She'd waited two months before mentioning the wedding.
What can I bring?
The relentless gloom and cold of winter seemed to be finally nearing an end, as temperatures rose and the sky had begun to stay lighter a bit longer every evening. That week in March, however, had ushered in one final cold snap and the city was hunkered against blowing snow and single degree temperatures once more.
She always questioned if he needed her to bring anything up on the nights she went to his house for dinner, and his reply was always "just yourself." She smiled when her phone buzzed a moment later, expecting his usual answer.
Just yourself, in your pajamas.
And bring that terrible bottle of red, please.
Christine blinked in surprise, not anticipating an actual request to be made.
She mentally thought through her pajamas as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, deciding that she'd probably need to up her game from her normal default of a t-shirt or cotton tank and panties. The filmy little blue scrap of gauze and lace she'd purchased the previous month flashed through her mind, and heat rose in her cheeks. Even though she knew he'd be very happy to see it again, she suspected it was not what he had in mind when he'd requested her to come over in pajamas.
Daytime pajamas it is.
Her fleece-lined leggings paired with a long tank and oatmeal-colored cardigan would do. Opening the top drawer of her bureau, she pulled out a pair of fuzzy socks, spying the spa blue lingerie folded at the back of the drawer.
She'd been out shopping the week of Valentine's Day with Meg when she'd purchased the babydoll.
"Christine, what about this one?" Meg had called out, holding up yet another piece of outrageous lingerie.
"Meg!" Christine had ducked her head in embarrassment at the sidelong look from an older man shopping with his wife, glancing from the lingerie Meg was waving about to Christine. "I told you, we don't have that kind of relationship right now!"
"That's right, you're 'taking it slow'. You're taking it so slow that you needed to get a new IUD."
"My appointment was three months overdue," she'd gritted out as the older man cocked his head to eavesdrop more effectively. "That didn't have anything to do with him. Aren't we supposed to be shopping for your honeymoon?"
In truth, the appointment with her gynecologist had come as a result of Erik's moment of panic over protection on New Year's Eve. She'd assured him in the moment that she had an IUD and they were fine to proceed, not remembering until later that week that she'd avoided making her appointment to have the device replaced after it's expiration before the holidays had come and gone.
"Mmhm. Well, I'm just saying it is Valentine's Day. You might want to speed things up."
She'd turned away with a flush, having known it wasn't worth mentioning that Erik was out of town visiting a building site, that he wasn't due to be home until the day after the hearts and candy-filled holiday.
She'd spotted the blue babydoll on a clearance rack near the fitting rooms as she'd followed Meg, had stared at it out of the corner of her eye as she held their bags, thinking that it was surely a sign that the translucent material was the same color as the sweater Erik had bought her during the Gifts of the Season game.
"I'm trying something on," she'd called through Meg's door before dragging all of their shopping bags into the next changing room.
She'd been staring at herself in the mirror, her blue eyes opened wide, when Meg tapped on the door, demanding to see.
"Chris, I can see your nipples. Those cups are sheer. This is not 'we're taking it slow' lingerie, in case you weren't sure."
"No, it's not," she'd whispered in agreement.
Christine and Bibi had been sitting in front of the fire with Thai takeout, watching a Hallmark movie the night of Valentine's Day when the sound of the garage door opening startled her into uneasy alertness. Erik came staggering through the door a moment later, overladen with his work and overnight bags, a giant bouquet of long stemmed roses in his arm. She and the cat had both jumped up to greet him. He'd seemed exhausted when she kissed him, had noticeably deflated when she let him go off to a hot shower alone.
"Ok, let's go over the plan again," she'd told the cat, who'd stared up attentively from her spot on the sofa. "I'm officially done kitty-sitting you. We had a nice time, didn't we?"
Bibi had twisted onto her back, mewling up in agreement.
"So you're going to be a good girl and let daddy and I have some private time with the door closed, right? I promise we'll let you in before we go to sleep. Okay? Deal?" The hand she held out was headbutted and Christine gave the cat a kiss between the ears before hurrying upstairs to change.
