Talking In Riddles
Villa della Rosa was situated on the Grand Canal within an easy distance of Teatro la Fenice. The townhouse emerged imposingly from the waterline and hid a charming little rose garden at its rear. The interior décor was a harmonious blend of both the masculine personality and feminine sensibility of its owners, and the walls in the foyer were painted with a calming fresco of an Italian vineyard, opening under arches that stood as gateways to rest of the house.
Erik had purchased the spacious home for Christine shortly after their marriage, insisting that while the cozy little flat that she had rented at the Villa la Fenice may have be comfortable for one, it would never do for the both of them.
The three of them, if one counted Nadir Kahn, which one must, as the Persian had been promptly relocated to Venice at Erik's insistence. True that the man often came and went as he pleased, but Erik felt far better knowing his trusted friend's primary residence was nearby, especially in light of his own unavoidable absences from Christine.
In fact, since their wedding three months before, the couple had spent more time apart than together. Their honeymoon had lasted little more than a week before Christine had needed to return to Venice for rehearsals. Erik had been reluctant to part with her, so they had made the journey together and spent another week holed up in her flat before he had needed to return to Milan. Since then, he had taken every chance to be in Venice with his wife, and he was, quite frankly, exhausted from the constant travel.
It was in just such a state that Erik returned on the morning after the premiere of Aida. He had rushed through his business in Milan with excessive haste, wishing only to return in time to see his angel perform, but he had been detained by problem after problem. He had been mildly disappointed not to see Christine rush from the villa to greet him on the walkway, and considerably irritated at finding her missing as he entered the foyer. Even more so when, instead of her lovely smiling face, he was met with a dour Nadir.
Carelessly, he tossed his hat and gloves atop the table. "Daroga, where is Christine?"
One bushy brow arched sardonically. "Greetings to you, too, my friend. How was your journey?"
"Nadir," Erik growled impatiently, "where…is…my…wife?"
The Persian averted his gaze toward the staircase. "Still abed, I suspect."
Erik felt a prickle of concern begin to tingle down the back of his neck. "At this hour?"
Nadir rocked on his heels, looking for a moment as though he were about to make some ghastly confession, but instead he only shrugged. "She returned home very late last evening, and looked most unwell when she arrived."
"Unwell?" Erik questioned worriedly. "Did you send for a doctor?"
"She would not allow it." At Erik's darkening countenance, Nadir clarified, "She insisted that she was not ill, only upset…a bad performance, she claimed."
Erik's black clad shoulders sagged, and he adjusted his mask in irritation as he began to pace. "Damn it to hell! I knew that I should not have left when I did…she was worried about the role…fearing that her voice was not strong enough."
Nadir frowned. "From where I sat, her performance was perfection, as is usual for our diva."
Erik stopped his agitated fidgeting and spun back to Nadir with a glare of annoyance. "You attended?"
"Do not look so shocked, Erik. I do on occasion enjoy the opera," he reminded his friend, "and I thought it unlikely that you would return in time to enjoy the box that she rented for you."
"Damn you, Daroga," Erik shouted. "If you were in attendance then why did you not stay and see to Christine?"
"Because she did not ask me to," defended the Persian. "She is a grown woman, my friend. She may tolerate my presence here in your absence, but I suspect that she does not wish me to shadow her every move."
"I wish it!" Erik stood before his so-called friend in a rage. What good was the man being in Venice if he was not protecting Christine?
"Your temper I can handle," Nadir said with confidence, "but some of the tantrums that I have seen that woman produce are truly frightening."
Erik stared at Nadir in astonished silence. "This is beyond belief," he muttered. "You cannot be intimidated by Christine!"
Nadir crossed his arms and tilted his head in that annoyingly knowing way of his. "I have seen you bow to her a time or two, now."
"You are useless, Daroga," Erik sputtered as he spun on his heel and marched toward the stairs to find his wife.
xXx
Christine was not still abed when he reached the master suite, but was sitting at her vanity staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles marred the skin beneath her reddened eyes, and she looked to be utterly exhausted. Erik felt his heart lurch at the sight before him.
Damn Nadir for not seeing to her properly!
He exhaled shakily, and the sound drew her attention. Her deep brown eyes met his in the glass, but instead of the smile that he had come to expect of her, tears began to spill over her pale cheeks.
"Christine?"
She turned and flung herself from the chair, racing into his arms and hugging him so tightly that he could scarcely breathe. His arms came around her reflexively, and he felt the sharp nails of dread begin to claw at him. He could not recall having witnessed her in such a state since…well…since Paris. This was no bad performance. Something was terribly wrong with his wife.
"Christine," he demanded, "what has happened? Are you unwell?"
"No," she whispered raggedly against his chest, "I am perfectly well." An inaudible sob shook her body and, inconceivably, her arms tightened further around his neck as she cried, "I have missed you so, Erik."
"And I have missed you, mon ange," he soothed uneasily, alarm for her still bubbling through him as he rubbed gentle circles across her back, "but I have not been away for so very long."
"It seems a lifetime," she rasped.
Nearly at the end of his patience, Erik pried her arms away from him and tilted her chin up, trying to rein in his fear and growing temper. "Come now, Christine. What is this all about? Nadir tells me that you were upset last evening."
Her dark eyes grew shuttered, and she forced her mouth into an apologetic smile as she wiped at her tears. "I am only being foolish, Erik," she said with a rueful shake of her head, "sulking because you missed my performance."
He observed her carefully, not believing her for a moment, of course, but unwilling to upset her further. Instead of accusations, he offered an apology. "It could not be helped. Forgive me."
