Hello!
This little oneshot is dedicated to FantomPhan33. The idea came up in my list of increasingly implausible guesses as to how she'd incorporate Raoul into her newest story, Seeing is Believing (which you should totally read, if you haven't). And, well, the more ridiculous the idea the better the phic, am I right?
Happy Reading!
In the few years of their marriage, Christine had never asked much for herself. Though Erik was always lavishing her with gifts and tokens, her requests were few and far between. She insisted that all she needed from him was his love and trust, remarkable though this seemed.
However, all had changed just over a year ago, with the birth of their daughter, Angelique. Christine might not have asked much for herself, but she had no qualms for making demands where her child was concerned.
At first they'd been simple demands – he must restrict his playing of loud organ music to relatively reasonable hours, lest he wake the baby. He must ensure they received plenty of healthy, fresh food from the outside. He must try to keep all potentially dangerous inventions away from curious young hands. But as his daughter grew, so did the nature of the demands, until he was at last forced to relocate them to a small house above ground.
They had been living there some six months, the construction of his precise designs having ended just after his daughter's half birthday. It was a nice house, surrounded by land and located on the outskirts of Paris. No one ever ventured near it, and though the acoustics were not quite as good as in his cavernous underground lair, it was a perfectly lovely place to live. The only issue lay in his new occupation.
To Christine's immense pride, Erik had taken a legitimate job as consultant to several smaller theatrical and musical groups. It wasn't quite as grand as controlling the Opera Garnier, but the young musicians respected his knowledge and found him so invaluable that they were willing to overlook his striking similarities to the fabled Opera Ghost.
He had hoped to communicate with his young protégées by note and thereby work from home, with his darling girls always near, but this had proven just a bit too close to his old persona. When it appeared this plan would not work out, Erik had tried to make light of it, saying that his consultees would not realize that his mask hid more than rarely sensitive skin unless he dropped a chandelier on their naïve little heads. Needless to say, Christine had not been amused.
And so, each Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday Erik said goodbye to his dearest wife and daughter and set off to do his business in the city proper.
He hated to leave them – he felt physically pained to be away for so long, and no matter how many times Christine reassured him, he couldn't help the small nagging fear that one day he would come home to find her gone, having suddenly regained her senses and seen him for the monster he truly was. Still, it was an unavoidable evil. Though his extortion from the Opera House (among other less-than-honorable ventures) had left him with perfectly comfortable finances, Christine had a dreadful aversion to living off ill-gained funds. And, she was so very proud whenever he brought home a legitimately-earned paycheck. Whenever Erik wanted most to quit his business, he reminded himself how very little Christine asked for – when she did make a request he was helpless but to indulge her.
On that particular Friday Erik had returned home early, his last meeting having been canceled. He hurried up their front walk, eagerly anticipating Christine's surprise at seeing him. It was a full hour at least before she'd be expecting him – his early arrival would be the perfect treat to begin a lovely weekend. Imagining his beautiful wife and daughter at home Erik could hardly contain the smile that forced its way to his lips. Who would ever have imagined that he, the fearsome Opera Ghost, would be looking forward to a weekend at home in the countryside with a loving wife and darling baby girl? It was times like these the that the full absurdity and improbability and just general wonderfulness of it all impressed most upon him, making him feel like a giddy, love-struck fool.
But for as giddy and love-struck as he might feel at that moment, he was still the Phantom at heart, and so when he reached the door he paused for just a moment and listened, a habit formed from years of sneaking around and always lurking in the shadows. And, to his immense surprise and horror, for the first time since moving to the cottage he heard something of note – voices.
"I probably should be leaving, Christine."
Erik froze in his spot, his hand still poised to knock on the deceptively welcoming cherry wood door. He considered himself a genius (and quite rightly so), but at that moment his brain seemed to have stopped working and gone off on holiday to some distant country. It refused to process what he had just heard. There was simply no way – but the voice had been clear, he couldn't have imagined it. His blood boiled; that was a man's voice, speaking so familiarly to his darling wife! Only he had the right to address her so, only he had the right to call her Christine! And if that weren't enough, the voice sounded oddly familiar. Almost like –
"Oh please Raoul – surely you don't need to leave so soon. Erik won't be home for another hour at least!"
