In the morning, I lay out a peignoir set for Christine, realizing that all her clothing and possessions remain at Chagny. Poor dear; nothing but her wedding dress. I will see to that after my little darling has her breakfast.
"Good morning, Angel," I sing, slipping the tray into her lap.
"Thank you," she murmurs. "Oh! Such beautiful strawberries!"
"Nothing is too good for you, Christine, you will see. Now you're mine, your Erik will spoil you and dote on you as if you hung the stars in the sky," I promise. Tears spring to her eyes again; the depth of my feeling overwhelms her. Very well then, I shall have to prove my devotion by allowing action to speak for itself. I hand her my handkerchief; she nods and wipes her precious tears. How I shall treasure that handkerchief! Christine returns to her strawberries, their juice coloring her lips even redder. It is a stirring sight to an adoring bridegroom.
I pour the champagne and raise my glass. "To you, my Angel." Her eyes flicker modestly as she sips. I sing her a favorite gypsy love song. When it is finished, she melts breathlessly into my arms, nearly swooning as we kiss. I long to possess her again; to bathe her in tenderness and wash away the pain and fear of our first night's loving. But no; what would she think of me? I must remind myself that we have a lifetime, now. Just one more kiss, and I put her away from me gently.
"And now, Princess, shall I show you your castle?" I fetch the drawings quickly. The first picture I lay before her is of the front elevation of the house; I have added some landscaping and colored it in pastels.
"There is a long, tree-lined carriage drive," I begin painting Christine the word picture of her earthly paradise. I flip to the sketch of the first floor.
"When you step into the large entry hall, the parlor is to your left, the drawing room to your right. Continuing down the hall, the library, left; the dining room, right. Behind the dining room, the kitchen." I show her the small drawing of the kitchen garden to the side of the house.
"And across the entire back, the conservatory which gives onto the balcony, overlooking your gardens."
When Christine sees my humble rendering of the back garden, she begins to weep again. "A fountain, a pond; oh, how lovely... "
"There, Darling," I soothe, kissing her hand.
"It is a beautiful house!" she cries. Christine rushes away and secretes herself in the bath. So many tears; I admit I am puzzled. I know she likes the house--what she has seen of it, anyway. She seems so fragile. I'm not just being a fretful new husband; she's running another bath. I knock gently.
"Christine, there is no need to run the water, my dear; I know that you're crying again."
"I want a bath," she replies, petulantly.
"You've only just had a bath not two hours ago, Angel; have you forgotten? Come out, now. Come along; finish your breakfast. I'll put the house plans away since they upset you." What in heaven's name is wrong with her?
She emerges, eyes downcast; a tiny, red-faced mess. "I'm just trying to get clean," she sniffles.
"But you are clean, Darling. Come and eat; you've only just picked at a few strawberries."
"I'm not hungry."
"You're going to make yourself ill if you eat no more than that. Come, little bird, where is your appetite today? Is there something else you would prefer? Only say so…"
"No. Thank you."
I draw her into my arms and stroke her hair. "You worry me sometimes, my dear," I sigh.
"I'm sorry."
"You needn't be sorry; I only wish I could bring a smile to this precious face. Surely you're not unhappy with me already?"
It seems she is silent for an eternity. My heart creeps into my throat as my off-handed comment gives way to mounting terror.
Finally, Christine nods her head slightly. "I am...happy. I'm tired. Perhaps I should lie down."
I can breathe again. "That's an excellent idea, Angel; it was quite a day yesterday, wasn't it?"
She nods. Suddenly her eyes widen. "Oh, but you have things to do today, don't you, Erik? You can't--I mean, you won't--you're not--" She looks frantic. I have no idea what she is trying to say; all I want is to settle her somehow. Is she afraid of being alone down here?
"Yes, I've plenty to occupy me here at home today. I'll be just outside; I won't leave you. Is that alright, Christine?"
"Yes." She brightens, actually smiling a bit. "Yes, you'll be just outside. That's very good. Very good." She permits me to tuck her in and accepts my kiss demurely; I catch a glimpse of the former Christine. It will be alright, I think.
Christine sleeps all day long; each time I look in on her, she is resting peacefully. When she is rested, she has a ravenous youthful appetite, so I set to work on a good dinner for her. About half-seven, I slip in to wake her. I kneel beside her, covering her hand with my own as I call her softly.
