And This is My Beloved

[Philippe de Chagny]

Philippe was almost certain that he knew the backstage of the opera house better than any nobleman in Paris. Though, to be fair, he didn’t know anyone in his social circle who spent nearly as much time in the Garnier as he did. It was not uncommon for titled men to seek the company of dancers, so his friends and business associates thought very little about his frequent visits to the opera. However, as Philippe walked purposely through the halls of the Garnier, he couldn’t help but notice that a few of the performers gave him a rather knowing glance as he walked past. He didn’t let it affect him—he occasionally caught his own servants gossiping about his relationship—but the Comte couldn’t help but smile slightly when a group of ballerinas dissolved into nervous giggles when he locked eyes with them. Céline was right. Ballerinas did talk.

The long hall of dressing rooms was almost impossibly crowded with theatergoers all trying to see the performers, and for good reason. The opera that night had been an absolute triumph. He had never seen Robert le Diable before, and the only thing Céline would tell him about it was that she played an abbess in the ballet. His Céline, an abbess? Needless to say, the Comte was intrigued. When the Act Three ballet began, an eerie and hauntingly powerful dance of dead nuns led in dance by their abbess in a moonlit convent, Philippe’s pale blue-gray eyes never left the prima ballerina, her moves as natural as running water. Céline, a slim nymph of a woman who was as supernatural and unreal as the dead nuns about her, was the talk of the theatre tonight. Hearing others praise his beloved’s performance was simply exhilarating, and Philippe knew that she would never forgive him if he did not see her. A bouquet of pink roses and a small box in hand, the nobleman fought through the crowd of people outside of La Sorelli’s dressing room and, balancing his gifts in one hand, knocked upon the door.

They had been together for over three years now, but the sight of Céline’s sparkling eyes was still enough to make his heart beat faster. How lovely she looked, standing in the doorway of her dressing room. There was a part of him that wanted to simply ravish her the moment he saw her, but Philippe knew that as long as her door was open they had to act cordially. “For you, Mademoiselle.” He said, flashing her a smile and offering her the roses. He would save the box for later. Eager to see her privately, the Comte practically leapt into her room and locked the door behind him.

“Finally…” Philippe whispered softly, placing the box on the vanity and wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’ve missed you, darling.” And he had missed her, even though they had been separated for less than a week. Still, five days was far too long, and Philippe happily kissed her in order to make up for their separation. After a few moments, he let the kisses trail down her neck, but stopped himself from going any lower when he realized that he had yet to comment upon her performance. “Tonight was unexpectedly beautiful, Céline. When you told me you were playing an abbess, well…” He laughed quietly, “you can guess what I imagined I’m sure. But what I saw tonight was beyond anything I thought my dancer capable. I was chilled to the bone, my darling. You are the talk of the opera tonight.” Pressing a quick kiss to her lips, Philippe left her alone and let her change out of her costume.

Placing his jacket over her vanity chair, Philippe, clothed in his waistcoat and dress shirt, sat upon her bed and waited for her to change. “Did I leave my pocket watch at your flat last Tuesday? It’s the gold one with the engraving on the back...If you have it with you, perhaps I could trade you for it?” He asked, crossing to the vanity and picking up the box as he did so. "I have something that you might like." He adored giving her gifts, and the moment he spotted a delicate diamond necklace in a jewelry store window he knew that she had to have it. She could never be his Comtesse, but that did not mean that he couldn’t treat her like one.

[La Sorelli]

For the shortest amount of time possible, she mingled, thanking the earnest men that praised her lavishly (for women never seemed to appreciate her dancing as much as the men) and edging slowly toward her dressing room. Finally shaking off the last of them, and when most of the crowd turned to hail one of her fellow dancers, she slipped into the room, swiftly turning the lock. Céline remained in her nun's costume, designed not to impede her twirling limbs, as she seated herself at her vanity, dabbing at her makeup and glancing at the door every other minute.

