We had settled well into our house. It was a rather large stone structure, far enough outside of Paris to forget the city was so nearby, but close enough to Paris for my husband to make regular trips to the city. I preferred to stay in my little safe haven rather than venture to the city that would tear open freshly healed wounds.
I hadn't been feeling well for a little while then. I had always been prone to dizzy spells, overheating, and chills. But I had started waking up and feeling queasy, and I couldn't eat. That was what made my husband vehement about my seeing the doctor. I had always eaten rather well, but during times when I was emotionally sick I had forgotten to eat.
"Dear," my husband said, clearing his throat, "I am going to town today, and I am going to make an appointment with a doctor."
I looked up at him from my needlepoint, concern written all over my face. "Why, aren't you feeling well?"
He looked pained. It was most possible he knew I was toying with him. "No, dear, I'm not making an appointment for myself. I realize your reluctance to go back to Paris, so I'll see who can make a house call. Dear, don't give me that confused look. It's quite obvious that you haven't been feeling well. You toss and turn at night, you don't eat, and you've been having dizzy spells. I fear this may have to do with the situation, as you've made yourself sick before…"
"Very well, darling." I sighed in my most patronizing manner. "I'll see the doctor." Not that there was much I could do about it. My husband was rather stubborn and thickheaded sometimes. The situation, as he called it, had quite a bit to do with how I was feeling, but not the way he thought. If only he had asked me, I would have explained it to him…well, maybe I wouldn't have.
Even with the family title and money, it was rather hard to get a doctor to make a house call that October. That year, there was a horrible outbreak of influenza late September, and therefore most doctors were "on call" all the time. I was spared, Dieu merci, as was my dear husband. However, he did have someone come in. A wonderful doctor, he had looked after my grandmother before she died, God rest her soul, a few months before. His name was Dr. Lecour, and it settled me considerably that I knew him, though I already knew what was going on, it would be nice to know from a reliable source.
Dr. Lecour was an older man, around sixty, with a wiry frame and a wise face, his eyes framed by round spectacles that made his eyes bug out. He also had rather long white hair, a little on the wild side. But he was a sweet man, and took good care of his patients. He was overjoyed to see me again. "Ah, madame!" he said, as he walked into the parlor which I had been sitting in. "Such a pity about your grandmother, I'm very sorry."
I smiled, not letting them know how close to tears I was. My Mamma, as I had called her, and I had been very close, especially after my father died. "It's no pity, Doctor. She is with God now, and the pain is gone. She lived a good life. Come, let me show you to a more private room," I said, leading him to a small chamber with no windows, only a small bed and a chamber pot.
"That she did. Carried on well after Valerius, her husband, passed on. She was a good woman, I was lucky to have known her." Dr. Lecour said.
"Yes, well, I'm afraid nothing exciting is wrong with me, Doctor. Just a few dizzy spells and some morning sickness." I said as the doctor took my blood pressure.
"Your husband tells me you don't eat,"
"If you were getting sick in the mornings, Doctor, would you eat very much?" I asked. Dr. Lecour laughed, getting out his stethoscope. He placed the cold metal against my bosom and checked for my heartbeat. I breathed deeply. I knew what was wrong with me; I knew he wasn't going to find anything terribly wrong, only a little weakness from lack of food. He asked me routine questions, did I have trouble sleeping, and was I feeling any unusual pain, as he checked all my vitals.
"Well, madame, it seems to me that you are in perfect good health, for a pregnant woman." Dr. Lecour said as he finished, smiling. I smiled back at him. He knew I knew. "Why didn't you just tell your husband?" he asked.
"He never asked." I said.
"Monsieur," he called as we went into the hallway outside of the little room "Monsieur, your wife is perfectly healthy," Dr. Lecour said, smiling at me. "For a four-months pregnant woman."
