Author's Note:
Dear Readers,
I actually posted on my posting day! *rejoices* I am sorry though for the lateness in the chapter. I have been very busy with school and writing has had to take a back seat for the past several weeks. But, I wrapped up my first quarter and am now beginning my second so chapters should be coming more often.
I hope this was worth the wait though!
sarahandmarquis
P.S. A friend and I have just finished writing a 1989 POTO fanfic and after editing one of us will be posting it. Please review and, on top of letting me know what you think about the chapter, add your thoughts on that possibility as well. It's a full-length fanfic based only on the 1989 version. We're very proud of it and are sure y'all will enjoy it very much!
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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not! I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot.
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Reviews:
Lunacat: You have your wish! This chapter is all Erik Christine scenes! I hope it makes up for them not being there at all last chapter.
Guest: Glad you liked it! Thank you for reviewing!
Child of Dreams: Agreed!
Yours Anonymous: Thank you for those recommendations. I can't say the last chapter has been the best I've written in this book. I hope this chapter is an improvement.
Whatanidea15: We shall see….*grins*
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Word Count: 1716
Was" Count: 1
"Were" Count: 1
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Chapter 10
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Mademoiselle Day, I have returned from my business trip. When would be a good time to resume our meetings?
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Welcome back! The same time as before still works for me if you're okay with that. How was your business trip?
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Then, we shall keep it the same. As for my trip, it was a success.
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You'll have to tell me about it when we see each other tomorrow. I gtg, work starts soon. Talk to you later!
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Boney fingers loosely wrapped the cashmere shawl around their hands and slid it into a small white box, lightly patting the material into place within its confines. With the lid firmly secured with tape, scissors cut bits of ribbon from a white spool and tied them in a pretty bow around the box's sides. Carefully affixing the label, he scribbled her name in the "to" category and his name in the "from" category.
She always wears white. White boots, white dresses, white jewelry. This shawl should be something she'll enjoy…
His thoughts trailed off as he tucked it carefully under his arm and carried it downstairs where the smells of the deviously-seasoned pot roast drifted through the rooms and made his stomach growl unexpectedly.
After depositing the gift at her place at the table, he stepped into the kitchen, nearly overwhelmed by the sweet smell of cooking beef flavored with garlic salt, onions, and a mix of foreign spices. A contented sigh escaped him while he flipped the switch to 'off', letting the meat sit and simmer in its juices to optimum flavor.
The clock chimed once, alerting him to the passing of a quarter hour.
Beauty will be here soon.
The next fifteen minutes passed painfully slow. Several times, he passed by the front door, parting the curtains to peer down the driveway and sidewalk, each time ending with his hopes plummeting when the gravel and pavement failed to bring Christine to him.
Polished dress shoes clicked against the hardwood floor in even succession while black-gloved hands fought each other, a visible demonstration of his discomfort. Golden eyes kept wandering back to the white box sitting innocently at her place, taunting him with the risks he took in giving her something.
When he had bought it, in the heart of Spain, he hadn't thought twice about it. He had seen it hanging in the bazaar in the blinding heat and knew it had to be hers. The light material would look so fine and elegant floating about her graceful form. He could picture the smile she would give him.
But now, he worried.
Is it possible I am breaking some rule?
Perhaps she doesn't like shawls.
Perhaps she doesn't want anything from me.
It was bought with blood money after all.
Never before he had ever reviewed his accounts and felt shame. On one line, his payment to Christine for her friendship, on the next a payment to him for his killing. The difference had shocked him, sending shivers down his spine and rocking his stomach. The organ had churned and nearly relieved him of his breakfast.
It is a small cost, Erik, if it makes her happy.
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White knuckles lightly rapped against the black door and heels bounced against the doorsteps. The sound of knocking had barely faded when the door leapt open and the black-suited Erik stood in the doorway, white mask gleaming in the sunlight.
"Good evening!" She exclaimed happily, surprised when he responded with a single nod and stepping back to allow her inside. "The air is getting a nip to it! Before we know it, fall will be upon us." Her jacket slid from her should and hung on the coatrack next to the door. Devoid of the thin wool, she pivoted on her heels and gave Erik a smile. "Did you have a good trip?"
"Ah, yes." He said, wringing his hands behind his back and refusing to look her straight in the eye. "Yes, the trip was nice. I brought something back for you."
"Oh!" Her eyes lit up brightly and clapped her hands next to her face. "I love gifts! What is it?"
When Erik gestured towards the dining room, she practically skipped in and stared at the absolutely perfectly bound present, the bow looking as if he had spent hours trying to perfect the exact knot that would look the best on the box.