She knew he would come: he always did, and she had seen him in his box tonight, gazing, enraptured, at her, or at least in her direction. But Sorelli flattered herself that he was watching her, as he frequently told her he did. The thought had almost made her stumble, but she had regained her step quickly, determined to make that night's performance her very best. Haunting and unusual, creepy but majestic, with a surreal edge, impossibility clashing with reason until all that was left was a blind acceptance and awe. Slowly, she untangled her long hair, letting it fall, shimmering in the bright light, over her cloaked shoulders. Philippe adored her hair.

A light rapping on her door, slightly rhythmic, reminiscent of the music to her abbess' dance. Almost before his hand had dropped, Céline wrenched the door open and smiled demurely at him, noting the number of people loitering around, all now staring in her direction, persistent in wanting to be invited inside, as the count was now. Sorelli smoothly accepted the roses and gripped Philippe's shirtsleeve in the same movement, urging him into her dressing room. The door shut and locked with a satisfying click as she dumped the roses into a waiting vase, turning eagerly to find herself already in his arms. Five days was far too long a separation from him.

Although she had danced for years under Philippe's eye, his compliments did not fail to always make her blush contentedly, even if she'd prefer he continued kissing her. "Am I now," she replied, somewhat breathless, pouting at him as he pulled away from here. Under the abbess' cloak, she was becoming quite warm all of a sudden, and she crossed to change into a dress. "Telling you any more than my being an abbess would have ruined the surprise, Philippe," Céline voiced, muffled behind the fabric of her costume. Of course, she hated to ruin surprises, especially ones that involved her ballets. And to try to explain that she was a dead abbess would be more complicated than simply claiming to be a live one.

When she emerged, hair mussed and partially disgruntled, it was only to toss the cloak onto the bed and disappear again behind her gown. It was several moments before the dancer spoke again, clearly still digesting his words.

"Your pocket watch?" she mused, pulling her fingers through her hair as she adjusted her reflection, "If I do, it would be...here..." rummaging through a drawer in her vanity, "la! here." Glancing up, she covered her surprise at his having stepped closer to her without her notice. She caught sight of the box in his hand and, eyes sparkling, lifted the watch, which swung gently back and forth between them. "A trade, you say?" If there was anything Céline enjoyed more than her dancing (and, of course, le Comte), it was receiving gifts, especially from Philippe. And as he loved to give them, the pleasure was mutual.

[Philippe de Chagny]

“Mm, you are right, Céline. It would have ruined the surprise.” Philippe mused, his fingers restlessly drumming the rhythm of the ballet on her mattress. She loved to keep him in the dark when it came to her ballets, and he had to admit that it was an effective strategy: he was guaranteed to pay close attention when he didn’t know what to expect. Of course, Philippe was guaranteed to pay close attention any time she was on the stage, so secrets weren’t really necessary, but they were rather fun. “And what a surprise it was!” He exclaimed, “It was one of your best performances. You have the group of admirers outside your door to prove it. And, my love,” he said, glancing at the shadow of her figure behind the screen as he did so, “if young men are lining up to bestow compliments on a nun, then you were surely a triumph.”

A grin crossed his face as Céline’s costume landed on the bed beside him. “Ah, turning in your habit, my dear? Probably for the best. I was concerned that I would have to go confess if I continued kissing a nun.” Oh, he did like to tease her a bit, but he always meant well. Other noblemen were so serious all the time. As if sensing his anticipation, Sorelli emerged clad in a new dress, looking lovely as always. He bought her several dresses, all of them beautiful, but he had to admit to himself that he liked it the most when she wore nothing at all. His smile grew wider as the prima ballerina crossed to her vanity, flitting through the drawers in search of his pocket watch. Philippe waited expectantly as she searched, and he chuckled when she produced the lost item. “Ah, there it is! I should really keep better track of my things. Though, to be fair, I was a bit distracted at the time…” He smiled fondly at her, letting his hand run through her curls. “Any man would have been distracted.” Holding onto his pocket watch ranked pretty low on his list of priorities while at Sorelli’s flat.

Turning the box in his hand, Philippe caught the sparkle in her eyes at the prospect of receiving a present. “Yes, a trade. I do like that pocket watch. It was from my father, you know. I had to think of something that you would like better than my watch, and I think this will do in a pinch.” His love reached for the box, but Philippe shook his head and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You must allow me my own surprises, Céline. My pocket watch, if you don’t mind,” he said smoothly, slipping the watch into his pocket. “Now it’s time for me to fulfill my part of the trade. Close your eyes, Mother Superior.”