The lingerie had been well received. When Erik had come out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his narrow hips, his eyes had been saucer-wide as they took in the sight of her kneeling in the center of the bed in the sheer blue babydoll. When she'd woken the next morning, she'd still been wearing the filmy scrap of fabric. He'd refused to let her take it off, only removing the matching panties the night before. With his teeth, she'd thought, smiling into his neck before cuddling closer into his warm side.
Now the spa blue lingerie winked up at her from her drawer, and Christine decided to pack it in the little bag she brought with her when she went next door for dinner. They were a type of pajama, she rationalized. They'd been taking it slow for nearly two months, after all. Maybe Meg was right.
Maybe it was time to speed things up.
.
.
They'd been "taking it slow" since the night they'd had dinner after the holidays, seeing each other no more than once or twice a week in the evenings, and a late lunch on Wednesdays.
"I have some questions," she'd started hesitantly the night of their post-holiday date, tucking her legs beside her on the sofa after their alternative New Year's Eve-menu dinner.
When he'd answered the door for her that night, Erik had been wearing the mask.
He took her coat after a stammered greeting, turning away hastily. Christine felt her stomach clench at his obvious nervousness over having her back in his house. Their perfect day spent together on the holiday suddenly seemed very distant. They'd made stilted, superficial small talk as she watched him puttering around the kitchen: picking out their wine, checking the oven three times more than necessary, doing anything to keep himself in motion, avoiding her eye.
The mask unnerved her.
It was same burn mask he'd worn the other times she'd been over-flesh toned and thin, and Christine could clearly make out the angles of his face beneath, but it wasn't his face. She was used to the uneven texture and color of his burns, the pulled eyelid and melted nose.
In that moment Christine realized that Erik being comfortable enough in his mask to go out with her, for them to be a normal couple was the least of her worries-she was the one who would need to adjust to the mask.
"Will you please take that off," she blurted, interrupting whatever he'd been saying, unable to hold it in any longer.
When she looked up from her clasped hands, it was to Erik's eyes holding hers for the first time since he'd let her in. She couldn't discern the emotion that swirled there.
It was a long, tense moment before he turned away and slipped the mask from his face.
Christine sagged with relief, sighing when he turned back slowly. He eyed her in wary confusion as she crossed the room to him, the small smile on her mouth the first genuine one to cross her face since she'd arrived.
"Thank you," she whispered, stretching up on her toes and tugging his shirt until he bent to meet her lips. When she'd pulled back, his eyes were soft, the tension that had been sitting between them since she'd arrived seemingly shed along with his mask.
"What kind of of questions?"
His voice was a mellifluous purr beside her. They were seated in their customary spot before the fire, with several respectable inches between them. The nervousness that left his eyes when she'd kissed him had stayed gone, to her relief.
They'd entertained each other over dinner with laughing stories of their respective undergrads and the manic hysteria of grad school. If she had once allowed herself to lazily become trapped in an unhappy marriage, and if he'd once been in an accident that had left him disfigured and broken, it wasn't mentioned that night.
It was all she could do to keep herself from cuddling up against him once they were seated before the fire, as she'd done several days earlier. You have things to talk about, she reminded herself. You can do this. Taking a sip of her wine for fortitude, Christine took a deep breath.
"On New Year's Day, when we woke up…" She felt her cheeks heat, thinking about waking in bed with him. "You looked like…" Her voice trailed off, and it took a moment to refind her courage. "...like you regretted my being there."
"I did," he said automatically, and Christine felt herself shrink. "But not because of you," he went on hurridley, turning slightly to face her. "That was me."
"I don't understand." She winced at her voice, barely a whisper. She examined the crevasses of space between them, keeping her eyes averted until long fingertips reached out, brushing a gossamer thread of hair from her temple before raising her chin gently.
"I like you, Christine," he implored her. Erik's starburst eyes were shot through with worry and regret, and she felt her stomach swoop and bunch under his pleading gaze. "I didn't want to just fall into bed with you. I didn't expect to do anything, I didn't think you'd ever want...not with...it's not what I meant to happen. You deserve better than that, especially after everything you've been through this year."
