As always, I love to hear what you think of the direction this is going. :)


Chapter 11

The text came two days later while she was sitting in her morning class and doodling in her notebook. She had already drawn a mask, a flower, a violin, and a pony, and she was currently working on shading a stunning rendition of a bunny wielding a sword. Her phone vibrated atop her desk.

My dear Christine. Will you visit today? If you consent, a car will arrive to pick you up at 1:30 in the afternoon. Please pack what you need to stay overnight. I await you with eagerness. Yours, E.

She tucked her phone under the desk and typed an immediate answer.

Yes! I can't wait!

The next thirty minutes passed too slowly. As soon as the professor dismissed them, she shot out the door and fired off a text to Meg.

I need your help. Meet me at noon. My place.

Then she called her mother, who wasn't as text savvy. "Mama, I'm going to be tied up at school for the rest of the day. You already grabbed your suitcase, right?"

Anna complained at not getting to say a proper goodbye, as Christine thought she would, but agreed to get together again in two weeks. She was heading back to Connecticut that evening anyway, and her day was jam-packed with clients until then. Christine had been able to easily dodge her mother's questions earlier about the mysterious dinner date on Sunday by saying they had parted as friends. Which was true. Sort of.

Christine could barely focus on her next two classes, which were back-to-back, but she knew she needed to get through them in order to avoid any penalties. She sent emails to her professors tomorrow explaining that she wouldn't be there. Then, between classes, she called the library and asked for the next two days off. She usually worked Friday-Monday, so it didn't much matter anyway.

As soon as she was able, she hopped the bus back to her apartment. Meg found her kneeling among a messy spread of assorted clothing, one step away from tossing all of it into a way too large suitcase.

"Girl, what's going on?"

Christine gave her a frenzied look. "I'm leaving for New York in less than two hours, and I don't know what to wear!" Was she wailing? She wasn't the sort to wail over clothing, but she was sure she sounded shrill.

"Ok." Meg put her hands on her hips and appraised her. "Who are you and what have you done with Christine?"

"This isn't funny, Meg. I need serious help here. I'm- I'm meeting someone there."

"Someone? A male someone?" Meg waggled her eyebrows. "Who is it? You're going to have to dish before I'll help you."

Christine hesitated. How much should she reveal to her best friend? Meg had no idea that the same man who had kicked Christine out of his life in Paris was now hanging around her on the East Coast. Christine decided to throw caution to the wind. No matter what Meg said, she was going to New York anyway.

"It's the man I met in Paris." She waited for Meg to finish gawking at her, then continued. "I can hear all of your comments, so save them. He showed up and explained why he acted the way he did, and we've seen each other several times over the weekend. He wants me to come visit him in New York."

"He didn't give you much notice!"

No, he hadn't, but Christine was quickly getting used to his abruptness. She wasn't sure what that said about her, but sometimes, she found it all more exciting than she probably should. "He did warn me that an invitation was coming."

"As what, Christine? Friends? More than friends?"

"I… really don't know. We seem more than friends. He hasn't kissed me or anything since we made up, so stop looking at me like that."

Meg puffed a sigh. "I'm not one to judge, but you've really got to figure out what the point of this visit is. Did he give you any details about what you'll be doing?"

"Nothing besides that a car would come pick me up and I needed an overnight bag."

"Oh dear lord. Any other hints that this is something romantic? Anything, Christine? A man doesn't invite a woman on an overnight trip without thinking something of his own."

Christine tried not to blush. Any previous intimacy with Erik had been desperate and crazy, and he hadn't attempted much since he had shown up on her balcony. "He held my hand last night. And he called me beautiful."

"Uh-huh." Meg tapped a finger against her chin. "We'll assume this is a date, then. Let's take a look at your clothes."

Ten minutes later and Meg had chosen four different outfits for Christine, two casual and two dressier. Christine gave her a relieved smile, and Meg patted her hand in sympathy.

"My lovely Chris, all grown up."

Christine smacked her with a skirt lying nearby. "Anything else I need?"

"Lingerie?"

"Oh my god, Meg!"

Meg flung her arms out like she expected Christine to attack her again. "He's sending a car to pick you up for an overnight trip to the Big Apple. Do you really think he's not expecting something to happen while you're there?"

Christine looked away. "He's not like that."

"He's not a man?"

"He's not that kind of man. He's different, Meg, I don't know how else to explain it. He's… shy. Maybe that's not the right word, but he's not the type to pressure me into anything."

Meg peered into the upper drawer of Christine's dresser. "So you're saying you shouldn't come prepared?" She flicked a particular pair of lacy underwear in Christine's direction. "Even if you don't want to, even if he never suggests it, shouldn't you at least look cute?"