Erik slumped against the door, feeling as though his heart had been painfully wrenched from his chest. He supposed he had known, deep down, that her betrayal was inevitable. He'd tried so hard to believe Christine's promises of fidelity, but the same little voice that he tried so hard to suppress had turned out right in the end.
And really, how could one as fair and as good as she tie herself to a monster for all eternity? It should come as no surprise that she would regret her choice of him. What was he to her handsome, noble, whole Vicomte? Erik closed his eyes and rested all his weight against the door, feeling dizzy with betrayal, anger and despair, a feeling he had not felt since that fateful night at the Opera – one he had hoped never to feel again. One she had promised he would never feel again! Part of him wanted to run away and hide, to crawl back into the darkness and give in to the anguish that threatened to consume him, to never tempt himself with thoughts of light and goodness again. To never again be played for a fool. Yet another part demanded he storm inside at once and unleash the full force of his wrath. He fingered the rope that had inadvertently slipped into his palm – how good it would feel around the boy's neck. Yes, he should have killed the Vicomte when he'd last had the chance, Christine's feelings be damned.
But above both these parts, morbid curiosity won out in the end. So rather than take a proactive measure Erik merely remained against the door, allowing the torturous words to pierce his soul and satisfy his last burning question: why?
"I really don't know what I'd do without you," continued Christine, each syllable cutting Erik to his very core. "Truly, Raoul, you're a godsend in my time of need." She laughed, a sound which Erik had once thought so heavenly but now seemed poisonous and dark as hell. "Erik tries, but it really isn't enough."
Yet she had seemed so happy! Never once had she mentioned her discontent! If she'd given even the slightest hint that he wasn't enough he'd have moved heaven and earth to make up the deficit. No task was too big to keep his angel happy, if only she'd alerted him to her need! But perhaps, he realized with unmitigated horror, it wasn't something in his power to change. Perhaps she had finally decided that she deserved a handsome husband, one she could show off to her friends with pride. A husband who did not keep her at home as a lonely recluse, who might be seen in society without fear of uproar. A husband with a face not bestowed by the devil himself.
It was all Erik could do not to cry out in anguish – did she not realize that he hated his ghoulish façade as much as she? That he'd trade anything to change it, to be the handsome man that an angel such as she deserved? The pain of her betrayal was worse than any he had ever known, and Erik was no stranger to pain. Yet still, he listened on.
"Really, Christine, I must be going," insisted Raoul, not sounding at all urgent. "Or do you forget?"
"Oh, yes, of course!" cried Christine, her delicate laugh ringing out once again. She sighed. "I do so wish I could go with you."
Like a frightened animal Erik startled up. No, she wouldn't leave him! She couldn't! She was his wife now; in the eyes of the law and of God she was his. His mind whirled with frantic possibilities – he'd lock her in the cottage if need be, or take her off to another country, some far off land where no meddling Vicomte could ever find her!
But no, that wouldn't do. As quickly as the possessive fervor had seized him it was gone, and he fell back against the door in utter defeat. Just as before, he would allow her to go, leaving him alone in his private hell. There was no doubt in his mind that it would be the fatal blow, that this time he truly would die in her absence, but he loved her too well to keep her against her will. If she truly wished to leave him, he would let her.
"Will you be here on Monday?" asked Christine. She paused, then added in a teasing tone, "You know there's a girl here who'd be very disappointed if you stayed away too long." Erik fought the strong urge to vomit. Had this Vicomte turned his wife into a vapid young flirt?
Raoul laughed. "Ah, yes, of course. Well, goodbye, Christine." His voice was accompanied by the sound of shifting furniture, as he finally did stand up to leave. For a moment Erik panicked – what would he do when the boy found him waiting on the front stoop? But all such practically panicked thoughts quickly vanished, clouded out by a murderous rage at the new sound emanating from the home.