The scene was rather funny to watch. The shock that came over my husband's handsome face was sudden. His blue eyes grew wide, and his mouth, under that little blond Parisian mustache, dropped into a little o. He came towards me, arms outstretched. My own body saved me right then. I was overcome with nausea and ran back into the little room, and retched into the chamber pot. The last thing I wanted at that moment was my husband to embrace me. I walked back out after I wiped my mouth and pinched my cheeks to get some color back into them. I smiled demurely at my husband and Dr. Lecour.
"Forgive me," I said.
"Oh, that's quite all right, mademosi-…" Dr. Lecour started to say, but he caught himself. "Madame. Forgive me, I forget that you have been married quite some time now," Dr. Lecour said. People that came to our house always said that, although they were perfectly clear that I was living there with my husband, somehow it never dawned on them that I was married to him. Well, I suppose it was rather outside the custom, by those days, to be married at nineteen. People were living much longer than they had before, so there was no need to marry so young. People still thought of me as a little girl, and no doubt they always would. Being only five-feet-one inch, with a baby face and slim figure can have that effect on you.
"That's quite all right, Dr. Lecour. The mistake is easily made." I said, smiling warmly at him. My husband looked at me quizzically. Poor dear. Rather slow.
"Now, I shall expect to see you at least once a month from now on. Shall I be coming here?" Dr. Lecour asked.
"Yes, that would suit me well." I said before my husband could interject.
"You will take good care of her, will you not, young man?" Dr. Lecour reprimanded my husband good-naturedly.
"As always." He said, smiling.
"See that she gets her rest, and eats well. None of this funny business with food, madame. You need to take good care of that baby."
"I'll see to it, Dr. Lecour." My husband said.
"It's wonderful to see you again, Dr. Lecour. Give my best to Mrs. Lecour. How is she feeling?" I asked.
"Oh, very well, thank you. I'll tell her you say salut."
"Thank you, now I'm feeling a little tired, I think I'll go lay down. Au revoir, Dr Lecour."
"Au revoir, Madame de Chagny." I don't think I'll ever get used to that name, I thought as I kissed the doctor on both cheeks and headed upstairs. That was my name now, though. La comtesse, Christine Anna de Chagny. It was not one I would have picked for myself, not now anyway. Perhaps when I was fourteen years old, and smitten with the boy who became the man who is my husband, Raoul, le Comte de Chagny. Now I would have settled for the name I had been given so long ago, Kirsten-Anna Daae. I had been stupid to change it to Christine Daae. It was a childish thing to think that a name would make me any more or any less what I was. I had changed it in hopes that I would seem less Swedish, for the French did not view my people as anything more than vodka-makers. I wanted them to see me, Kirsten (or rather, Christine), an opera singer, and not the daughter of a poor Swedish fiddler.
I opened the door to my bedchamber, where my maid Marianna was straightening things up. She looked up at me and smiled. Marianna was one of my few confidants as well as being my maid. I had never had many friends, as I was rather shy, and the few friends I did have were now lost to me. Marianna was a pretty thing, a year or so older than myself, she was rather tall and she had handsome features as well as big brown eyes and curly black hair.
"Bonjour, Marianna. Comment vas-tu?" I asked as I sat down at my vanity. Marianna picked up a brush automatically and began brushing my hair out.
"Ah! Bien. Et tu?" Marianna asked.
"Marianna…" I began, as she combed through a tangle. "Ouch!"
"I am sorry…" Marianna apologized quickly. "Yes, Madame?"
"How many times have I told you? Please, call me Christine. You know how I feel about that… other title. And it's rather odd that I call you Marianna and you call me 'Madame'," I reprimanded softly.
"Again, I am sorry, Christine." I saw Marianna's reflection smile in the mirror. "Now, what were you going to tell me?" she asked.
"Well, remember when I told you that I thought we might have a visitor?" I winked at her in the mirror happily. Marianna's eyes grew wide and she dropped the silver hairbrush.
"You are…with child?" she gasped.
