She didn’t know what to do. Even broaching the topic would raise questions about who Dante was, where he had come from, and most importantly, how he had arrived. If the wrong person found out, they would both wind up in a lab.
If he decided he wanted reconstructive surgery when she told him about it, who knew what his bloodwork would show. Elsa had already tested the waters with Garrett to see if Dante sounded like a good candidate, but even if she paid the bill, Dante would still need identification before anyone would operate on him.
There were too many variables, too many things she couldn’t control. She closed her eyes, pushing all the thoughts away. He was here, now. He was safe. She would keep him that way.
Imagining them as a couple was a dangerous dream to have in the first place. She knew firsthand the harsh realities of how relationships could change people—bring out the worst in them. She needed to keep that reality as a shield, to protect herself from wanting too much, from hoping for more.
She could dream up as many “happily ever after” endings involving Dante as she wanted. But he was a real human being, with human failings. A human temper.
“Elsa! Are you okay?”
Elsa jumped at the unexpected voice coming from the side of the house. She glanced over at the path to see Rachel running toward her.
This was a nightmare. Rachel was Elsa’s chattiest friend. As Jazz’s assistant in the gallery, Rachel’s outgoing nature was useful. When trying to keep something private, she was the last person Elsa would want to involve.
The white of Rachel’s jeans was blinding in the late afternoon sun. A matching white purse was slung over her shoulder, and she wore a pale blue blouse that was almost the same color as her eyes. With the addition of her perfect features and supermodel height, she was absolutely stunning.
“Garrett said you were sick. Are you sick?” She pulled Dante’s chair closer to Elsa and sat.
“I’ve felt better.” Elsa smiled and pulled herself up higher in the lounge chair. Rachel grabbed Elsa’s hand and squeezed it, her enthusiastic grip chasing away the last lingering sense of Dante’s gentle touch.
The sooner Elsa could get Rachel to go home, the better. Dante would be back any moment, and if Rachel saw him, the questions would be nonstop. Elsa didn’t have the answers ready yet.
“Is there anything I can do for you? What do you need?”
Rachel was in full manic mode, her exuberance seeming to suck up all the energy in the area. Normally, her awe of pretty much everything was endearing. At the moment, it was sapping Elsa of what little strength she had recovered.
“I think what I need most right now is rest.” She hoped Rachel would get the message and leave.
Elsa should have known better.
“Let me keep you company, then. I haven’t seen you in so long.”
That much was true. Rachel had been conspicuously absent for a couple of months. Now that she had brought this to Elsa’s attention, her curiosity was piqued.
“Why is that?”
“I’m not supposed to say.” Rachel looked at the ground, her expression as sad as if she was five and had just dropped her ice cream cone. Then a smile spread across her face, her mood switching so quickly it made Elsa dizzy. “But I can trust you to keep a secret.”
If only she knew…
Rachel scooted her chair even closer to Elsa, beaming. Whatever this new secret was, Rachel was over the moon about it.
“I met someone.”
“I should have guessed.” Elsa smiled and asked, “And who is this new love of yours?”
“I’m not supposed to say.” Rachel’s gaze once more trailed off toward the ground. This sad look vanished even faster than the first. “He’s an artist! He has a new exhibit opening at the gallery soon.”
“You know Jazz doesn’t like it when you date the artists displaying at her gallery.”
“Yes, but all the best artists display there. No one can discover the next hot trend like Jazz can. His career will be spectacular with her help.”
“Just remember your own career. You can learn a lot more from Jazz than from one of her clients.”
“How can you be so unromantic when you’ve written a dozen bestselling romance novels?”
Rachel dropped Elsa’s hand and leaned back, pouting. Elsa knew men were often devastated by that look. Luckily, she was immune. Arching an eyebrow, she scowled until Rachel looked away.
Rachel’s tone was a bit petulant when she said, “I wouldn’t have gotten involved with him if I didn’t think it was serious.”
“Rachel, you always think it’s serious. Remember when you dated that bicycle delivery guy for a week and started picking out china patterns?”
“Hello, I’m an interior designer. Anyway, that was different. That guy was totally wrong for me. This one is an artist. An artist!”
Elsa sighed. From the breathy way Rachel said the word, it was obvious he wasn’t just an artist. He was what Rachel thought of as an artist. Which meant he was probably one of the most sensitive, moody, temperamental men that Elsa would ever have the misfortune to meet. She’d met artists Rachel dated before and hadn’t liked any of them. She especially disliked how they treated Rachel.
Torn between encouraging Rachel to leave and making sure she wasn’t getting into yet another bad relationship, Elsa said, “Maybe we can have lunch next week and talk about it.”
“Oh no. I don’t think I can get away with that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he’s a very private person. No one’s supposed to know that we’re dating. In fact, he doesn’t know that I’m here visiting you.” Rachel gave an impish grin. “He thinks I’m running an errand for Jazz. And technically, I am. I just decided to take a little detour on my way to the contractor.”
Elsa’s stomach gave a sudden sideways lurch, the hair on her arms standing on end like a live wire had passed too close to her skin. “He doesn’t want you talking to your friends?”