It was a wet, vaguely squelching sort of sound, like a particularly obnoxious kiss. If Erik's heart had not already been broken then this was the final blow. Kisses, he determined, were thoroughly vile things. How could he ever have longed for one? The whole idea was detestable, regardless of who was the pair. And, if shared between the fop and his once dear wife, well –
But Erik had no time to contemplate the horror of such an act, for the first terrible noise was quickly followed by one a thousand times worse – the sound of a child laughing.
It were as though all the air had been pushed out of his lungs, like he'd fallen some great height and was now dizzy from the impact. In his fear of losing Christine he'd forgotten all about his Angelique, but the reminder of her presence seemed to make everything all the worse. His wife was committing adultery in the presence of their daughter! His daughter!
Unless …
But no, it couldn't be. He shook his head; the mere thought was absurd! Surely – and yet, he had always thought she was too perfect. How could such a beautiful angel be sired by a monster such as himself? Beneath the blank mask his face contorted in pain and anguish – was his daughter, his angel, his everything truly not his?
How long had the Vicomte been an unwanted guest in their marriage? Had he been there all along, Christine's guilty secret? The events of the past two years played back to him as though the story of another, and he saw it all with new clarity. Had she come back to him merely out of pity, some demented form of Christian duty? Was it possible that she had wed him not out of love but out of penance, and that her heart had always belonged to the boy? Perhaps she was only waiting to be free of him so she could live happily ever after with her handsome, whole Vicomte!
It was all too much – too painful, too heartbreaking, too close to all his deepest fears. He could listen in silence no longer; he must show himself. And so, filled to the bursting with rage and despair, Erik slammed the door open and stormed into the house.
"Erik!" exclaimed Christine, clearly shocked to see him. He'd expected her to jump guiltily away from the Vicomte upon his entrance, she was already standing on the opposite side of the foyer, watching as Raoul bestowed his kiss not on her but on Angelique's forehead.
It certainly wasn't what he'd imagined, and for a very brief moment he paused to ask himself what the hell was going on. But in an instant his anger and fear forced out any impulses towards reflection – it may not have been what he'd expected, but to his rage-blinded mind it was no less incriminating. "Just what is going on here?" he demanded.
He wished that the boy weren't holding the child. It was only fear for her safety that kept his Punjab lasso at bay. Erik was usually a 'kill first, ask questions later' sort of person, but even if the girl wasn't his he still loved her more than any father could – surely more than the Vicomte.
"Perhaps I should leave –" began a clearly uncomfortable Raoul, but Erik cut him off.
"No one will leave. No one will move until you explain yourselves." His voice was eerily cold, coercing yet demanding in a way that it hadn't been since his days at the Opera. It had been so long since he last donned the frightening Phantom façade, yet he slipped into it with disconcerting ease.
"Yes, well," began Christine, as though it were all some trivial misunderstanding. "I suppose I shouldn't have kept it such a secret – that was wrong of me. But –"
"You shouldn't have kept it a secret?" roared Erik. As he raged Raoul inched over to Christine and deposited the baby in her protective arms. So much the worse for him. At present Erik had eyes only for his wife, but as soon as he'd received the needed confession the boy would be dead. "You shouldn't have done it in the first place!"
"Done what?" exclaimed Christine, her calm demeanor shifting to one of indignance. "I admitted that I shouldn't have kept a secret but beyond that I've done nothing wrong!"
For a moment Erik spluttered, speechless. He could not believe her audacity! To stand there with her lover and claim that she'd done nothing wrong – it was absurd! "Christine!" he cried. "You are having an affair!"
Christine took a startled step backwards, her brow creasing in confusion. "A – what?"
"An affair," he repeated, his rage dissipated and his voice low and defeated. He looked down at the floor, suddenly wanting nothing more than to sink down and succumb to his broken heart. "You have taken de Chagny as your lover."
To Erik's infinite shock and embarrassment both Christine and Raoul burst out laughing. Beneath his mask his face burned red – did they find this a laughing matter?