"Yes," I said. I squealed with glee, like a schoolgirl in love. I jumped up from my chair, my blonde waves flying out around me, swirling like a golden cloak. I hugged Marianna, who was completely stunned. "Isn't this wonderful, Marianna?"
"Yes, Christine…" Marianna said, still a little shocked-looking.
"You don't sound very enthusiastic about it." I said, dropping my arms from around her. She took hold of my elbows and looked down at me very sincerely.
"You also told me that this visitor might not be…welcomed by your husband," she reminded me gently. I looked at her, nonplussed. Had I really told her that too? I thought the only person I had told was…myself, in my dreams. Was I losing my memory along with my mind now? It infuriated me that we couldn't talk as normal people because Raoul might overhear and suddenly want to hire me a new personal maid. We had to speak in code, as if we were spies. Moi, a spy? That would be rather interesting.
"Might not be welcomed," I reminded her of the doubt in that statement. I was also not allowed to talk of the situation, for fear I might work myself up, so Marianna knew not why I would have an unwelcome visitor in my womb, and I could not tell her. I brushed her off, turning to go stand by my bed. In my mind, I was conflicted—should I tell Marianna and risk first Raoul's anger; and second the fact that Marianna might not believe me? Or should I just keep quiet, letting Marianna think what she wanted of what I had possibly done while engaged to my husband? I felt a familiar aching just behind my forehead. Ever since I had tried to…well, never mind. That was no longer important, the only thing that was important was that I had the pains to show for what I had so rashly done, now. I rubbed my forehead, and waved a hand at Marianna's concern. "It will pass," I whispered as the pain subsided. If all these months had taught me nothing else, it was that I had a very low tolerance for pain, emotional or physical.
"Christine, ever since you first said that, I have begged and pleaded with you to know what your husband calls 'the situation' is all about, and every time you have refused me." Marianna said in a pleading voice. That's right, I had told her about the visitor not being welcomed. That's why she wanted to know what the situation was.
"I'm sorry, Marianna. I have to answer the same way as always, that I cannot tell you. Even if Raoul does not find out that I have told you, there is a very good chance that you will tell him, thinking I am mad." Marianna opened her mouth to protest. I put up a hand for silence. "I know you say that you would never do such a thing to me, but you have not heard the details of the situation, as it is so dearly called now. You have no idea what you would think of me after I told you." I said, waving her away. "I shall put myself in my own nightgown right now, Marianna. I need to think."
"Yes, Christine. I understand," she said, though she clearly did not. We kissed each other on both cheeks and she left the room, closing the ornate oak door behind her. I toyed with the white canopy of the cherry-wood bed that had been a wedding present to my husband and I. We slept in it most often, but hardly ever copulated there. The only time so far had been our wedding night. That was not to say we hadn't copulated since then. Far from it. It was just that Raoul was sort of…an exhibitionist. We hadn't made love (if you could even call it that) in front of anyone; it was places like the gazebo, the patio, and the dining room that he liked. It gave him a thrill that possibly someone might walk by, and it had happened. Of course, I was embarrassed beyond belief, but Raoul…well, it is not decent to say what Raoul did.
Thank goodness that I would be able to plead the fact that I was pregnant now. That would buy me a few more months, five to be exact. Copulating with him was not as…disappointing, as it was… painful. It just seemed so iniquitous to give my body to him when my heart, my mind, and my body were all calling out for another.
I pulled open the door to my closet and pulled out my nightgown, a confection of white linen and lace. I pulled off the stylish, but modest, blue-gray dress I had been wearing and folded it neatly. I unlaced my corset as best I could and pulled that off too. I could now get away with not wearing it, since I was pregnant. I was carrying rather low anyway, so I could probably wear the dresses I already had up until the seventh or eighth month. I pulled my undergarments, my stockings, and garters off and pulled the beautiful nightgown over my head. I breathed in deeply, the cloth to my face, soaking in the familiar smell of crushed rose petals, some sort of spicy incense, and vanilla. The vanilla, I knew, was because I had always loved the scent, the roses because of the rose petals on the bed I had been sleeping on, and the incense was a scent all his own…the smell of the underground lair. Tears came to my eyes. This was his wedding present to me. Not my wedding to Raoul, you understand, but that's how it came to be. It is rather droll how scents can take you back, non?
