Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
Christianna
Meg watches me as I get dressed. She waits, like she knows better than to rush this.
My body feels heavy, uncooperative. I want to crawl back into bed and disappear, but the proximity presses in on me.
Meg reaches for her bag. No discussion. She understands.
We walk until the hotel is behind us. Then farther. Distance matters. Space matters. Only when the city noise swallows the quiet do I feel my shoulders ease.
Café Fleur de Lis is busy with morning life. Clinking cups. Scraping chairs. People focused on themselves. Anonymous. Safe.
I sit and fold my napkin between my fingers while Meg orders for us. Something to share. Coffee.
I don’t notice her saying my name until the third time.
“Christianna.”
I look up.
That feeling is back. Exposure. The ache of being seen when I am still raw.
I hate it.
I really thought I was past this.
Meg reaches over and takes my hand, stilling it. I look at her. No judgment. Just acceptance. Compassion.
My breath hitches. “Why can’t I be normal?” I whisper, the words barely making it past my lips.
She squeezes my hand, grounding me.
“Who says this isn’t normal?”
Tears burn. “I watch,” I say, sharp and low. “People. Their reactions. This isn’t normal.”
Her smile is soft. Knowing.
“You watch from your apartment window,” she says gently. “You see the public masks.” A pause. “Not the private shame.”
The kindness in her voice doesn’t blunt the truth. It cuts anyway.
A single tear slips free. I’ve never been good at crying. It requires a release I struggle to give. Music is the only place I loosen my grip. It steadies me. Holds me. Understands.
I blink and realize she’s still talking.
“…and without context, what they did doesn’t make sense.”
“What?” I shake my head, pulling back into the moment.
“They were wrong,” she says again, slower this time. Patient. “But unlike him, they weren’t trying to hurt you. They were reaching for understanding. They didn’t see the line until they crossed it.”
I shake my head. “They saw the cost and pushed anyway.”
“No,” she says gently. “They didn’t understand the cost. You drew a boundary and they respected it. They backed off. They stopped when you said no.”
I look away, considering her words. We both lean back as the server sets our plates in front of us.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asks.
“No, this looks perfect,” Meg says for both of us.
I stare down at the plate, barely registering what she ordered. The scent washes over me. Comforting and homey with rich spices and etouffee. I take in the omelet, split just right, cheese spilling out beneath the crawfish topping.
I twirl my fork through the cheese, catching some of the rich brown sauce.
“They did, didn’t they?” I murmur, almost to myself. “Maybe Remy hasn’t changed as much as I thought.” A pause. “You know I only came back when I realized he owned the opera house.”
“I know,” Meg says. “That’s why I applied to work with him. I didn’t want you to discover he hadn’t changed on your own.” She shrugs. “And if he had, I would have quit already.”
I nod. “He’s still kind. A caretaker at heart.”
“He is,” she agrees. “You just stepped between him and the person he protects. He’s trying to keep Erik safe from the Dark Angel.”
My eyes meet hers. “He understands,” I say quietly. “That’s why I was there last night. My music. He gives it voice. I don’t know how he found it. He brings my pain, despair, and sometimes hope to life.”
I take another bite. “Remy doesn’t remember me.”
Meg tips her head back and laughs, soft but genuine. “You’ve been through the wringer, but come on. It was twenty-one years ago. You were kids.”
She sobers, just a notch.
“You’ve grown up,” she adds. “So has he. And he was the last sense of security you had for years. Don’t expect an eight- or nine-year-old boy to understand what was happening. He knew you by a different name, in a different world.”
“I know that here.” I tap my head. “My heart hoped for something else.”
Meg watches me for a moment. “And what about the fact that Erik sees you?”
I stare at her, confused.
“That’s right,” she says. “You haven’t seen him out in the world. Remy’s so protective because Erik doesn’t really connect outside his art. It’s unsettling at first.”
She leans back.
“He’ll walk past people without acknowledging them. The only person he truly sees is Remy. He tolerates me. I’m background noise, reminding him about schedules and obligations.” A small smile. “But you? He saw you. And he remembered you.”