddenly, he’s pulling me toward him.
The world spins as I twirl directly back into his arms. A startled gasp escapes me.
The sound barely leaves my lips before the floor vanishes beneath my feet. He’s lifted me effortlessly into the air.
The crowd erupts. Cheers explode around us as he holds me aloft as though I weigh nothing at all.
The movement is seamlessly confident. Every inch of him seems to know exactly what he’s doing.
Then I’m descending. Our eyes never leave each other’s as he swiftly places me back on my feet—blue and hazel, ice against fire.
“Those who’ve seen your face draw back in fear,
I am the mask you wear, it’s me they hear.”
His arm supports my back while he lowers me into a deep dip that my hair nearly brushes the floor.
His face hovers close above mine as I feel his lips faintly brushing against mine. I can taste traces of red wine on his breath without ever kissing his lips.
Instinctively, I part mine, wanting to sink my teeth into those luscious lips. The intimacy of it sends my heart tumbling into pure chaos.
“Your spirit and my voice (my spirit and your voice),
In one combined.
The Phantom of the Opera is there,
Inside my mind (inside your mind).”
For a suspended moment, everything beyond him blurs into streaks of light and sound.
Alistair pulls me upright again.
“He’s there, the Phantom of the Opera,
Beware the Phantom of the Opera.”
The orchestra swells toward its crescendo.
I circle him along with it.
The song reaches its peak, and suddenly he catches me again, pulling me against him so abruptly that a sharp gasp slips from my throat.
The movement steals whatever breath I’d managed to recover.
“In all your fantasies, you always knew.
That man and mystery were both in you.
And in this labyrinth where the night is blind
The Phantom of the Opera is here (the Phantom of the Opera is there),
Inside my mind (inside your mind).”
The female vocalist rises higher, her voice soaring above the orchestra.
“Sing, my Angel of music.
Alistair twirls me again, circling me around him.
He’s there the Phantom of the Opera.”
Higher. He changes the direction.
And higher. Now he’s circling me while I twirl and twirl.
The orchestra keeps climbing up. Along with it comes the continuous twirling.
He increases the pace, blurring the world into a blend of black and white, leaving only streaks of color.
Another spin. I feel weightless.
Another. I feel like floating.
And another. Gravity might’ve forgotten me.
The final note approaches. The entire club seems to hold its breath.
The room begins to tilt pleasantly around the edges. He catches me putting a stop to my lightheadedness.
The position leaves me completely exposed to him—my body suspended within the strength of his hold. His one arm effortlessly supports my thigh while the other cradles my back, offering my throat to him.
The final note drifts through the speakers, threading itself between us until it feels less like part of the song and more like a private vow exchanged in a language only we understand.
It holds me there, caught between the pulse of the music and the steady rise and fall of his breathing against my neck, dissolving the rest of the world around the edges.
The screaming crowd, the flashing lights, the dozens of cameras pointed in our direction—all of it fades into insignificance beneath the unbearable weight of his attention.
His mouth finds my throat again.
Unlike the bruising bite from earlier, this one carries no punishment behind it, only a gentle demand to surrender.
I do. I surrender to him, completely.
His teeth graze the sensitive skin in a slow, lingering nibble, sending heat cascading throughout my body far more effectively than any sharper pain ever could.
Then his lips find mine for a deep, sensual kiss. I push my tongue into his mouth, tangling with his, tasting red wine, passionately.
The tenderness of it feels infinitely more dangerous, for almost resembling affection.
Affection—something I’ve spent far too many years wanting from this man that I was never supposed to have.
A breathless gasp escapes me despite my efforts to suppress it. My nails instinctively dig into his shoulder while my body melts for him.
The crowd erupts around us.
Cheers roll through the club resembling thunder, followed by whistles, applause, and deafening screams from strangers who somehow become spectators to the most intimate moment of my life.
Their excitement should embarrass me. It should pull me back to reality. Instead, it reaches me only as distant noise muffled beneath the frantic rhythm of my own heartbeat.
None of them matter.
Not even the hundreds of people watching us.
The only thing that matters is him—Alistair.
The monster hidden behind charm and dimples and infinite blue eyes.
The man I’ve spent years watching from afar, loving from afar, dreaming about from afar.
And standing there in the center of a sea of strangers, wrapped in haunting music, makeshift gothic fantasies, I realize there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than being exactly where I am right now—delicately held in his arms while the world burns itself away around us.
Just him and me. Suspended in this moment.
Somewhere deep inside my heart, with absolute certainty, I know I’ll remember this moment for the rest of my life as the best day I’ve ever lived.