Christine sighed and tucked a few pairs of racier underwear into her bag. After Meg had helped her choose jewelry and shoes, she turned the topic of conversation to her upcoming going away party on Saturday.

"You'll be back for that, of course?" Meg asked.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Christine promised, beginning to pack her small travel bag. "What's the theme? I know you have one."

Meg laughed. "Well, I've done luau, toga, disco, and 80s in this year alone. So I thought, let's go sexy and secretive with a masquerade!"

Christine almost choked. "M-masquerade?"

"Yeah, you know, with masks and fancy gowns and stuff. Everyone has to dress up or they don't get in. Didn't you get my invitation?"

Admittedly, Christine hadn't checked her mail in a while. She'd been avoiding bills she knew were waiting for her. "I don't have anything to wear."

"Don't worry about it. I've got you covered. I bought like five outfits to try on for myself, so you can pick one of those."

"The party sounds awesome, Meg." Christine indicated her suitcase. "I'm going to finish packing. I'm supposed to be picked up soon, and I should grab a bite to eat beforehand."

Meg gave her a fierce hug. "Call me when you get there. Call me on the way back."

"Yes, Mom."

After her friend left, Christine scrambled to get everything she thought she might need, both for an overnight trip and for such a long drive.

At 1:30 exactly, Christine received a text from Erik.

Your chauffeur has arrived, my dear Christine. His name is James, and he knows little. I suggest you rest during your travel for we will be up late tonight. –E

She thought she knew what he meant by "he knows little." This person was just someone hired to drive her – not someone who knew all about Erik.

Christine was suddenly nervous, but she grabbed her bag and purse and headed out the door. In the front of her building, nestled at the curb, was a sleek black Rolls Royce. The driver, dressed in a black suit, stepped out and tipped his hat to her.

"Miss Daaé?"

"Y-yes."

"A pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle." He had a thick French accent, which brought a smile to Christine's lips.

"Thank you, James." He took her suitcase and placed it in the trunk, then opened the back door for her. The interior of the car was all gorgeous white leather that was soft under her palms as she slid inside. Everything was shiny and new. It even smelled expensive.

On the seat next to her was a small arrangement of various snacks and drinks. She also found a small pillow and an incredibly soft blanket waiting for her. Erik was serious about that napping thing, and Christine was beyond eager to find out what they were doing tonight.

James lowered the partition between them a few inches. "Miss Daaé, please don't hesitate to ask me for anything you need. We should arrive at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in a little less than four hours, and we will stop for a break halfway."

"Sounds great!" She popped a few grapes in her mouth and snuggled happily under the blanket. As the car pulled away from her apartment, she set the radio to her favorite station and pulled out the novel she had packed.

This was an excellent beginning to what she was sure would be a night to remember.


Christine had been to New York a few times while her father had still been alive. He had traveled all over the place, playing his violin wherever he was welcome in order to make a few bucks. Sometimes Christine had joined him by singing when he asked, encouraged to share her developing voice by his kind words.

She didn't have a lot of memories of the big city, but she did remember feeling so small under the towering buildings. Her father had always held her hand as they walked the streets, his large palm warm against hers. Hold tight, Christine, he had said. I wouldn't want my little dove to get lost.

Now, she craned her neck trying to peer up out the window. She had dutifully taken a long nap during the car ride, and while she felt a little crusty from sleep, she was eager to reach the hotel and see what came next.

It was about 5:30 p. m., and they had made excellent time. As Christine caught sight of Central Park, still quite green in the fading summer heat, the car pulled up to a curb in front of a large hotel with two tall glass towers rising to either side of the front building. Christine tried and probably failed to keep from gaping up at the opulent structures.

James parked and stepped out to open her door. "We are here, Miss Daaé. The hotel room is under the name Erik Garnier, and you may find a keycard at the front desk. I will have your suitcase taken to your room." He held up a hand when she tried to give him a tip. "No need, mademoiselle. Monsieur Garnier has paid all of my expenses tonight."

The inside of the hotel was gorgeous, unlike any place she had stayed before. Oh, she had seen fancy places before – she had explored Paris, after all – but she had never stayed among such lavishness. Erik had put a lot of thought and care into her trip. More and more, this was looking like a date rather than just a venture between two people still testing out whether or not they were friends.

The last name Garnier only added to the warmth she felt, a reference to the Palais Garnier, the very opera house under which they had met.

A manager at the front desk had clearly been notified of her arrival because she didn't even have to say who she was. A smile and a kind word, and she had a keycard in her hand and a bellhop to escort her to her room.

The hotel room was far larger than she expected – more like a small apartment in size. A huge bed, covered in plush white, stood to one side. An open bottle of champagne sat on ice on top of the dresser, along with a spread of fresh fruit and cheese. She poured a glass and sipped it as she explored.