"Erik, darling, Raoul and I aren't having an affair," said Christine, still fighting back a laugh. "In fact," she added, the humor leaving her tone, "I'm offended that you'd even suggest such a thing." The hurt was clear in her eyes as she stared up at him, a frown on her face. "Do you really have so little faith in me?"
The part of him that idolized her was horrified to see her so hurt, so disappointed. It urged him to plead for forgiveness, to grovel at her feet and beg her to pardon his sinful suppositions. And yet, the vindictive, jealous, mistrusting part of him insisted that she could deny all she wanted, the evidence was still there. And so he stood his ground.
"What am I supposed to think, Christine?" he asked, careful to keep his tone cold and unforgiving. She shrunk back, looking suddenly small and alone, more like the frightened young singer she once was than the proud wife and mother she now played. If his heart hadn't been overcome with rage and betrayal, Erik would have pitied her. Evidently, Raoul did as well, for he chose that moment to rise to her defense.
"Good God, man," he exclaimed unhelpfully, stepping a bit forward. Erik's eyes snapped to him, the Punjab lasso sliding into his hand. "Your wife is an honorable and virtuous creature! Do you truly doubt her so?"
"I will thank you not to defend my wife to me," snapped Erik, offended by the boy's pompous display. "I know far more of her virtues than you ever will." He fixed the fop with a withering glare, and for once Raoul had the good sense to step back. "Yet," he continued, "you have still offered no explanation for why this man is here."
Christine took a deep breath, drawing herself up to her full height. She was former diva of the Opera Garnier – she would not allow herself to be intimidated. "Erik," she said patiently as she passed Angelique back to Raoul, "Raoul is here as a nanny for our child."
That was perhaps the last explanation Erik had been expecting to hear. "A what?" he asked, utterly uncomprehending.
It was Raoul's turn to stare down at the floor. "Yes, well, it's a bit embarrassing," he said, shuffling his feet and looking every part the repentant schoolboy. Erik's eyes snapped between the boy and his wife, unable to make any sense of this new information. "I don't know if you keep up with the society gossip, but the de Chagny finances are … less than stellar. Bad investments, you know."
By the way he spoke it was evident that more than bad investments had depleted the de Chagny purses, but before Erik could needle him further Christine jumped in.
"And so Raoul came to me when you were out one day, very distraught –"
"Believe me, I meant nothing improper in it," insisted Raoul, looking up at the masked man with earnest features. "But, though she's your wife, Christine is still one of my oldest friends. And, well, I had no one else to go to."
"You see, as a Vicomte Raoul has very few practical skills," explained Christine. "Oh, I'm sorry, Raoul. I didn't mean it like that –"
Raoul just waved his hand. "No, it's true. I haven't the strength for labor, nor the schooling for management –"
"And he can't compose or design as you do, my dear," added Christine. Though it was clear that she said it only to flatter his vanity, Erik was still slightly mollified to hear her extoll his virtues, particularly in comparison to the Vicomte.
"So I confessed this all to Christine over tea, quite at a loss for what to do. She offered to introduce me to your beautiful daughter and I remarked on how much I'd always loved children."
Angelique, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet through the exchange, seemed to sense that the conversation was now come round to her. She let out a childish gurgle of meaningless syllables, as if to signify that she much preferred talk of her to desperate accusations of adultery.
"Yes, darling, we mean you," laughed Christine, smiling fondly at the girl.
"She truly is a wonderful child, Monsieur," added Raoul, smiling just as wide. He bounced the little girl in his arms, causing her to laugh gleefully.
Erik crossed his arms, glad for once that the mask hid his expressions. He too couldn't help but look fondly on the child, but now was not the time to be distracted by innocent children. He was still in great need of explanations.
"Anyway," continued Christine, sensing that Erik was not yet satisfied, "the pair of them got on so well, and it gave me the idea that perhaps Raoul might come here on the days you were out and watch her for me." She couldn't help but look proud as she said it; though everything was a bit of a mess of a moment, she still thought it all a rather good idea. Yet Erik continued to be skeptical.