I tried to push all that from my mind. Anything even remotely concerned with the situation upset me beyond tears. This was far past remotely connected. It was the situation. I was the only person in the world, save one other, that knew all the details of it. Even Raoul didn't know the full scope of the situation. The poor man probably never would, but with the birth of the child, he might guess at it. I hoped and prayed, for the baby's sake, that it would bear some resemblance to him.
I lay down lazily on my bed. It was only seven o'clock in the evening, and I was hardly tired. I just didn't want to listen to my husband asking me about baby names and such. I already knew what I was naming this child, and there was nothing he could do about it. I curled up on the bed and pulled the covers over me.
Without so much as a knock, the door creaked open. I sat up, alarmed. Raoul peeked into the room and smiled at me. I smiled back warily. Raoul opened the door all the way and came in, closing the door behind him.
"So you are awake?" he said, raising his voice at the end as if it were a question. He knew fully well that I was awake. "How are you feeling?"
"Comme ci, comme ca." I said, shrugging. What did he want? "Mais, je suis fatiguée, mon cher." As I spoke he came and knelt beside me on the floor. "Pourquoi?"
"Can't a man have some concern about how his wife is feeling?" he asked, feigning hurt. Not if we're talking about Raoul de Chagny, I thought. He reached up and tucked a loose curl behind my ear. I fought the urge to slap his hand away, recoiling. This time he looked really hurt. He glanced down at the pristine white lace on the cuffs of my nightgown's sleeves and a strange look came into his eyes. I had only seen that look on two other occasions, and it did not bode well for how I was feeling. "Quand est-ce?" he asked, pinching a little of the fabric in between his thumb and forefinger.
I pulled the linen out of his hands. "It's my nightgown, Raoul," I said, becoming agitated. "I told you I was tired, and I want to take a nap." I paused. "If that's all right with you," I said acidly.
"I didn't give you this nightgown." Raoul stated, staring at the offending garment.
"No, you did not." I confirmed. "Am I not allowed to wear things that you haven't given me?" I asked, blatantly sarcastic.
"This is the nightgown *he* gave you, is it not?" Raoul spat. The look he gave me was pure venom. I refused to give in to my inexplicable, childish urge to taunt him with the fact that it was he who had given me this nightgown, and it was my favourite piece of clothing, and I wasn't about to take it off. Instead I shut my mouth and refused to speak at all. "It is, isn't it? Why haven't you gotten rid of it yet?"
"Why should I get rid of it?" I blurted out. "It's a perfectly good nightgown, and besides, I like it." I finished, regretting the words the instant I said them.
"You like it? You like a nightgown which a monster gave you?" Raoul raged at me. I cowered, thinking he might hit me. "Oh, that's right," he said acridly, "you had feelings for the monster who gave it to you." I opened my mouth, though I was afraid to say anything. He gripped my shoulders tightly through my nightgown. "Christine, do you think I am that stupid? That I couldn't see that you had feelings for him? That I thought you went back to him only a few days before our marriage out of pity? No, Christine...I am not that stupid."
"Raoul, please," I begged, fearing what he was implying. I did not want him to get too close to the truth of the child. "Why are you doing this to me, Raoul? I married you, did I not? What do I have to do to prove to you..." I said, sobbing, more out of fear than anything else. If he did anything to hurt this child...
His grip on my shoulders loosened. "I'm sorry Christine. I forget that you are pregnant with our child, and you are very emotional. I love you Christine." He said softly, taking me in his arms. I let him, too weary to put up any resistance. However, I did not say anything to his declaration of love. I feared that if I did say that I loved him it would come out wobbly, the lie unable to stand on its own two legs.