Opening the lid, Philippe carefully removed the necklace from its box and swept her golden curls to one side. He was completely prepared to put the necklace on, but she was so vulnerable with her eyes closed that he felt as though he had to kiss the elegant nape of her neck. He was addicted to her. Suddenly recalling what exactly he was supposed to be doing, Philippe composed himself and placed the necklace around her throat, securing the clasp in the back. Making sure that she was positioned in front of the mirror, Philippe smiled and said, “Alright, you can open them.” The view was stunning. Much like her eyes, the delicate diamond necklace glittered brilliantly in the light. Oh, she was a woman who deserved to be draped in jewelry! “Beautiful, isn’t it? It suits you wonderfully. Much better than a pocket watch, I think. Perhaps you can wear it the next time we go out.” Philippe couldn't think of a better way to commemorate her performance than to celebrate at a semi-private restaurant, if not today then maybe tomorrow. His mind was racing three steps ahead of the rest of him. The servants had today and tomorrow off. Could he persuade Raoul to take a weekend at the gentleman's club?

[La Sorelli]

"You could confess," she responded dryly, well used to his teasing. "But I fear that your priest would suffer some shock-induced injury, should you choose to be detailed beyond kissing." Sorelli smirked at him, her eyes sparkling at him brightly.

It was a halfhearted attempt to seize the box, but not wasted, for the light kiss he gave her was imprinted onto her cheek for several seconds after his lips had left her skin. Céline allowed the chain of the pocket watch to be pulled gently from her fingers, caught up in memories of exactly what Philippe had been distracted by that night and the feel of his touch as his hand lingered longer than necessary on hers. Would she ever become accustomed to it? She sincerely hoped not. But obediently she let her eyelids slide shut over her vibrant eyes, cutting her gaze from him as she tilted her head coquettishly to the side, her neck more exposed, yearning more for his lips than a precious stone. Philippe's gentle caress sent delicious shivers throughout her body, and she drew in a quivering breath, willing her wits to gather and resisting the urge to spin around and kiss him.

The cool metal was a slight shock to the dancer's skin, heated from the kiss. Obviously a necklace, she thought, and was tempted to open her eyes against his wishes. Sorelli really couldn't stand not knowing.

Before he could even finish his sentence, her eyes had snapped onto the glitter of the diamonds, one graceful hand jumping to fondle it carefully, her mouth and eyes round in awe. How could she ever express gratitude for something so beautiful? If she had ever held doubts of his love, they were banished now, as they always were when she received a particularly appealing gift. Slightly breathlessly, she murmered, "It's...lovely." Her mind had frozen temporarily with wonder at the glistening jewels, laced together daintily, seemingly frail enough to snap at the slightest touch--but, luckily, much sturdier than it appeared. When Céline had filled her gaze with the look of it against her pale skin, she locked eyes with him in the mirror, noticing the contentment in him that corresponded with her joy. She could not find the words to thank him. "Philippe, it's magnificent! I cannot believe...merci beaucoup, my love." Céline smiled at him beatifically, her mind, unlike his, locked in the singular moment. Whether they went out tonight or never again did not matter to her in that instant, only that he was here, beside her, loving her with his blue eyes, lit with an intense yet gentle gaze.

[Philippe de Chagny]

Those who knew that he was involved with Céline often speculated that the prima ballerina’s main reason for staying with le Comte for so long was the promise of riches. And while Philippe showered Sorelli in gifts, he knew (or hoped—he never asked her specifically) that she would have loved him even if he wasn’t a nobleman. Actually, the more Philippe thought about it, he realized that she would have maybe loved him more if he did not have a title, if only because he would be able to marry her. So, he justified to himself, if he couldn’t give her a ring, he would give her anything and everything else that she wanted. It wasn’t like there was anything wrong with his gift giving. She loved to receive presents just as much as he loved to give them. Seeing her appreciative face was well worth the price of any gift, and Philippe was certainly not disappointed with Céline’s reaction upon seeing the necklace. When describing the gift to her he acted as though looking for it had been something of an afterthought for him, but in all seriousness he had combed through all of the high end jewelry shops for the past five days in search for an appropriate gift for his beloved. He took her happiness very seriously.