"I like you too," she whispered after a moment. She found that she missed the nervous thrum of the butterflies in her chest; this new sensation of an itchiness along her spine and tingling in her skin was unfamiliar and unwelcome. She didn't miss the subtext of his words, assuming that she wouldn't want to be intimate with him. If he only knew! Christine scoffed internally, thinking of the countless weeks of dreaming of having him in her bed.
"I don't want that to have been a one night stand, Erik, but I don't regret it...I hope you don't either."
"I don't regret you," he murmured, his voice low and deep and so incredibly close. She wasn't sure when she'd shifted, but that respectable distance between them was gone. "You're perfect, that day was perfect...I just wish I'd been more of a gentleman about it. I wanted to do things the right way with you."
She was able to taste the wine she loved on his lips. As his arm slipped around her, Christine wondered if it was truly the wine that she loved, or the taste of it on him. When he broke the kiss off, the room spun before her eyes for several heartbeats.
"You said questions, plural."
"Yes," she wheezed, attempting to catch her breath, "I did."
It was annoying how easily he recovered from things, she thought, the way he could slow his thrumming pulse and pull himself back to order when she felt ready to shake apart from nerves and anxiety and desire.
"I guess I want to know what exactly you're looking for." She felt her face heat as his forehead bunched. "I mean, we can take things slow, I think that would be smart, but I-I just want to know that we're on the same page."
"We can be whatever you want want us to be, Christine," Erik said steadily, "and we can take things as slowly as you'd like."
The breath she'd been holding let out slowly, and her head dropped back against the sofa in relief. "Okay, I-I just wanted to make sure. I'm starting therapy next week," she swallowed hard, relieved to see Erik's forehead smooth out and his eyes soften.
"That's good," he murmured, gently pushing her hair behind her ear. "That's important. You've been through a lot, you've had a lot of big changes in your life in a short amount of time. It'll be good for you to talk to someone."
Christine sighed again, relief flooding her. She knew he would understand. "Have you gone to therapy before? I'm so nervous already just thinking about it."
"I did, after." He didn't elaborate, and she didn't need him to. His life was very clearly divided into two separate columns of 'before' and 'after.'
"It's...challenging. You have to do a lot of hard work."
"I have a lot of work to do," she agreed. "I have panic attacks and I-I just want to be able to be functional again and go back to work...and I don't know if I'll be able to be any good in a serious relationship for a while."
Erik blinked slowly, his face impassive. "Why don't we cross that bridge when we come to it," he said in an even, careful voice.
Christine felt her chest tighten. You're already not worth the trouble. "I-I mean, not right away. I just don't want you to be disappointed right now, but that-that's what I want...eventually."
"Let's just take things one day at a time."
His words conjured up a memory in the recesses of her mind; a cobwebbed echo of an awkward conversation with her biology lab partner during her first year at university. He'd asked her out mid-semester, and she'd concocted a story about not being ready for a relationship after leaving her high school boyfriend behind.
Why don't we just take things one day at a time.
She'd been a lazy coward then too, she realized, feeling tears prick at her eyes.
"Erik, if you're not really interested in anything serious, that's fine. I know I'm a disaster right now and it's probably too much to expect, but please be honest with me, I just want to-"
"Christine."
Her voice cut off at the sound of his, and she felt a shudder ripple up her body. Even emphasis on both syllables, a glissando on the s and a slight lean on the t. Erik said her name as though it were a prayer, as if he were speaking an offering to the ancient gods.
"Listen to me," he murmured, cupping her cheek in his massive hand. "You're going to focus on putting your life back together. You're going to bo back to work, you're going to let that glorious voice be heard by someone other than my cat. Every day you wake up you're going to be a little bit stronger, it'll be a little bit easier. A year from now you're going to look back and this last year is going to seem like nothing more than a bad dream."
"...and you won't be interested in me until then," she mumbled slowly, trying to piece through the hidden meaning of his words.