I hadn't been feeling well for a little while then. I had always been prone to dizzy spells, overheating, and chills. But I had started waking up and feeling queasy, and I couldn't eat. That was what made my husband vehement about my seeing the doctor. I had always eaten rather well, but during times when I was emotionally sick I had forgotten to eat.
"Dear," my husband said, clearing his throat, "I am going to town today, and I am going to make an appointment with a doctor."
I looked up at him from my needlepoint, concern written all over my face. "Why, aren't you feeling well?"
He looked pained. It was most possible he knew I was toying with him. "No, dear, I'm not making an appointment for myself. I realize your reluctance to go back to Paris, so I'll see who can make a house call. Dear, don't give me that confused look. It's quite obvious that you haven't been feeling well. You toss and turn at night, you don't eat, and you've been having dizzy spells. I fear this may have to do with the situation, as you've made yourself sick before…"
"Very well, darling." I sighed in my most patronizing manner. "I'll see the doctor." Not that there was much I could do about it. My husband was rather stubborn and thickheaded sometimes. The situation, as he called it, had quite a bit to do with how I was feeling, but not the way he thought. If only he had asked me, I would have explained it to him…well, maybe I wouldn't have.
Even with the family title and money, it was rather hard to get a doctor to make a house call that October. That year, there was a horrible outbreak of influenza late September, and therefore most doctors were "on call" all the time. I was spared, Dieu merci, as was my dear husband. However, he did have someone come in. A wonderful doctor, he had looked after my grandmother before she died, God rest her soul, a few months before. His name was Dr. Lecour, and it settled me considerably that I knew him, though I already knew what was going on, it would be nice to know from a reliable source.
Dr. Lecour was an older man, around sixty, with a wiry frame and a wise face, his eyes framed by round spectacles that made his eyes bug out. He also had rather long white hair, a little on the wild side. But he was a sweet man, and took good care of his patients. He was overjoyed to see me again. "Ah, madame!" he said, as he walked into the parlor which I had been sitting in. "Such a pity about your grandmother, I'm very sorry."
I smiled, not letting them know how close to tears I was. My Mamma, as I had called her, and I had been very close, especially after my father died. "It's no pity, Doctor. She is with God now, and the pain is gone. She lived a good life. Come, let me show you to a more private room," I said, leading him to a small chamber with no windows, only a small bed and a chamber pot.
"That she did. Carried on well after Valerius, her husband, passed on. She was a good woman, I was lucky to have known her." Dr. Lecour said.
"Yes, well, I'm afraid nothing exciting is wrong with me, Doctor. Just a few dizzy spells and some morning sickness." I said as the doctor took my blood pressure.
"Your husband tells me you don't eat,"
"If you were getting sick in the mornings, Doctor, would you eat very much?" I asked. Dr. Lecour laughed, getting out his stethoscope. He placed the cold metal against my bosom and checked for my heartbeat. I breathed deeply. I knew what was wrong with me; I knew he wasn't going to find anything terribly wrong, only a little weakness from lack of food. He asked me routine questions, did I have trouble sleeping, and was I feeling any unusual pain, as he checked all my vitals.
"Well, madame, it seems to me that you are in perfect good health, for a pregnant woman." Dr. Lecour said as he finished, smiling. I smiled back at him. He knew I knew. "Why didn't you just tell your husband?" he asked.
"He never asked." I said.
"Monsieur," he called as we went into the hallway outside of the little room "Monsieur, your wife is perfectly healthy," Dr. Lecour said, smiling at me. "For a four-months pregnant woman."