"It looks so nice, I almost don't want to open it." She laughed before noticing the disappointed droop in his shoulders. "Almost." She corrected, catching herself winking at him before tugging on the loose ends of the bow and watching the white silk ribbon slide through the knot.
Fighting the desire to rush through and just rip off the ribbon, she slowly pushed it aside and lifted the box, staring in confusion at the pillow of white that greeted her. She reached in and touched the soft cloth, thin and warm.
"What is this…" She whispered, pulling it from the box and hanging the cloudy shawl before her, the cashmere floating around her hands. "Oh, Erik…" She breathed as he began to ramble.
"I saw it and thought you might like it. If you don't like it, I can return it. You don't like it, do you. I'm sorry!" He reached forward to take it away and nurse his disappoint in a moments worth of peace when she snatched it back and hugged it against her.
"No!" She exclaimed, tossing the shawl around her shoulder and snuggling into the cashmere. "I love it! I've always wanted something like this. How did you know to get it in white?"
"You wear a lot of white." He said, gesturing to her dress even now, a white outfit with a knee-length flared skirt with a scattering of flowers across the material. A handsome blushed stained her cheeks as she quietly laughed.
"You are right. I do wear a lot of it." Running her hands against soft cloth, she turned him, her face nearly splitting with a smile. "Thank you so much, Erik. I love it so much. This must have cost you a fortune!"
"Money is nothing." He waved away her concern over it with a flick of his fingers.
"But-"
"The music industry is a lucrative business in the niche I have found and all I have to spend the money on is property taxes." His poor attempt at a cracking a joke brought laughter to her as she twirled around the dining room, almost playing with the shawl.
"Then, I shan't argue. Just, don't bankrupt yourself for a shawl for me." She paused her spinning in front of him, giving herself a moment to return her body to equilibrium, before hugging him tightly to her, her arms gripping his neck and pressing the nose of his mask against her covered collarbone. His breath locked inside his lungs, and his heart thundered against his ribs.
The formerly faint smell of her light perfume pleasantly assaulted his nose; the warm of the bare arms burned through his fancy suit; the calming sound of her heart and breathing filled his ears. Fearful of doing something wrong, he barely lifted one arm to rest on her back.
"Thank you." She whispered into his ear before releasing him and bounding to the entryway to leave the shawl there for safe keeping. Relief washed over him as he took a moment to catch his breath. She loved it. I did right. I made her happy! She hugged me! I would do anything for that feeling again.
"What's for super?" She asked, reappearing into the dining room, the light of joy still shining in her eyes.
"Ah, a roast with potatoes, carrots, and onions. I hope that is acceptable?" He asked, leading her to the kitchen, filled with smell of cooking roast.
"Very acceptable! It smells delicious." She grinned and, while he began to piece out the roast and sides, hopped up onto the counter to watch him. After a few minutes of running through her brain about new things in her life that might encourage conversation between then, she remembered the present of a new "friend" in her life.
"Did you know I got a new friend?" She asked, leaning over and stealing a bite of roast from the platter. He lightly swatted at her hand, earning a giggle from the playful young woman.
"I noticed on your profile page." He remarked, remembering with some embarrassment his original terror at the thought of losing her over the person. It is still possible she will find him more interesting but she still returned and seems happy. He glanced over at her, ascertaining from her guiltless smiling face that she was content with him. "Did you meet with him while I was gone?"
"Yep! And, he seems like a nice guy. He's a retired policeman and a widower and is lonely. We had a nice talk over dinner at the local restaurant then again for supper at another restaurant. He told me the saddest story about a friend he had when he was a boy." The smile disappeared from Christine's face as she remembered the story about the child who hadn't known his own name.
"What was the story?" Erik asked, as a way to keep her talking so he wouldn't have to find a subject with which to carry the conversation.
"Well, he grew up in France and befriended this little boy who didn't even know his own name. He taught him how to read and write and play games…" She trailed off, noticing that Erik's hand had jerked to a stop as she spoke. "Is something wrong?"
"What was the name of the boy?" He whispered as if his throat were closing in around his words.
"Of the boy or of my friend?"
"Both." He nearly demanded, turning to face her, the knife still hanging between his fingers. He didn't even notice the gravy and fat dripping onto the fancy tile.
"My friend's name is Dalir now but he changed his name from Nadir Khan. And, he called the boy Ami because –"
The knife fell from violently trembling hands, soon mirrored by the unconscious body of Erik.
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Author's Note:
Dear Readers,
PLEASE DON'T KILL ME FOR THIS! I have my reasons. The next chapter will be up a lot sooner than these others have been so you shouldn't have to wait too long to know what happens.
I love each and every one of my readers/reviewers! Thank you so much for your support!
sarahandmarquis