Erik's eyes narrowed in confusion at her words. "What? No, that's not-"
She watched his throat bob as he stopped talking, looking away briefly. Christine let her own eyes slip shut and attempted to control her emotions, to stop the sob that wanted so badly to free itself from her throat.
She was going to get better, she was going to start living again, and she was going to do it for herself...but she knew she'd be lying if she tried to convince herself she hadn't been hoping he'd be there as a part of it. The tremor that shivered through her as he gently stroked her cheek nearly shook her apart.
"Christine," he whispered again, "you're going to put your life back together...and you're not going to want someone like me around once you do."
Her eyes snapped open at his words to see the weary resignation in his eyes.
"Why would you think that, Erik?" That empty cavern the butterflies had left was being filled with something hot and simmering. She was mad at the way her voice broke over his name, angry that she was unable to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks, she was furious that he would assume she would lose interest once she was less broken, once she had more to offer someone else. "Why?!"
His thumb swiped lightly over her cheekbone, preventing another tear from moving further down her face. His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft and sad. "You're so beautiful…"
Christine jerked away from his hand angrily. "Why do you say that like it means something? Like it's important? Being pretty didn't keep me from having to watch my father die a long, painful death. Being pretty didn't keep my husband faithful, didn't keep him from leaving. It didn't save my job, or keep me from falling apart."
Ever since she was a little girl, Christine had been an angry crier. It had been mortifying when she was in junior high, even worse when she'd been trying to "win" a fight with her ex-husband. She hated that tears reduced her to being perceived as merely an over-emotional woman, and she was furious with herself for crying at that moment...which only made the tears fall faster.
"There's only one person being shallow here. My mistake for thinking I was more than just the 'pretty neighbor'."
She found herself being pulled to his chest and rocked in his arms, his deep voice whispering apologies into her hair, against her skin, against her lips.
"You're everything."
Her anger ebbed away at the genuine remorse in his voice, knowing this was his issue to work out, not hers.
"Why did you stop going?" she asked after several minutes of laying quietly in his arms, after her tears had subsided. It took him a long moment to answer, but she was expecting the silence.
"It was...hard. It was easier not to."
It was easier to disappear, she thought, feeling her heart ache. She remembered the way the college students who lived on the other side of him had walked right by his darkened house on Christmas Eve as though it were invisible, the way she was the only one on the street who seemed to notice the man next door. She hated that he'd simply accepted fading away from existence.
"I want you to go back," she whispered. "I want you to go back, but I want you to go back for you, not for me. I want to be in a relationship with the guy I really like next door, not a ghost. But you have to want to be him first."
"How are you so smart if you're such a mess?" he grumbled after a moment. She huffed in laughter against him, feeling his arms tighten slightly.
"I wasn't always a mess, you know."
The silence that followed was comfortable. They each had work ahead of them, she thought, but they were comfortable together. It was several long moments before he spoke again, in a low voice that made her stomach swoop once more.
"I wasn't always a ghost."
.
.
She'd put their version of "taking it slow" into effect immediately. Once a week, Christine would go to his house, kick off her shoes at the door, and head straight to the cat for treats and kisses, mollifying Bibi before seeking her own kiss. On the second night a week they'd see each other, Erik would come to her, flowers in his hands and nervousness in his eyes. The uncertainty of his smile would melt away when she'd stretch up on her toes to meet his lips before tugging him inside.
They'd cook together, make music together, and then spend the night in each other's beds, showing their appreciation for the time spent in the other's company with lips and teeth and tongues, tangled limbs and sweaty, straining bodies.
She had a feeling her therapist would raise an eyebrow over their definition of "taking it slow," but Christine didn't care. Living her life on her own terms was one of the things she'd decided she wanted to work on. She was doing what made her happy, and didn't feel inclined to explain herself.
All is healed
All is health
On Wednesday afternoons she would go to her weekly appointment. The building, located across the street from a suburban strip mall, was grey and non-descript, housing a chiropractor and an aesthetician on other floors. She liked knowing that to anyone else in the elevator, she might have just been getting her nails done.