"Christine... "
She comes awake flailing and screaming, crawling away wild-eyed. When she realizes where she is, and that she is safe, she collapses, sobbing again. I gather her onto my lap as one does a child who's fallen from a swing. I rock her gently and hum. As my voice relaxes her, she clutches my shirt and shivers.
"Cold," she whispers.
"You must come and eat, I've prepared a fine hot meal for you. That's partly why you're cold; you're empty," I remind her. "Come along, my sleepyhead." I carry her to the table and slip my house coat over her shoulders. I chuckle as I serve up her dinner; she looks lost among the folds of black fabric. She pitches in heartily, which relieves me enough to eat a bit myself.
"Did I really sleep all day?" she asks, surprised. "Is it really half-eight?"
I nod. "You've not been yourself, my dear. I'm gratified to see you eating. Are you feeling better?"
"Yes. I--yes."
"It distresses me to have to bring it up this evening, Darling, but you may recall that all your clothing and belongings are…elsewhere." Instantly her eyes darken. I reach for her hand, longing to comfort her. I can only guess at the memories which haunt her. Guilt knots my stomach for ever letting her go with him; what a fool I was, so immersed in my own grief that I could not recognize her cry for rescue. It was only later, as I tortured myself endlessly with events of that dreadful night that I realized what Christine had been trying to tell me. It all came crystal clear; the first kiss to save the boy's life, the second to tell me it was me she wanted; her return to give me the ring; turning back to me with a silent plea as he spirited her away.
"There, Christine, you needn't return to that place. Erik shall see to it. I shall send word tomorrow." She sighs shakily as I pat her hand.
-0-0-0-0-
I leave the light on low tonight; tonight I want to see her better. Christine tenses the moment I embrace her, clamps her eyes shut tight. I draw close and whisper words of encouragement.
"I will not hurt you again, Angel; remember, I promised." Of course she is afraid, dammit. What sort of way is this to begin a life together? It will not do for my abiding fury with the so-called almighty to flare now; I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood and my eyes water. Crude; but it distracts the beast within.
"Shall I sing, Christine?" She nods and I stroke her back gently, gently. I feel her relaxing with each breath. I glide from one song into the next, and soon it is Christine's loving gaze I am basking in once again
"Sing with me. " I breathe it against her ear and she shudders, taking up the melody as easily as drawing a breath. My adoring voice defers to hers and slips into a poignant minor key counter melody. I feel almost guilty weaving this spell, but I tell myself that if she can only move past her fear, she will see that we can find heaven with our bodies as well as our voices. Christine responds almost immediately; her eyes widen, lips part, and I see that she is not breathing properly for singing.
I caress her lips as she sings; trace her jaw line; slide my hand onto her graceful throat. Our song fades. Her eyes are closed; I remove my mask and claim her lips. Slipping her gown from her shoulders, I trail kisses over her silken flesh. It seems to glow in the lamplight. I capture a nipple between my lips; Christine gasps and arches her back, weaving her fingers into my hair. Her body undulates beneath my mouth and hands.
My lips meander over her ribs, hips; lower. I sense her uncertainty, and so move back to her ear for another song, continuing my attentions with my hand. She is fully enchanted again soon, and I move gently but swiftly to my treasured destination. Christine is more than willing now. Her thighs part at my slightest touch; her hips move to encourage my efforts; again her fingers entangle in my hair. Her sighs make an incomparable melody; her fragrance, her taste are more than I can bear. I tremble violently, mad with love; all but blind with desire. She surrenders to me, her muscles taut, her hands clenching great handfuls of my hair. She wails and mews, seizes, and falls back as if in a faint. I move over her and she embraces me languidly. Her eyes are closed and her smile is dreamy and peaceful. It is much easier sliding inside her tonight; she coos with surprise and begins to move with me. Oh, bliss; I wish I could die now. She draws me into a kiss, the longest ever; how sweetly demanding she is.
We begin our climb to the summit together; a glorious dance. Suddenly I am ashamed of all the ugly thoughts I've harbored; forgive me, God, I pray silently. Thank you, thank you for this miracle that I'd lost all hope of experiencing. Thank you for this girl; thank you for helping her to love me, despite myself. Christine's hands tighten on my shoulders; I feel each of her fingers digging in deliciously. Her moans tell me her crisis is near again; she urges me on wordlessly. I whisper that I adore her as she begins to tremble. She squeezes me rhythmically inside her; I am coming with her now. She embraces me so tightly I can scarcely breathe. Raising her hips, she throws her head back, and cries out:
"Raoul!"