Her smile became sincere then, and she lovingly cupped his face in her hand. "Always, my love." She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, but quickly pulled away to gaze at him with some unnamed emotion flickering in her eyes. He wanted to demand that she tell him what was dancing about in that pretty little head of hers, but Christine slipped into the nearly perfected persona of La Daaé, sliding out of his arms and casually asking, "How are matters in Milan? I hope that Sophia and Franco are both well…and the children."
Erik instantly recognized her attempt to evade the subject of her unusual mood, but he decided to play along for the moment while his mind reasoned through nearly every conceivable cause for her distress. "They are. Sophia cooked, Franco quoted, and the children demanded magic tricks. Life has fully returned to normal in their household."
Christine nodded distractedly, murmuring, "I am glad to hear it. And your business?"
"Problematic," he sighed. "Roberto has a talent for design, but not for management, although it seems that Isabella has a surprisingly good head for business."
Christine raised a skeptical brow. "Amongst other things, I am certain," she muttered.
Erik found himself grinning slightly at the flash of annoyance in his wife's eyes. At any other time, he might have indulged himself with a little teasing over Christine's persistent distrust of Isabella Rivadi, but not today.
He brushed a stray curl over her shoulder. "I am pleased to report, however, that my last project in Milan has finally been concluded. You will no longer be required to part with your husband quite so often."
"Oh, Erik," she breathed, genuine happiness glittering in her dark eyes, "that is wonderful news."
"Yes, I thought that you would approve." He submitted to her appreciative kiss before gently pulling away to look into her eyes. "Now, my dear, perhaps you will tell me what is really bothering you."
Christine turned her face away, mumbling, "Nothing that need concern you, Erik."
"Christine," he growled irritably as he cupped her jaw in his hand and turned her face back to his. "You are, no doubt, a very talented actress, but you have yet to master the skill of deceiving me." He felt her flinch in his arms, and he forced himself to use a calmer tone as he said, "I come home to find you crying and acting strangely, and you expect that I will not question you?"
Her eyes fell closed for a moment and she nodded very slightly before she sighed in resignation. "I was told some very unfortunate news last evening…the brother of a friend has recently passed away." She met his eyes evenly, and he could detect no deception in them. "We spoke of it for quite some time and I found that the conversation affected me rather strongly." She offered him that endearingly crooked smile of hers, and raised a hand to caress his cheek. "And I had no Erik to hold me when I returned home."
He caught her hand in his and pressed it to his lips, feeling suddenly guilty for causing her such further upset. "I am here now, mon ange," he said remorsefully. "My arms are yours for the asking."
She stepped into them without hesitation and kissed him with such sweet longing that all of his doubts fled in a heartbeat. He was so very happy to be home.
xXx
As Erik exhaustedly collapsed into their bed nearly fully clothed to rest his eyes...for just a moment, he had vowed...Christine drew the curtains and turned to see her husband already snoring softly. She smiled despite her inner turmoil and quietly crept over to gently remove his mask and place it on the bedside table. Lovingly brushing his hair back from his forehead, she bent and placed a soft kiss to his brow before leaving him to his well deserved rest.
He had traveled through the night to return to her, and she had greeted him with deception. God forgive her, but telling Erik what had taken place in his absence was all but impossible. She mechanically made her way down to the dining room, thankful that Darius had left the teapot and some toasted bread for her. She had just lifted the pot to pour herself a cup when Nadir's irritated voice jolted her.
"I take it by the blessed silence that you have not told him."
She turned to see the Persian's scowling face and accusatory posture filling the doorway. Carefully setting down the teapot and cup with trembling hands, she stammered, "Pardon me?"
"No," he refused scathingly, "I do not pardon you. Erik is not one to play such games with."
Her breathing grew shallow as she looked into his flashing dark eyes. "I don't understand…"
"Do not lie to me," he cut her off. "I heard the Vicomte de Chagny beg your manager for a private audience with you last evening, and I watched him disappear into your dressing room."
Christine knew better than to deny it. Nadir Kahn was as adept as her husband at remaining hidden in the shadows. Strange that he would wait until this morning to accuse her of treachery when he could have done so last night without fear of Erik overhearing them.
"You have not told Erik," she said simply.
"No, I have not, as evidenced by his lack of murderous rage upon greeting you," he said irritably as he began to pace in front of her, "but you have placed me into a very difficult position and I am most uncomfortable. I have chosen to trust that you did not invite that young man back into your life, but were merely being courteous."
"I was as surprised to see him as you, Nadir," she swore. "I promise you."
The Persian had been slow to trust her, but he had overcome his initial wariness to accept her into Erik's life with the hope that she would make his friend happy. They had finally come to an understanding, and now she had ruined it all. No, Raoul had ruined it…she was no more than a helpless pawn, just as she had always been.
Nadir ran a frustrated hand though his black curls. "In that case, I would advise you to tell Erik everything, as I can assure you that he will not take well to discovering such information on his own."
"I cannot tell him, Nadir," she cried. "Oh, I wish that I had never met Raoul de Chagny! He has brought nothing but complications into my life, and I cannot take anymore! Erik is complicated enough as he is, without," she broke off, turning her back to him and shaking her head in dismay. She could not even bear to say it. "Oh, Nadir. I am trying to protect him, you must believe me."
Nadir placed a reassuring hand upon her shoulder. "Calm yourself, little one," he soothed. "I do believe you, but perhaps you should tell me what the Vicomte wanted with you."
"Yes, Christine," came the thundering voice of her husband. "Please do tell! What did your boy want?"
A/N: And so the fun begins. Poor Christine made the wrong choice…Nadir's disappointment in her will be nothing next to Erik's anger. Even though he has come a very long way…Raoul de Chagny cannot fail to awaken those demons of his.
Thank you all for continuing on this journey with me.
I appreciate all of your feedback.