"Will you have lunch with me, after?" she'd asked him in a panic, the day before her first appointment. She'd initially thought to call Meg, but was worried she'd need to cry afterwards, and Erik had witnessed her tears nearly every single time she'd seen him. If we're going to be a couple, he needs be willing to leave the house...
He'd pinched the bridge between his eyes and seemed to hold his breath when he'd asked her who she was seeing in that building, releasing a relieved sigh at her answer.
"Same practice, different office. We're quite the pair."
He made Wednesdays the regular day he went into his office, a sleek, mirrored high rise somewhere downtown, meeting her at the small coffee shop in the strip mall across the street from the therapist's office after her appointment. The coffee shop was quiet during the day, and despite Erik's obvious anxiety, the two bored baristas barely raised an eyebrow at the masked man who met the petite blonde every week.
She'd fretted that he was rearranging his entire schedule for her, that he was leaving early because of her, that he was-
"Christine."
Her voice broke off when he said her name; shivering as she always did. Leaning across the small cafe table, he'd kissed the tip of her nose as she gripped her cup with both hands.
"Who's going to tell me no?"
When he'd made his own standing Wednesday appointment with his own therapist several weeks later, she had once again felt the fluttering of tremulous wings within her, a handful of colorful stragglers who'd evidently stayed behind. He was trying to be brave, she thought elatedly.
Christine discovered the bus route to the the little strip mall ran hourly, and that the aesthetician on the building's top floor offered a spa package of one of each service they offered. Since she was working on "being compassionate and kinder to herself," she'd decided to purchase the package, availing herself to a massage or a facial or pedicure each week while Erik was in his session before driving home together.
"She asked if I've allowed myself to grieve. What the hell does she think I've been doing for the past year?" she'd raged as she viciously stabbed a forkful of her coffee house salad. "Lying around in my pajamas for funsies?"
Erik quietly sipped his coffee as she grumbled until his silence unnerved her. "You obviously have an opinion," she huffed.
"I absolutely do not. There's no right or wrong answers to this. I told you it was work, lovely girl."
"You know you're very cute when you're full of shit."
His laugh made him choke on the sip he'd been taking and Christine winked up when he glared at her.
"I think...there's a difference between depression and grieving. And that's all I think. I've got to go." He glanced down at his expensive-looking watch before un-wedging his knees from under the small table and bent to kiss her cheek, his eyes darting self-consciously to the counter where the barista was busy on her phone. "Go get your nails done. I'll see you after."
Whereas she spent the hour in the coffee shop telling him about her appointments, sometimes in frustration, sometimes with excitement, Erik would be very quiet after his own sessions. Quiet and contemplative on the entire drive home, and she understood that he needed the space, and let Silence ride serenely in the backseat.
If they made out like teenagers upon returning to his driveway, which they occasionally did before saying goodnight to each other, Christine decided it was well within the realm of "taking it slow," as she entered her home alone.
Two days later, when she came home from the symphony hall, there was a box leaning on her door. Her audition with the director of the symphony chorus had been nerve-wracking. She'd gone to that audition alone, had prepared a Handel piece that showed off her flexibility and a Verdi aria that showed off her range. The director had been there for years, had remembered her father and expressed his remorse to hear of his passing. It had been all she could do to keep her emotions from bubbling over, and thought that perhaps she understood Erik's words in the coffee shop after all.
"Let's hear another," the director had called out gaily. "Just for old time's sake, anything you want. Show me what music is 'Christine' right now."
The music for the Barber art song was in her portfolio, and the accompanist trilled through the short opening notes.
The late year lies down the north
All is healed
All is health
High summer holds the earth
Hearts all whole
She'd cried the entire way home, not entirely sure why. Starting the following Thursday, she would be attending rehearsals with the rest of the symphony choir, in that hall where she'd spent so much of her childhood, where her father's voice still echoed in the pit and smiled from the staircase. Her first step back into the world.
The box had contained a sleeve from an online art store, and the art print was of a brightly colored sea creature that she instantly dubbed "Rainbow Nessie". It reminded her of the Lisa Frank folders she'd had in elementary school and a wide smile stretched across her blotchy face. The smile froze in place when she pulled the print fully from the sleeve to see the script adorning the side.
