Like Father, Like Son | Phantom of the Opera

xxiii. Useless, Terrified, Overbearing

MAY 1919

ERIK

It had been five months since the proposal, and Lara and Gustave had been enjoying their engagement since then. There was a grin on my son's face that was nearly impossible to get rid of, no matter what happened. Whenever she could be, Lara was at our home with Gustave, spending as much time as possible with him while also using him as an outlet to get out her frustrations about her mother dragging her to social events to announce the engagement. She wasn't keen on going, not to mention that she felt out of place telling her parents' associates who her fiancé was. "I'm not ashamed of you by any means, my love, but seeing their faces when I say I'm marrying an architect who is the son of an architect isn't easy," she had explained to the two of us. The nobility had never been a group that I was overly fond of the way they thought they were above the men and women who could actually do hard work and support themselves while being waited on hand and foot. Finding exceptions in Philippe and Lara was quite remarkable, but hearing of those comments made by so-called 'family friends' of Lara infuriated me to no end. Who were they to dictate who she could love?

Those scenarios and comments did nothing to deter the happy couple, though, and they were eager to start moving forward with planning their wedding. They had arranged to meet at our home to finally get started, but as I was cleaning up after breakfast that morning, I noticed how heavy it was raining outside and began to wonder if that would have any impact on Lara joining us. Just as that thought crossed my mind, there was a knock on the front door. Going to open it, I found Lara, drenched and shivering on the front porch.

"Good morning. I am cold and wet, but let's get started, shall we?" she asked as she stepped into the front foyer and slipped off her shoes, her stockings squishing and leaving wet footprints on the floor as she did.

"Lara, darling, you're going to catch a cold," I said, racking my brain for something to offer her. "I...I have a couple of spare dresses of my mother's that I inherited. Do you want to change into one of those? She was about your size, they should fit."

"No, no, I'm fine. They were your mother's, I'm not going to get them dirty and wet," she replied, wiping her feet before stepping into the kitchen.

"Lara, they really aren't that special. There's no other woman in my life to use them, and I just want to get you out of that soaking wet dress." I followed her into the kitchen and watched her pull pieces of paper that had miraculously stayed dry out of her bag and set them on the table. "Really, I won't mind if you use one."

"Erik, you're very kind, but really, I'm alright." Lara smiled at me, standing on the tips of her toes and kissing my cheek before she walked out to the sitting room. "Come on, we need to get started!"

I shook my head as I followed her out of the room; that girl was remarkably stubborn, which made sense considering how she and Gustave butted heads now and again. As I walked past the stairs, I called up to my son to get him downstairs: "Gustave, your fiancée is here! She's cold and soaking wet, get down here!"

Immediately, I heard quick footsteps as my son ran out of his room and bolted down the stairs. He walked into the sitting room, grabbing a blanket as he walked and wrapping it tightly around her shoulders. "Papa, I boiled the kettle a few minutes before she got here. Could you go get us some tea?" he asked, pressing a kiss to Lara's cheek.

I nodded, making my way into the kitchen and preparing three cups of tea. I found a smile forming on my face as I listened to Gustave teasingly scolding Lara for refusing to change out of her wet dress, while she scolded him right back for worrying about her too much.