"But why do you need a nanny?" he asked. "Do you not enjoy your role as a mother?" She'd seemed so excited when she learnt she was with child, so eager to treasure and teach their little one. Her natural kindness and compassion seemed to suit her perfectly to the role, and in his personal opinion Erik thought no occupation better than parent to their darling angel. Yet not all mothers loved their children – he knew this from experience.
"Oh, of course I do!" exclaimed Christine, horrified by the mere suggestion. Erik bit back a sigh of relief. "I love nothing so well! But even the most wonderful things become tiring in excess. Erik, you go off to your business, or to compose, and I do not begrudge you that, but I've hardly spent a moment alone since she was born! I respect your wish to hire no servants, but with her constant need for attention and my own paranoia I can hardly accomplish anything. Even when she's sleeping I felt compelled to check her every five minutes – why, if Raoul hadn't come along I'm sure I'd have gone quite mad!"
Absurd as it all was, Erik was finally beginning to understand. "And so," he said slowly, "he came for her, not you?"
"Yes, she's a horrendous host," laughed Raoul. "Oftentimes she'd just hand me the baby and go off to her business without a word."
Erik nodded – he liked the sound of them not talking, even if he found it distasteful that the boy had been caring for his daughter. It was funny how she now seemed all the more precious after his fears and Christine's subsequent reassurances about her paternity. She truly was his, and he'd never again take that fact for granted.
"I'm not as heartless as all that," protested Christine. "But truly, Raoul's been a godsend. Thanks to him I've been able to take tea with Meg and her mother, and I've learned to knit, and –oh, naps! Erik, you cannot imagine what a nap means to a young mother! Oh, it's heavenly just to rest my eyes in the afternoon!"
"So he was your … nanny?" said Erik finally. He felt horribly guilty, both for making assumptions and for not realizing how hard Christine worked as a mother. So eager as he was to spend time in her company he had not recognized her need for time alone. Composing was his escape, and apparently hers was … knitting. And naps. What a foolish, selfish husband he was, not to treat her as the gift, the goddess she was! For nearly a year she had devoted herself to the care of their darling angel, and he had repaid her with distrust and blind accusations.
"Is my nanny," corrected Christine. "For he will be returning on Monday, regardless of what you say about it."
Erik knew that voice – it was the same tone she'd used when she'd demanded that he regulate his organ music to decent hours, or that they move above ground. Protestation was futile, so he just sighed and said, "I take no issue with him returning on Monday, provided he leaves immediately."
"A very fair deal, Monsieur," agreed Raoul, all pomp and circumstance. Erik again fought the urge to strangle him, though this time it was more of a familiar annoyance than blind rage. Raoul handed Angelique back to her mother, kissing the child's head lightly. "I really must be going anyway."
"Oh, yes," cried Christine, her eyes lighting up. "Oh, I can't believe we kept you like this – you must forgive us." Erik privately thought that the Vicomte was the last person there deserving an apology, but he said nothing. "And," added Christine, fixing Raoul with a mockingly stern glare, "you must tell me everything on Monday."
Raoul laughed nervously as he smoothed his hair and grabbed his hat from the hook by the door. "Yes, well, till Monday." With a polite bow he exited, leaving the small family alone.
For a moment there was silence in the foyer, save only for a slight gurgle from Angelique. Christine watched her husband, waiting to see how he'd respond. For his part, Erik seemed to deflate. The object of his anger gone, there was nothing to do but sigh in guilt and hang his head in shame.
"Oh, Christine," he begged, "can you ever forgive me for my assumptions?" It wouldn't surprise him if she didn't, if she was so offended by his errant suppositions and accusations of infidelity that she chose to truly cast him out. After all, she had never asked for more than his love and trust, and while he freely gave the former, the latter was the one thing he could not supply.