“You’re very welcome, my darling. You know you are worth it.” He grinned, gently smoothing her curls with one hand as he spoke. There was something almost irresistible about her hair. It was soft, gorgeous, sensual, and looked positively heavenly spread across his pillows in the morning. The smile still set upon his face, Philippe smoothly pulled her up and into his arms, and then sat with her on her bed. Wrapping an arm around her delicate shoulder, the nobleman stroked the skin of her arm absentmindedly as he spoke.

“Well, my love, you and I haven’t seen each other for five days, long enough for you to join and leave a convent, for which I am eternally thankful. In light of your recent triumph, what do you think about celebrating with a bottle of wine at my town house, and then you can tell me absolutely everything that has gone on since I last saw you? I’m sure that if we run out of things to talk about, we can think of other things to do…” Another smile crossed his face at these words in particular, and Philippe grew closer to the side of his face and whispered, “My servants are gone until tomorrow afternoon. Raoul will no doubt leave as quickly as possible.” His brother understood how important time with Sorelli was to him. Plus, his brother being of the innocent sort, no doubt the mere thought of Philippe and Céline alone was enough to make his little brother pack a suitcase as quickly as possible. “So we’ll be alone until mid afternoon tomorrow. It’ll be nice, I think, as long as you’re not hungry or you don’t ask for something very complicated if you are. My cooking skills aren’t wonderful, I’m afraid, but I can try and you can pretend to like it. Or you and I can drink so much wine that we won’t even be able to tell if the food is horrid.” Though, hopefully, the two wouldn’t be drunk enough to forget anything else that they maybe were going to do that night.

“It’ll be a good arrangement for everyone, I think. Except, of course, my servants.” Philippe chuckled at the thought. “You probably haven’t realized it, but you are the favorite topic of discussion among my maids. They adore speculating about us. Not all too different from your ballet corps in that respect.”

[La Sorelli]

[[It's rather pitiful, and for that I am very sorry.]]

With ease she was transferred onto the bed, reclining comfortably in her lover's arms. Her skin tingled where it made contact with his and a content smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she leaned back against him, eyes falling closed. Céline let her mind fall into the contours of his voice, which she knew all too well, not completely concentrating on his exact words. But she could feel him leaning in closer, a shiver running down her spine as she felt his lips so close to her ear, his breath gently tickling her skin. A slight wriggle to adjust herself and Sorelli grinned up at him, head leaned back a bit so she could see him better. Philippe’s dashing slight smile caused her to lose her train of thought for a moment, but she quickly regained it and leaned her head against his shoulder before speaking in a low purr.

“That sounds wonderful.” With a charming pout, “What, no fabulous bachelor cooking skills to dazzle me with? No matter, love. I can cook for myself, you know. And I don’t burn water in the attempt.” The teasingly sarcastic remark was softened by her bright smile, and a swift kiss to his cheek. “As far as my darling corps go, they are at least forward enough to question me, as I’m sure your maids do not. But don’t worry,” she tilted her head close to his and murmured, “they only know the less explicit details.”

Which wasn’t necessarily true. Céline had told them merely that yes, she knew le comte, and yes, he visited her often. But however much they pestered her, she never revealed that they had become intimate. That was their secret, and besides, most of the girls, darling as they were, would run to spread the news far and wide. Very few of them were to be trusted with any important information, and Sorelli wasn’t about to be enough of a fool to discover which ones were trustworthy.

[Philippe de Chagny]

“No,” Philippe chuckled, smoothing her hair. “No cooking skills to speak of. I hope you don’t think any less of me because of it. But, look at it this way: knowing how to cook would put my personal chef out of a job. I like to think that my not learning how to cook just provides job security to one of my servants.” Or, perhaps it was just because learning life skills ranks rather low on a Comte’s list of priorities. Why bother when he had people who were paid to do those things for him? Oh, but as he listened to Céline, the thought of her in the kitchen was a little too irresistible. Philippe knew that she lived alone in an apartment, but her cooking never occurred to him. To be honest, it was rather attractive.