“He’s kind of figured out that I have a little bit of trouble keeping things to myself.” She shrugged her slender shoulders as if that made it all right.
“Rachel, that’s part of who you are,” Elsa said. “Has he ever thought of just not telling you things he doesn’t want other people to know?”
“Hey!”
“Well? This guy can’t expect to keep you in a cage so you don’t ever talk to anyone. You’re a people person. If this guy can’t appreciate you for who you are, he’s not right for you.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“The people who really love you figure out how to let you be you while maintaining the relationship.”
At that moment, Dante emerged from the studio doors, carrying a tray with a pitcher of iced tea, two glasses and some cookies.
“I trust you will enjoy…” His voice trailed off as he saw Rachel sitting at Elsa’s side.
Elsa couldn’t help but wonder what Rachel looked like to him. She was petite, her flaxen hair hanging around her face in waves that seemed as wild as her spirit, yet somehow not at all disheveled. And she had the blue eyes that were supposed to go with blonde hair, along with the creamy complexion and rosy cheeks.
Rachel also knew how to dress, and Elsa realized with a shock of embarrassment that Dante had only seen her in pajamas since that first night at the theatre. She reached up and straightened her tank top self-consciously. Rachel was so much better at being blonde than Elsa was.
Rachel seldom used her looks purposefully, but when she did, it was devastating. She knew just how to pout, just how to veil her eyes, and just how to swish her hips to get any man’s complete attention whenever she wanted it. It had never bothered Elsa before, but now, with Dante staring at both of them at the same time, she felt completely outclassed.
Not that it should matter to her. What did matter
was Rachel’s inevitable reaction to Dante.
Rachel turned around slowly in her chair, her gaze scanning his clothes, his face and his mask. Even the way he stood set him apart from other men. No one’s posture was that good anymore.
“Oh my God,” Rachel said. “You’re finally writing the book!”
Rachel let out a squeal that was closer to a shriek, clapping her hands as she leapt up from her chair and practically skipped across the patio. Dante frowned as she ran in circles around him, like an over-excited terrier.
Elsa started to swing her legs over the side of her seat, but Dante quickly crossed to her, Rachel trailing behind. He set his tray on the table, then lifted Elsa’s legs back onto the lounge chair. “Elsa, you know you are supposed to be resting.”
Elsa could hear the strain in his voice.
Rachel let out another squeal. “Oh my God. Where did you find this guy? He’s perfect!”
“Rachel…” Elsa warned.
But the momentum of Rachel’s excitement would not be denied. Dante turned to face Rachel, blocking her path to Elsa almost protectively. Elsa felt a flutter in her stomach at the thought.
“Is he from the theatre?” Rachel asked. “From the play you’ve been going to every weekend? I bet that’s it.”
“Rachel!”
Elsa’s tone must have snapped Rachel a bit back to reality. She finally tore her eyes away from Dante and glanced at Elsa.
Elsa took a deep breath before speaking. “This is Dante. He’s a friend who will be staying with me for a while. And I’m sure he doesn’t like being ogled like that.”
“Then he shouldn’t be so gorgeous!” Rachel said, smiling as she sat back down in one of the chairs at the table.
Dante looked like he’d been slapped. He took in a sharp breath, every vertebra perfectly stacked atop each other, but didn’t say anything.
He probably thought Rachel was teasing him, playing a cruel joke, like Giselle often had. But flirting came as naturally to Rachel as breathing, and she really did have a point. Dante was absolutely gorgeous. Elsa’s heart sank a little, as she added that to the list of things he needed to realize before she would consider him independent.
“Are you an actor from the play Elsa funded? Are you helping her with her book?”
Elsa stifled a groan. She was going to tell Dante about all of this, but not now. Not like this. Elsa was desperate to make Rachel stop.
“Rachel, please. Leave him be.”
“I am here to help Elsa in whatever way I can,” Dante said, his voice smooth, but with a cold evenness that Elsa had only heard him use with people from his time. People who had tormented him.
“Wow, you even sound like him.”
“Like who?”
Rachel laughed, oblivious to the chaos she was spawning. “The Phantom of the Opera.”
Chapter Nine
“You are the second person to speak of this apparition. However, I am at a loss.” Dante had not questioned Garrett on the matter, hoping to avoid a topic that seemed quite uncomfortable for him.
“You’ve never heard of the Phantom of the Opera?” Rachel smiled and lifted one slender shoulder toward her head, inclining it as she gazed at him. “I get it. You’re a method actor. Since you’re supposed to be the Phantom, you wouldn’t know about the character.”
“I am afraid I do not follow your meaning.”
“Sure.” Rachel nodded in an exaggerated manner. “Is Dante your real name or a stage name?”
“It is the name my mother gave me.”
The way the woman gawked at him and her coquettish gestures reminded Dante of the actresses in Heinrich’s theatre. He would not serve himself up for her amusement.
“It’s a great name.” Rachel turned to Elsa. “You should totally use that in your book.”
“You are a writer, then?” Dante angled his face so that only his mask was toward Elsa, hoping to hide his expression until he had gained better mastery over his emotions. Rachel was Elsa’s friend, and Dante did not want Elsa to think him impolite.