She watched him a moment, a small smile playing on her lips, then shook her head fondly. "You silly, silly man." Erik dared to look up, shocked to find her watching him with eyes full of love and understanding. "Of course I forgive you. Yes, I wish you wouldn't jump to such conclusions, but Erik, I understand. You're not the only man who would assume such things if he found his wife with her ex-fiancé." Erik cringed involuntarily at her use of the word; he liked to forget that particular chapter of their story. "And really, I oughtn't have kept it a secret from you."
"No," he conceded. "Had I known, I'd have forbidden it without consideration, and if what you say is true then you seem to have done him some good."
A wide smile split Christine's face. "Oh, I'm so glad you see it that way. Raoul is a good friend and a wonderful nanny, but you are the only man I love."
His heart swelled to hear her say it, and it swelled even more when she stepped forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He wished nothing more than to press her to him and deepen the kiss, but to do that would be to crush their poor daughter, who was already mewling indignantly at her parents' display of affection.
"Yes, little one," laughed Christine as she pulled back slightly. "We haven't forgotten you." Erik watched as Angelique grasped at Christine's face, giggling contentedly. He truly loved his daughter, though he had to admit he looked forward to later when she'd be asleep and he could truly show his love.
There was a moment of peace before Erik again spoke. "There are still two things I don't understand," he said, causing Christine to look up from Angelique.
"Oh?" she asked. "And what's that?"
"Well," he began, "firstly, how have you been paying him? You haven't asked for any extra allowance, and on your own you haven't the money for it."
She blushed, though not at the bluntness of his question. She had learnt long ago that, for all his poetic tendencies, Erik was not the most tactful of men. "The Daroga has been helping me draw funds from one of your accounts," she admitted, not quite meeting his eye. "It's not your primary one, so we figured you wouldn't miss it."
The Daroga – of course. He should have known better than to assume that the meddling Persian would not be involved in any scandal of their personal life. "So you've been conspiring with him behind my back?" he asked, an eyebrow raised, albeit behind his mask.
"Yes," she replied, smiling and unashamed.
Erik sighed; the Persian would certainly be hearing about this at their next meeting. As for Christine, Erik was unsure whether to be annoyed or amused. Seeing as he could not bring himself to truly hold her at fault for anything, he chose the latter.
"I suppose," he said with another sigh, "you two will say that this is my fault for not managing my finances more closely?"
Christine laughed. "Yes, I think that was partly why he agreed to help me."
Erik groaned. "Of course. I'd expect no less of him. Though," he added, the thought just occurring to him, "you do realize that the funds in that account were not acquired legitimately? I thought you took issue with that."
"Well, yes," said Christine, frowning a bit. "On principal. But really, how else was I going to pay Raoul? And if I couldn't pay him then I was hardly doing him any good." She paused, watching him with slight trepidation. "You don't mind, do you?"
Yet again, Erik simply sighed. "Well, it's not as though you'd have let me spend that money on anything else." She shook her head, confirming his statement. "Why shouldn't it go to the Vicomte?"
Christine laughed at his martyred tone, and he was struck by her beauty once again. Erik was not naturally altruistic, but if helping others made her so happy then perhaps he should do so more often. "Oh I'm so glad you're not bothered," she said, grinning widely. Taking cue from her mother Angelique also laughed. "Yes, darling," murmured Christine. "You have a very generous Papa." Erik made note to definitely donate more of his money. "But what was the second thing?"
"Ah. Yes." Erik frowned and glanced away, causing Christine's brow to furrow in concern. Whatever troubled him seemed to be of a serious nature. "You said earlier, when I was listening at the door, that you wished you could go with Raoul tonight. Where is he going that makes you so envious?"
"Oh, that?" asked Christine, glad that the matter were in actuality so trivial. "He's going to the Opera tonight. It's the start of a new production, with a Viennese soprano who's supposed to be just wonderful."
Erik scoffed. "I doubt she's half as good as you, my dear," he said, defense of her talents almost a reflex to him. His heart was finally at rest, his last fear having been assuaged – how relieved he was that her wish to leave had nothing to do with the particular charms of the Vicomte!