The scene was rather funny to watch. The shock that came over my husband's handsome face was sudden. His blue eyes grew wide, and his mouth, under that little blond Parisian mustache, dropped into a little o. He came towards me, arms outstretched. My own body saved me right then. I was overcome with nausea and ran back into the little room, and retched into the chamber pot. The last thing I wanted at that moment was my husband to embrace me. I walked back out after I wiped my mouth and pinched my cheeks to get some color back into them. I smiled demurely at my husband and Dr. Lecour.
"Forgive me," I said.
"Oh, that's quite all right, mademosi-…" Dr. Lecour started to say, but he caught himself. "Madame. Forgive me, I forget that you have been married quite some time now," Dr. Lecour said. People that came to our house always said that, although they were perfectly clear that I was living there with my husband, somehow it never dawned on them that I was married to him. Well, I suppose it was rather outside the custom, by those days, to be married at nineteen. People were living much longer than they had before, so there was no need to marry so young. People still thought of me as a little girl, and no doubt they always would. Being only five-feet-one inch, with a baby face and slim figure can have that effect on you.
"That's quite all right, Dr. Lecour. The mistake is easily made." I said, smiling warmly at him. My husband looked at me quizzically. Poor dear. Rather slow.
"Now, I shall expect to see you at least once a month from now on. Shall I be coming here?" Dr. Lecour asked.
"Yes, that would suit me well." I said before my husband could interject.
"You will take good care of her, will you not, young man?" Dr. Lecour reprimanded my husband good-naturedly.
"As always." He said, smiling.
"See that she gets her rest, and eats well. None of this funny business with food, madame. You need to take good care of that baby."
"I'll see to it, Dr. Lecour." My husband said.
"It's wonderful to see you again, Dr. Lecour. Give my best to Mrs. Lecour. How is she feeling?" I asked.
"Oh, very well, thank you. I'll tell her you say salut."
"Thank you, now I'm feeling a little tired, I think I'll go lay down. Au revoir, Dr Lecour."
"Au revoir, Madame de Chagny." I don't think I'll ever get used to that name, I thought as I kissed the doctor on both cheeks and headed upstairs. That was my name now, though. La comtesse, Christine Anna de Chagny. It was not one I would have picked for myself, not now anyway. Perhaps when I was fourteen years old, and smitten with the boy who became the man who is my husband, Raoul, le Comte de Chagny. Now I would have settled for the name I had been given so long ago, Kirsten-Anna Daae. I had been stupid to change it to Christine Daae. It was a childish thing to think that a name would make me any more or any less what I was. I had changed it in hopes that I would seem less Swedish, for the French did not view my people as anything more than vodka-makers. I wanted them to see me, Kirsten (or rather, Christine), an opera singer, and not the daughter of a poor Swedish fiddler.
I opened the door to my bedchamber, where my maid Marianna was straightening things up. She looked up at me and smiled. Marianna was one of my few confidants as well as being my maid. I had never had many friends, as I was rather shy, and the few friends I did have were now lost to me. Marianna was a pretty thing, a year or so older than myself, she was rather tall and she had handsome features as well as big brown eyes and curly black hair.
"Bonjour, Marianna. Comment vas-tu?" I asked as I sat down at my vanity. Marianna picked up a brush automatically and began brushing my hair out.
"Ah! Bien. Et tu?" Marianna asked.
"Marianna…" I began, as she combed through a tangle. "Ouch!"
"I am sorry…" Marianna apologized quickly. "Yes, Madame?"
"How many times have I told you? Please, call me Christine. You know how I feel about that… other title. And it's rather odd that I call you Marianna and you call me 'Madame'," I reprimanded softly.
"Again, I am sorry, Christine." I saw Marianna's reflection smile in the mirror. "Now, what were you going to tell me?" she asked.
"Well, remember when I told you that I thought we might have a visitor?" I winked at her in the mirror happily. Marianna's eyes grew wide and she dropped the silver hairbrush.
"You are…with child?" she gasped.
"Yes," I said. I squealed with glee, like a schoolgirl in love. I jumped up from my chair, my blonde waves flying out around me, swirling like a golden cloak. I hugged Marianna, who was completely stunned. "Isn't this wonderful, Marianna?"