It's completely okay if you cry today
As if on command, tears filled her eyes once more, and her smile stretched wider.
He was far from perfect, but Christine couldn't help thinking that he was perfect for her.
.
.
She hopped from foot to foot in the blowing cold, rapping her mittened knuckles against the glass impatiently once more, annoyed that he'd not left the door unlocked for her on this of of all nights. The cat appeared in the kitchen, cocking her head curiously as she approached the door, her gimlet eyes focused and glowing.
"Bibi, go find daddy!" she pleaded in vain through the glass. Shifting the bag with the wine bottle to her other arm, Christine huffed in aggravation. When she looked up, he was there at last.
Erik moved swiftly across the room from the direction of the stairs. Christine smiled at the sight of him as he approached, in his grey flannel pajama pants and a fitted black t-shirt that showed the defined cut of his lean arms. His heavy black frames sat on his face, and behind the glass, his eyes were narrowed as he scowled down at her.
He made no move to unlock the door.
Thin lips pressed into a hard line and he shook his head. Christine was reminded of the time she had snuck out in junior high to attend a party. She'd been clumsy on her re-entry to the house, and her father had greeted her at the door with a look similar the one Erik was giving her now. Another sharp gust of wind cut through her coat and she squealed indignantly, mentally trying to run through what it was she'd done wrong. She'd brought the wine, she'd worn her pajamas...glasses.
If there was any one indication that they were two dorks who belonged together, she thought, rummaging through her overnight bag, it was the fact that they were both incredibly turned on by the sight of the other in their glasses.
Christine slipped on her oversized frames and stuck her tongue out. He was sliding the door open and tugging her inside a breath later, the rush of warmth from the room made her cheeks tingle. "You were seriously going to let me freeze to death?" she groused, kicking off her fuzzy boots and dropping her bags near the door.
"I don't ask for much, you know," Erik's rich, resonant voice rumbled at her neck.
"Yeah, well you-" Her thought finished on a squeak as he scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to the sofa and pulling the blanket around her. Any rebuttal she'd been planning was lost as his mouth descended on hers, lips and breath and tongue, and Christine had no recollection of what she'd been about to say by the time he'd stopped kissing her.
A big band playlist was chosen to sing along with when he pulled her to the kitchen. She sputtered in outrage when he announced they were making his boeuf bourguignon recipe, which was the "only thing" in which he claimed her wine was good for. When he stood behind her at the counter, slipping his arms around her as she peeled the papery skin from an onion, her outrage was forgotten.
I've got you under my skin
I've got you, deep in the heart of me
So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me
Erik's lips ghosted at her neck and she faltered on the next line. It had been several weeks since he'd last worn the mask when she came over, since the night she'd been waiting for him in his bed in her new lingerie.
Music and food and love.
"Taking it slow" was just a thing to say at this point.
"Now what?" she asked, turning to him when the enameled pot had been slid into the hot oven.
"Now we're going to go upstairs," he murmured, setting the timer on the oven, "and take these pajamas off. We have an hour before this will be done."
She'd slipped his glasses off once they were in the sanctity of his room, waiting for him to do the same to her, but he'd just pushed her to the center of the bed. Kissing a line down her body, he told her to leave her glasses on as he pulled her legs over his shoulders. She'd dragged her nails lightly down his neck and across his back as he moved his tongue against her, until light began to dance behind her eyes and she'd been too paralyzed in pleasure to do anything more than grip the back of his head as she rode out the cresting wave of bliss that he brought on. Afterwards, he'd wasted no time in flipping her into her favorite position: laying prone, flat on the bed with him laying over her, pumping into her slowly and steadily until they both found an excruciatingly slow release. She'd slipped his glasses back on his face once he'd rolled away, kissing his thin lips gently.
It wasn't until after she'd followed him back downstairs, feeling loose-limbed and satisfied after their dalliance in his bed; not until after he served her the meal that they'd prepared together; not until she was resting across his lap in front of the fireplace, gently kissing the pulse point in his neck that she decided she was done "taking it slow."