At his praise Christine simply rolled her eyes. "Thank you, darling," she said, sounding half exasperated. It sometimes felt a touch ridiculous, but if she were honest with herself she loved each bit of praise - not because she was vain, but because it came from him. "But really, Erik, it's been so long since we've done anything like that together. We haven't had an evening out since Angelique was born!"
Had it really been that long? Erik frowned, trying to think of the last time he'd taken her to an Opera. Had the fabled Box 5 really sat empty for over a year? He supposed it must have. For the months immediately following Angelique's birth they had hardly let her out of their sight five minutes, let alone a full evening, and even now that she was older it was not as though they had someone to watch her. As fully employed professionals the Girys were expected backstage each night at the Opera, which was no place for a child, and there was no way in hell he would leave his precious angel in the care of the Daroga.
"Well then," he said, taking Angelique from his wife and cradling her in his arms. "Perhaps we shall have to request the young Vicomte's services some evening so that we might go judge this new soprano."
Christine grinned, her eyes filled with pride as she watched her husband and daughter. "That would be lovely, darling." They truly were a charming picture together, and though Angelique's face was perfectly formed there could be no doubt that they were kin. "Even though," she added, her tone teasing, "I know you won't be a fair judge."
Erik was indignant. "I'm always a fair judge of talent!" he exclaimed. Christine just rolled her eyes.
"Not when it comes to sopranos," she said.
Though his logical side knew she had a fair point, Erik's heart would never admit it. To him there was no voice that could possibly compare to hers. It was perfection itself, just like her. "Nonsense, my dear. Your voice has no rival, and anyone who says otherwise is simply delusional."
Christine laughed at his earnest declaration, drawing closer and kissing his masked cheek. "Right, well, all that aside, if we plan to take advantage of our nanny we'll have to do it quickly." She raised a delicate eyebrow. "I fear we'll be losing his services soon."
"Why?" asked Erik, trying not to sound too pleased. Would the Vicomte be leaving for some reason? Did he need to begin planning a celebration?
"Well," answered Christine, a devious grin on her face, "he's not going to see the Viennese soprano."
Erik's lack of comprehension must have been evident, mask or no, for she laughed and elaborated. "He goes to see the Opera quite a lot lately, and Meg is always ready to meet him afterwards for praise and flowers. And then there are the parties and the lunches and the innocent strolls down the beach …" She couldn't help but roll her eyes at the utter banality of their courtship, particularly compared to her own. But that was the thing – in the stiff society and preening upper class she would have felt stifled. Meg, on the other hand, glowed. She was meant to be a Vicomtess, while Christine – well, Christine knew precisely where she belonged.
"So Meg and de Chagny are …"
"Yes," said Christine, grinning. "Unless I'm much mistaken, in a year or so we'll have lost our nanny to his own little family."
"Hmm," said Erik, nodding. He'd never have predicted that the boy would fall in love with little Giry, but the way Christine described things it seemed like a done deal. Indeed, the more he considered it the better he liked the idea. With a wife of his own the Vicomte would finally be out of their hair and, while he didn't think he'd ever be able to shake his fear and caution, at least his fears would no longer take such a legitimate form. "It sounds like he'll make a decent father," he finally said, thinking it a very generous statement.
"Yes," agreed Christine. "But not nearly as wonderful as you."
Her words were precisely what he needed to hear, the last soothing balm to heal his wounded heart. She was his, he was hers, no Vicomte in sight. And, as Erik surveyed his perfect little family, he wondered how he could even have considered that Raoul was trying to take a place in it.
Other than, of course, as their loyal nanny.
So there it is – hope y'all enjoyed. I realize that this is a bit ridiculous, but I had fun with it and I hope y'all did too. Everyone's a bit OOC, I'll admit, but I wasn't trying too hard to be realistic here, haha … And really, why shouldn't Raoul be a manny? Equal opportunity for Vicomtes!
Anyhoo, that's all! Please review – it means the world to me! If you didn't like it I'd love constructive criticism. However, just saying that you hated it without reason doesn't really help anyone. :) Thanks so much for reading!