"Yes, Christine…" Marianna said, still a little shocked-looking.
"You don't sound very enthusiastic about it." I said, dropping my arms from around her. She took hold of my elbows and looked down at me very sincerely.
"You also told me that this visitor might not be…welcomed by your husband," she reminded me gently. I looked at her, nonplussed. Had I really told her that too? I thought the only person I had told was…myself, in my dreams. Was I losing my memory along with my mind now? It infuriated me that we couldn't talk as normal people because Raoul might overhear and suddenly want to hire me a new personal maid. We had to speak in code, as if we were spies. Moi, a spy? That would be rather interesting.
"Might not be welcomed," I reminded her of the doubt in that statement. I was also not allowed to talk of the situation, for fear I might work myself up, so Marianna knew not why I would have an unwelcome visitor in my womb, and I could not tell her. I brushed her off, turning to go stand by my bed. In my mind, I was conflicted—should I tell Marianna and risk first Raoul's anger; and second the fact that Marianna might not believe me? Or should I just keep quiet, letting Marianna think what she wanted of what I had possibly done while engaged to my husband? I felt a familiar aching just behind my forehead. Ever since I had tried to…well, never mind. That was no longer important, the only thing that was important was that I had the pains to show for what I had so rashly done, now. I rubbed my forehead, and waved a hand at Marianna's concern. "It will pass," I whispered as the pain subsided. If all these months had taught me nothing else, it was that I had a very low tolerance for pain, emotional or physical.
"Christine, ever since you first said that, I have begged and pleaded with you to know what your husband calls 'the situation' is all about, and every time you have refused me." Marianna said in a pleading voice. That's right, I had told her about the visitor not being welcomed. That's why she wanted to know what the situation was.
"I'm sorry, Marianna. I have to answer the same way as always, that I cannot tell you. Even if Raoul does not find out that I have told you, there is a very good chance that you will tell him, thinking I am mad." Marianna opened her mouth to protest. I put up a hand for silence. "I know you say that you would never do such a thing to me, but you have not heard the details of the situation, as it is so dearly called now. You have no idea what you would think of me after I told you." I said, waving her away. "I shall put myself in my own nightgown right now, Marianna. I need to think."
"Yes, Christine. I understand," she said, though she clearly did not. We kissed each other on both cheeks and she left the room, closing the ornate oak door behind her. I toyed with the white canopy of the cherry-wood bed that had been a wedding present to my husband and I. We slept in it most often, but hardly ever copulated there. The only time so far had been our wedding night. That was not to say we hadn't copulated since then. Far from it. It was just that Raoul was sort of…an exhibitionist. We hadn't made love (if you could even call it that) in front of anyone; it was places like the gazebo, the patio, and the dining room that he liked. It gave him a thrill that possibly someone might walk by, and it had happened. Of course, I was embarrassed beyond belief, but Raoul…well, it is not decent to say what Raoul did.
Thank goodness that I would be able to plead the fact that I was pregnant now. That would buy me a few more months, five to be exact. Copulating with him was not as…disappointing, as it was… painful. It just seemed so iniquitous to give my body to him when my heart, my mind, and my body were all calling out for another.
I pulled open the door to my closet and pulled out my nightgown, a confection of white linen and lace. I pulled off the stylish, but modest, blue-gray dress I had been wearing and folded it neatly. I unlaced my corset as best I could and pulled that off too. I could now get away with not wearing it, since I was pregnant. I was carrying rather low anyway, so I could probably wear the dresses I already had up until the seventh or eighth month. I pulled my undergarments, my stockings, and garters off and pulled the beautiful nightgown over my head. I breathed in deeply, the cloth to my face, soaking in the familiar smell of crushed rose petals, some sort of spicy incense, and vanilla. The vanilla, I knew, was because I had always loved the scent, the roses because of the rose petals on the bed I had been sleeping on, and the incense was a scent all his own…the smell of the underground lair. Tears came to my eyes. This was his wedding present to me. Not my wedding to Raoul, you understand, but that's how it came to be. It is rather droll how scents can take you back, non?