“Dearest, I had no idea you were a woman of so many talents. A gifted dancer, witty conversationalist,” The Comte lowered his voice and pressed a kiss to her neck. “Spectacular lover.” He grinned. “And now you’re a cook? A great one, I’m sure.” Well, everything she did was wonderful in his eyes. Céline could do no wrong. “Mmm, darling, I am so very close to running away with you. We could elope, buy a little house, you can cook romantic dinners and I’ll just ravish you terribly all night. It’ll be wonderful…” Philippe was occasionally prone to moments of fantasy, particularly while in the company of Sorelli, and he frankly should have known better. Marriage, even jokes about marriage, was a thing that he should not be talking about. They both knew that it could never happen, and they were both fine with it, but Philippe couldn’t help but think about how things could turn out if he had his way. In times like these, it was best just to change the subject.

Shifting against her slightly, Philippe ran a hand through her curls and spoke up again, his tone returning to the levity that it had before. “My maids don’t ask me about us, but they do read very heavily into occasionally finding your things in the back of my closet. Raoul found those as well, which led to an interesting conversation, you can imagine. And I don’t believe for one second that you’ve refrained from telling the corps the more explicit details about us. I’ve seen the way those ballerinas look at me. They’re jealous that it’s you I love.” Smiling, Philippe pressed another kiss to her cheek, holding her to him for a few seconds before standing up.

“I’m going to bring up my carriage. Get your things and I’ll meet you outside in a few minutes.” Putting on his jacket, Philippe paused for a moment and turned back to her. “I love you.” He said with a small smile and left her dressing room.

[La Sorelli]

Being with Philippe was simply too easy. Leaning back into him, breathing in his expensive but exquisite scent, she let herself drift into a state of near bliss, no worries about his social standing or having to keep their relationship a secret. A content smile glazed her lips, shivers running down her lithe figure as his lips brushed the skin of her neck. She tilted her head, exposing more of her long neck, inviting him to continue his caresses. To her dismay, he desisted, but his breath warmed her skin as he spoke, a husky tone pervading his voice, causing delicious apprehension to spread through her nerves.

But the topic stilled that, and her warm eyes flattened slightly, losing some of their brilliancy—champagne, but without the bubbles. Marriage was a tender topic, especially in Céline’s mind. Eloping was such an appealing idea; damning his family for all eternity and starting a gorgeous life with the man she was not supposed to have fallen for. Céline’s lips thinned, but she wisely said nothing, allowing Philippe to change the subject before she voiced something she would later regret.

“Of course,” she replied serenely, unconcerned by the gossip of her lover’s household. She didn’t doubt for a moment that a maid with enough information would leak to the papers about the illicit relationship between le Comte and the prima ballerina. Raoul finding her things, however, was simply amusing. “I do hope he didn’t unearth anything…suggestive,” Céline murmured, her tone darkening seductively and eyes glittering. But his next statement made her dissolve into laughter, admitting, “Perhaps they know more than they ought to.” They would never understand what she didn’t tell them. Love was an impossible concept for a ballet rats. Convenience, not compassion, ruled their lives.

All too soon, Philippe had set her on her feet and released her, albeit reluctantly. Pouting prettily, she plopped onto her vanity, turning deceivingly sparkling eyes on him. Although outwardly she did not show much surprise, his casual declaration sent a shock through her body. He was gone before she could respond, perhaps worried whether he would even get a response and not willing to risk the chance. And so the words were perched on the tip of her tongue, sweetening each breath, her mind mulling over every possible meaning that could be infused into the simple three syllables as she swiftly gathered what she needed—which, thankfully, was not much. Before she followed him out the door, Sorelli paused at her mirror, slowly plaiting her hair. He loved her, despite their different social status and the secrecy of their relationship. It had not been all that long ago he had first told her that—but she was certain that she could never love anyone as much as she loved him. Céline sighed, her fingers twisting the strands of hair swiftly now. Love was a strange thing, she mused as the door swung shut behind her.

[ddddyyyy]

Have a look, very good, pass by...
Be honest but not too modest.
Dress properly. Don't shake hands with the interviewer until he/she extends his/her hand.







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