"You know my friend Meg is getting married, right?"
"Mmhm."
Christine craned her neck to mock glare up at his flat reply. She'd learned his little non-committal "mhms" were varied in their meanings.
Erik had briefly met Meg already, a week or two after he'd come home early on Valentine's Day. Christine wouldn't admit to having contrived to have them at her house at the same time; she had absolutely no idea how the sink in her upstairs bathroom had randomly started leaking just a few minutes before Meg was due to to pick her up to tag along for a dress fitting. The entry on loosening the PVC pipes in her u-bend was deleted from her search history right after she'd sent him the panicked text, and he was rapping on her door a few minutes later.
Meg kept the smug smile on her face the entire way to the little bridal salon, grinned like a shark when Christine hugged Mrs. Giry, who was already there waiting, and could barely wait until the solicitous attendant had left the room before crowing "I met Christine's boyfriend!" to the room at large. Christine had felt her face heat as the two young women on the sofa turned at Meg's exclamation.
"Oh?" The arched brow of her mother was a mirror image to the one Meg sported.
"Yep! Mr. Fit Architect, in the flesh. Very tall. Very sexy voice. Mask is super weird, but I'm sure I can get used to it. He seems like an asshole, Chris. I like him a lot!"
Mrs. Giry had gaped in horror as the little attendant came back out with glasses of infused water and Meg fell silent. Fire flooded Christine's face to very top of her head, and she hadn't been able to keep from feeling affronted at Meg's words. Erik had flattened himself against the wall when Meg rang the bell, but had recovered his nerves as Christine dragged him down the steps to say hello, and had been perfectly polite.
When the attendant had scampered out of the room once more, Meg had sipped her water before continuing as if she hadn't been interrupted. "...And I mean that in the best possible way, Christine. I can tell he has a bit of a bite. That's good, that's what you need. You don't need another Raoul, another back-slapper who tries to be everybody's best friend. This guy will see someone being a shit and he'll call them a shit, he won't make excuses. I'm telling you, that's what you need. And he's crazy about you, I can tell."
Christine had blinked in surprise as the bridal gown was brought out. Meg's assessment of Erik was actually spot-on, she'd realized, beaming as her friend was fastening into the corset of her dress. He was far from perfect, but he was perfect for her.
From her spot in his lap, she fisted a hand in his t-shirt. The fire was warm, dinner had been heavy, and the sex they'd had earlier had been supremely satisfying. It would be easy to let her head drop against him and float away to sleep, avoiding this conversation, but she had given up taking the easy way out of things.
"C'mon, let's go to bed." She struggled to her feet, grasping his hands and tugging him up and down the hallway after the flights were flipped off. "You know I'm the maid of honor, right? I think you should come with me. It'll be fun."
"Come with you?" All traces of sleepiness were gone from his voice, being replaced instead with naked fear. When he paused in front of the bed, Christine could see his forehead was bunched in consternation, causing his glasses to slip down his face. "But-all of your friends will be there. Christine, you don't want me at something like that. Your friends will-"
"If my friends have a problem with my boyfriend," she said carefully, pulling the tank over her head and casting it aside, "then I'm not sure how good of friends they are in the first place."
Christine reached up to his face, ignoring his wide eyes and panicked expression. "God, you're so cute in these," she murmured, gently pulling the horn rims from his face, turning to set them on the table with her own. "You can say no if you really don't want to come," she continued softly, tugging his shirt up his lean chest and over his head. "But I really do want you there, and I hope you'll think about it. Now lie down, there're things I want to do to you before we go to sleep."
"But-"
"No buts," she interrupted firmly, pushing him down. It was her turn to kiss a trail down his body before taking him in her mouth, and she wanted him to enjoy it, not think. "I just want you to think about it, but not right now. Right now we're doing this."
He loved fisting his hands into her hair, and that night was no exception. Afterwards, as she snuggled into the inferno of his chest, feeling his fingers gently moving through her hair as her eyes grew heavier, Christine realized she hadn't cried at all that day. Not even once. And that's okay too.
Tomorrow would be a good day.