I tried to push all that from my mind. Anything even remotely concerned with the situation upset me beyond tears. This was far past remotely connected. It was the situation. I was the only person in the world, save one other, that knew all the details of it. Even Raoul didn't know the full scope of the situation. The poor man probably never would, but with the birth of the child, he might guess at it. I hoped and prayed, for the baby's sake, that it would bear some resemblance to him.
I lay down lazily on my bed. It was only seven o'clock in the evening, and I was hardly tired. I just didn't want to listen to my husband asking me about baby names and such. I already knew what I was naming this child, and there was nothing he could do about it. I curled up on the bed and pulled the covers over me.
Without so much as a knock, the door creaked open. I sat up, alarmed. Raoul peeked into the room and smiled at me. I smiled back warily. Raoul opened the door all the way and came in, closing the door behind him.
"So you are awake?" he said, raising his voice at the end as if it were a question. He knew fully well that I was awake. "How are you feeling?"
"Comme ci, comme ca." I said, shrugging. What did he want? "Mais, je suis fatiguée, mon cher." As I spoke he came and knelt beside me on the floor. "Pourquoi?"
"Can't a man have some concern about how his wife is feeling?" he asked, feigning hurt. Not if we're talking about Raoul de Chagny, I thought. He reached up and tucked a loose curl behind my ear. I fought the urge to slap his hand away, recoiling. This time he looked really hurt. He glanced down at the pristine white lace on the cuffs of my nightgown's sleeves and a strange look came into his eyes. I had only seen that look on two other occasions, and it did not bode well for how I was feeling. "Quand est-ce?" he asked, pinching a little of the fabric in between his thumb and forefinger.
I pulled the linen out of his hands. "It's my nightgown, Raoul," I said, becoming agitated. "I told you I was tired, and I want to take a nap." I paused. "If that's all right with you," I said acidly.
"I didn't give you this nightgown." Raoul stated, staring at the offending garment.
"No, you did not." I confirmed. "Am I not allowed to wear things that you haven't given me?" I asked, blatantly sarcastic.
"This is the nightgown *he* gave you, is it not?" Raoul spat. The look he gave me was pure venom. I refused to give in to my inexplicable, childish urge to taunt him with the fact that it was he who had given me this nightgown, and it was my favourite piece of clothing, and I wasn't about to take it off. Instead I shut my mouth and refused to speak at all. "It is, isn't it? Why haven't you gotten rid of it yet?"
"Why should I get rid of it?" I blurted out. "It's a perfectly good nightgown, and besides, I like it." I finished, regretting the words the instant I said them.
"You like it? You like a nightgown which a monster gave you?" Raoul raged at me. I cowered, thinking he might hit me. "Oh, that's right," he said acridly, "you had feelings for the monster who gave it to you." I opened my mouth, though I was afraid to say anything. He gripped my shoulders tightly through my nightgown. "Christine, do you think I am that stupid? That I couldn't see that you had feelings for him? That I thought you went back to him only a few days before our marriage out of pity? No, Christine...I am not that stupid."
"Raoul, please," I begged, fearing what he was implying. I did not want him to get too close to the truth of the child. "Why are you doing this to me, Raoul? I married you, did I not? What do I have to do to prove to you..." I said, sobbing, more out of fear than anything else. If he did anything to hurt this child...
His grip on my shoulders loosened. "I'm sorry Christine. I forget that you are pregnant with our child, and you are very emotional. I love you Christine." He said softly, taking me in his arms. I let him, too weary to put up any resistance. However, I did not say anything to his declaration of love. I feared that if I did say that I loved him it would come out wobbly, the lie unable to stand on its own two legs.