“I was going to tell you,” she said.
Rachel interjected once more. “I can’t wait to read that book! Especially with you going all out and hiring someone to play the part of the Phantom in your house!”
Playing a part. Was this why Elsa had chosen him to be her companion? Was she truly writing a book about him? His life did not seem interesting enough to warrant such attention. Dread mingled with curiosity within him.
“Perhaps you could assist me with my role.”
“Sure!” Rachel said.
He sat next to Elsa. “Tell me of this Phantom, as if I knew nothing at all.”
“Oh how fun!” Rachel clapped her hands together. “Well, the original story was written like over a hundred years ago, but a ton of other versions have come out since then. Basically, the Phantom is this mad genius who runs around in catacombs or something under an opera house in Paris. He only surfaces to create his music, but he mostly winds up killing people.”
“I beg your pardon?” Dante was uncertain if he had heard her correctly. Aside from his living in the basement of Heinrich’s theatre, there was nothing in what she said that bore the slightest resemblance to Dante’s life, for which he was extremely grateful.
“He’s really good at inventions,” she said. “He makes all kinds of traps and stuff and uses them to kill anyone who gets in his way.”
Dante’s heart sank as Rachel’s story took on a familiar note. Giselle had seemed to delight in spinning tales about him. She painted him as a deformed monster that lurked in the basement of the theatre, coveting her and using the mechanisms he designed for the theatre’s productions to ill effect.
“So,” Dante said. “He is a villain.”
“I guess he is in most of the stories, but people still sympathize with him. He’s an outcast, and everybody wants to be accepted. See, his face was all messed up when he was born, and he was raised in a freak show.”
Dante felt his jaw drop. He quickly checked his mask to ensure it was in place. “They believe his disfigurement justified him in murder?”
“Well, not exactly,” Rachel said. “But anyway, don’t worry. Elsa hates all the horror movie versions of the story. I’m sure in her book, you get to be the good guy.”
“Indeed.”
Dante glanced briefly toward Elsa. Her face was pale, her eyebrows pinched above her nose. Through parted lips, she pulled in breath after breath, as if drowning. When their eyes met, she leaned forward, clutching his arm.
“I’m sorry…”
Her words hit him like a blow. There was no denial. She was an author writing a book about him. Bringing him to her time was the same as commissioning the encyclopedia set. She had brought him forth for her research.
“Is there more?” he asked.
Elsa’s eyes glittered as if she fought back tears. She pulled away from him and, angry as he was, he missed her touch.
Rachel continued, though she spoke a bit haltingly. Perhaps she finally sensed that something was wrong. “There’s the love story, of course.”
Dante’s gaze snapped to Rachel. “Love story?”
“Yeah, that’s my favorite part. I’ve seen movies and plays and read books all based on the same story, and I still wonder whether the young protégé will choose the mentor or the childhood sweetheart.” Rachel leaned forward and patted his knee. “I always cheer for you.”
“Cheer for…”
Dante shook his head, appalled as he realized what Rachel meant. Mary had been of age when they met, but he was not the sort to take such a young bride. He had been careful to always play the role of mentor with her, though she was the only person in his life who did not seem profoundly disturbed by his appearance.
He looked to Elsa. “I was twice her age.”
“Giselle
,” Elsa said, as if that explained it all.
Truthfully, it did. Giselle’s exaggerations at work once more. The thought that Elsa was trying to tell yet another tale surrounding his life made his stomach churn.
“Does he ever break character?” Rachel asked.
Elsa let out a long sigh. “Rachel, I really do need to rest. Could we maybe visit some other time?”
“Sure, now that I know you’re okay.” Rachel leaned over to give Elsa a quick hug, and said, “You guys are really taking this method acting seriously.”
Elsa stared pointedly at Dante. “I’ve been working on this book for a long time. I want to get it right.”
Rachel stood and slung her purse over her shoulder. With a broad grin, she said, “I bet you do. It’s no wonder you’re so tired with a hottie like this helping you with your ‘research’. I’m sure he’s being very thorough.”
“Rachel!” Elsa gasped, her face reddening instantly.
Dante caught the insinuation and said, “I beg your pardon?” at the same time.
Rachel just laughed. “As much as I’m looking forward to reading the book, you should really let Elsa get some sleep.”
She hurried off around the side of the house, waving once over her shoulder. After a long silence, Dante heard what must be the engine of Rachel’s car starting. It faded into the distance.
He stood and walked to the greenery at the edge of the patio. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he gently traced the white petals of a gardenia with his fingertips.
“I’m sorry,” Elsa said at last. “I didn’t want you to find out that way.”
“Find out what, Elsa?” He could not bring himself to look at her. “That you have brought me to your time merely to assist your efforts to spin more tales around my life? Or that history remembers me as a monster?”
“Giselle’s stories took on a life of their own. They merged with other tales, traveling from one person to the next over decades and turned into urban legends. The Phantom of the Opera is not your story. That’s why I’m writing this book. To tell your story. I’m writing it for you. I’ll destroy it right now if you tell me to.”
Wandering Soul Page 7