Christine walked over to the large floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the corner. She had a clear view of Central Park, and under the fading sun, the park and the city were both gorgeous. She was beyond thrilled to finally be here after such a long drive.

A large dark gray divan took up part of the corner and upon it she found several items for her to peruse. She took a gulp of champagne and set aside her glass.

The first thing she found was a note inside a sealed envelope, written in Erik's red inked scrawl. Welcome to New York, my dear Christine. You would do me a great honor by wearing the items I have left for you. James will pick you up at 7:30. In the meantime, enjoy a bath and refreshment. Until then, E.

She put the note to her lips and inhaled. The crisp white paper smelled like him.

Oh, Erik.

The most obvious thing on the divan was a white garment bag. Christine unzipped it and gasped. Inside was a floor-length gown made of silk in a stunning shade of royal blue. She set it aside to study once she was ready to dress. Next to it, she found a case, which she opened with shaking hands. She found two items inside: one, a diamond-studded cuff for her wrist, the other, a diamond comb in the shape of a rose for her hair. She glanced at the floor where four boxes of shoes were lined up in a row.

Before she could even begin to think about wearing these expensive items, she needed to freshen up. Christine went to the bathroom, where she found an array of bubble baths, shampoos, and soaps, all in scents that she normally enjoyed. She happily used them, soaking for a long time and sipping her champagne, her mind spinning with all the possibilities of what Erik had in store for her.

After her bath, she pinned her hair in a waterfall of brown curls down one of her shoulders and did her face in a thin layer of what she hoped was tasteful make-up. She painted her nails in her favorite pale pink nail polish and poured another half-glass of champagne to drink while she waited for them to dry.

Then it was time to dress. She slid the gown from the garment bag and held it up. She had never worn anything remotely like this before. The royal blue dress had a high, tasteful neck with thin straps and a plunging, open back. She frowned when she saw the lack of fabric around the back. The dress was lovely, and she desperately wanted to wear it, but there was no way she could wear her padded bra with such an open back.

Before she went and texted Erik, and therefore embarrassed herself, she decided to try it on. As soon as she stepped into the silky material and pulled it up to her chest, she realized that breast pads had been sewn into the fabric. Just for her. And they weren't even too big or too small, but rather exactly the same size that she typically chose to wear.

She blinked rapidly. She would not cry and spoil her make-up before she had even stepped out the door. Maybe there was a time that she would have been embarrassed by the fact that Erik had paid that much attention to her need, but now she was only touched by the care he had taken.

Christine tucked the diamond comb into her hair where it was pinned at the nape of her neck and slid on the heavy cuff. She selected a pair of heels – a little higher than she might normally wear, but not too high that she feared toppling over – and studied herself in the mirror. She looked… well, fantastic, if she was being honest with herself. Erik had excellent taste. The gown fit perfectly, the sides coming around just enough to hide the edge of her scars, and the range of heels on the shoes had ensured she didn't have to worry about the length. A small train on the gown gathered at the tops of the backs of her thighs and fluttered behind her.

Inside the garment bag, she had found a crystal-encrusted wristlet into which she tucked her lipstick, ID, and hotel keycard.

She was ready.

As promised, James was standing by the car, prepared to open the door as soon as he saw her.

"Where are we going, James?" she asked once she was seated, lowering the partition between them.

"I'm sorry, mademoiselle," he replied, smiling at her in the rear-view mirror. "I'm not allowed to say."

It was clear that Erik had meticulously planned the evening. The city was cast in a soft evening glow, and Christine's stomach fluttered with anticipation for the evening. She stared out the window and tried not to nervously twist the fabric of her gown. She didn't have to wait long before James stopped the car.

Another man opened the door for her and immediately offered his arm. Christine glanced around, seeing a tall fancy building with other people dressed in black tie attire beginning to file inside.

"Miss Daaé," the man said. "Welcome to the opera."

Led up the carpet-lined steps to the large doors guarding the entrance to the New York opera house, the train of her dress cascading behind her, Christine felt like royalty. She had no tickets, but that didn't seem to matter. The man escorting her knew where to go. They took an elevator to the top floor.

"Would you like any refreshments?" he asked.

"No, thank you," she replied. She'd already had a glass and a half of champagne, and that was enough for now.

The man led her around the hall to a door, the last in a long line of entrances that must all lead to private boxes. He opened it and indicated she could go inside.

"Enjoy the show, Miss Daaé," he said, shutting the door behind her.

