Chapter 25

Erik was quite certain he was having a vivid dream. Why else would Christine be walking down a church aisle towards him, wearing the nicest of the dresses he had purchased for her, holding a small bouquet and smiling at him? But no matter what he did, he could not seem to wake up. True, it had been realistically unpleasant to actually find a church that would marry them but they had finally happened upon a very shabby and small chapel, presided over by an old priest who had looked on their strange state with a kind smile.

And yes, if he could design a perfect wedding for Christine it would have been in a lavish church with musicians and a beautiful white dress, and Christine most likely would not have been visibly expecting. And of course she did not love him, but he had never really expected that she could.

Somehow, for this one moment, none of the imperfections mattered. Christine wanted to marry him, of her own free will, and a smile so big it hurt overstretched his features as she drew level with him and rested her delicate hand on his. She was so very beautiful, her good nature somehow radiating from her soft features. She seemed to have taken extra care with her appearance when she left to freshen up in the little back room of the church. Her hair was tamer and twisted more intricately than usual, and her skin was lightly powdered. It was Erik's opinion that she never looked better than when she first awoke, her hair a wild crown around her face, her eyes soft and a little confused, but the fact that she had wanted to look appealing for her marriage of convenience, for the nearsighted priest they had met only moments ago and a broken monster who could not even marry her with his face showing, made him want to laugh and weep all in the same breath. He settled for trying to hold the hand under hers steady, and whispering "you look lovely, my dear."

"Thank you." She whispered back, biting her lip and blushing, looking for all the world like any other excited bride. The short service was a blur to Erik. He cared nothing for the God that had never cared for him, but he was glad that the traditional words brought Christine some solace. His attention was wholly hers. Every breath she took, every slight twitch of her hand over his was a symphony, and he was attempting to commit it to memory so he could listen again when the world dealt him one of its usual blows. When the priest asked if Erik took Christine's hand, he said

"I do." With more conviction than he had ever said anything. When the question was repeated to Christine he knew a moment of panic, suddenly sure that she would realize what she was doing and flee the chapel. But there was not even a breath of hesitation before her clear voice rang out

"I do." And then the priest was rasping out

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride." Erik caught Christine's eye, an apology on his lips, but she looked calm and expectant. He knew precisely nothing about how to make a woman happy, but he sensed that he was on the verge of delivering a deep insult if he refused to kiss her. Slowly, silently pleading for a sign that the small transgression would be allowed, he raised her hand to his lips. She gave him the smallest of nods, and he brushed his lips against the back of her hand for a fleeting moment. She did not flinch away.

And then it was over. They thanked the priest and were bundled back into the carriage and everything was just as it had been before. Except now he was a husband, and nothing was the same.

"Erik?"

"Yes lo-" he could not go spouting off about his love for her simply because they were married. "What is it Christine?"

"Where are we going now? Another inn?"

"There is a house." He said distractedly. Was he supposed to treat her exactly the same way, despite the solemn ceremony that had just taken place? He supposed he was.

"What do you mean there's a house? We've been in Rome all of two hours."

"I made arrangements. When we were with Leveque." He waved a hand dismissively, not wanting her to dwell on that time. She tilted her head.

"But you told me to pick anywhere to live, and we would go. Did you guess that I would let you decide?"

"I made many arrangements." He admitted. "I was unsure exactly what the circumstances of our escape would be." Or if they would even make it out. "If you had picked somewhere I had not planned for, I would have made new plans." He did not tell her that once they had settled on Italy, he had written forceful letters full of Leveque's money ensuring that their house would be fully furnished to Christine's tastes before she ever stepped foot inside. It was perhaps not the most prudent use of his resources, but she deserved to have comfort after all she had been through. Christine frowned and said

"You should have mentioned it earlier. It would have been so silly if I had picked another place on a whim after all the trouble you went to." He bristled at that.

"I was merely trying to suit your wishes. Finding a different house would have been a small thing."

"Erik, we are married now." He felt her gaze, and reluctantly met it with his own. "You must be honest with me, even about things which you find small, all right? That's the only way this is going to work." He bit back a question about whether the Vicomte had consulted her about every little decision. If Christine could move on from the past, then he certainly had no business bringing it back into their carriage. He merely said

"As you wish."

"See, you already have a knack for being married." She teased. "You must let me win every argument, and then I will never be cross." As if that wasn't how things already were.

"Is that all it takes?" He had meant to keep the light tone of the conversation, but it came out as an honest question, and she answered with a long, serious look. And there the dilemma was already: what exactly did they expect of each other? She gave him a brave smile and said

"You know, I am hardly an expert. All I know is that it is important to talk to each other a lot, so that we know if things are going well or if there is something we must fix." He nodded, and naturally could not thing of a single word to say. But Christine did not seem to mind. She merely settled back against her seat, humming slightly as she closed her eyes.

The sun was setting as they approached the house, and it struck Erik that it was rather a romantic scene as he helped her down from the carriage, or at least it would have been with another man. For a mad moment he wondered if he was meant to carry her across the threshold, but no, that was a whimsical tradition for lovesick fools. Christine certainly would not wish him to do so. Instead he simply located the key that he had directed to be left under the doormat, and opened the door for her.

As she ventured inside, he was glad that he had not carried her, because the look on her face as she first saw the house was breathtaking, and he might have missed it. He'd had the interior painted her favorite shade of deep blue, and all her favorite pieces of music were framed on the walls, as were a few paintings of the coastline, which he hoped reminded her of Sweden. A huge grin spread over her face, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a delighted giggle. Then she was running through the house, up the creaky stairs, remarking on the fully stocked kitchen with a generous stove, the elegant piano in the music room, the freshly painted crib in the nursery. He found her like that, a hand resting on the edge of the crib, her eyes bright with unshed tears and unless he was mistaken, gratitude. Blushing to her ears, she murmured.

"I have the most wonderful husband."