The box was small, with only two velvet-lined chairs, one slightly in front of the other. She couldn't see the patrons next to her until she was almost upon the ledge itself, so the box was very private. She took the seat nearest to the edge and looked out into the large opera house. She had spent a lot of time roaming the Palais Garnier, and she would argue that building was one of the most beautiful opera houses in the world, but this one was also gorgeous in its own right. The box sat to the side of the stage, and she would have an excellent view.

She wished that Erik was here. He had made sure she was well taken care of, but she was ready to finally see him. Surely he wouldn't make her watch the show all by herself?

The house lights blinked on and off several times, indicating the performance was about to start. Christine found a pair of small theater binoculars and put them to her face as the music began. She didn't recognize the opening song. She had half expected Erik to take her a certain other opera to try to prove a point.

As the music and strong operatic voices filled the stage with Italian, she didn't hear the door open and close behind her.

She felt the swell of his presence in the box a moment before the back of his gloved fingers skimmed her upper arm. She moved to twist around in her seat, but his voice spoke softly in her ear, stilling her.

"There is time enough for greetings later, my dear."

She wanted to see him. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck. However, she didn't want to draw too much attention to her box, so she kept facing forward, watching the stage. A tenor was singing, surrounded by men who were his friends. The warm of Erik's body pressed against her back, his scent of ink and darkness washing over her. She could tell he was not watching the stage.

It had only been two days, but she felt starved for him. Her body ached for more of his touch in a way that should have frightened her.

Erik's breath in her ear made her tremble as he spoke again. She clutched her wristlet. "He is dreaming about his lady love, a woman he has not yet met. Ah, see, there she is. She is engaged to another man."

"I half-expected Faust," she whispered over her shoulder.

His quiet laugh thrilled her.

Throughout the opera, Erik translated for her, explaining the plot and emotions of the characters. Always, his voice was a whisper tucked in her ear so no one could overhear him. She appreciated his commentary so she could fully understand what was going on in the opera, but mostly, she wanted him to go on speaking in that low timbre that would have weakened her knees if she hadn't already been sitting.

The house lights came on for intermission, and as they did, Erik leapt to his feet and faced away from the stage, no doubt to hide his mask from anyone with prying binoculars. She immediately stood as well. He might not want to face the crowd in the bright lights, but she could face him. He was dressed in his usual full black attire. He turned his uncovered face slightly to the side, the single yellow eye sweeping up and down her form.

She followed him. She slid between him and the wall and threaded her arms around his slender waist, under his cloak, resting her cheek against his vest.

His hands came up to lightly clasp her shoulders, the leather cool on her bare skin. Those long-fingered hands slid down the sides of her gown before skimming across the bare expanse of her back, slowly, almost as though he was afraid to touch her. She wanted more of him. He had invaded her senses again. She craved more.

She tilted her face up. The look in his glittery eyes almost broke her, but she couldn't lose it now, not when they were just getting started tonight.

"A kiss?" she pleaded. "A small one. Please?"

He bent his tall frame and touched his lips to hers. His quivered, hers struggled not to part in a silent request for more. The kiss was chaste, his lips cool and dry. She clung to the fabric of his coat lest she collapse from the weight of it.

"Ah, Christine, you are exquisite." One of his hands threaded through the hair pinned loosely across her shoulder, and he stared as he seemed to marvel at the curls.

"Everything has been so lovely," she said, not willing to turn him loose just yet. "The dress, the jewelry. All of it."

He brought her hand up from around his waist and pressed his lips to the skin above the diamond cuff. "It is all yours."

"It is too much, Erik. You don't have to give me gifts."

"I would give you anything."

His words were heavy, too filled with promise to fit in this tiny opera box.

She cleared her throat. "Her last aria was so sad. Shouldn't she be happy with what she has?"

"She was singing her despair," Erik said, his mouth too close to hers, his thumbs grazing her shoulders, his gloves no longer so cold. "She is longing for something other than her fiancée, but she has not yet realized who she wants."

"When will she figure it out?" Christine whispered.

"All too late, my dear. This is opera after all."

Christine huffed. "So you've ruined the ending for me."

His answering chuckle vibrated against her cheek. "Will I never convince you of opera's worth? You wound me deeply. We may not yet become friends."

She wanted to be more than friends, but she adored it when he tried to joke. "Oh, I appreciate its worth, its contribution to society. But musical theater speaks more to my soul."

"And here is where you may understand me." He bent closer to her, his cheek against hers. "That is how your singing speaks to me. The woman on stage could so easily be you."

She flushed at that. The house lights were blinking again, and too soon she was left standing in the shadows with him. The prima donna's voice rose up to greet them.

"Shall we finish the opera, Christine?"

She nodded, and they both returned to their seats. She was relieved that he kept his hands to himself for the rest of the show. She didn't think she would have paid any attention to the opera otherwise.


So some fluff before the storm. Where is he taking her next, hmm?