A/N: Thank you so much for the great reviews! You guys are awesome and because you have encouraged me so much in this - my gift to you this Christmas, an early chapter. Short and sweet, but if I have time to work on it, another might follow on Sunday. :)

With Every Breath

Chapter XXVI

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Christine slept with his glove beneath her pillow.

She cried herself to sleep, as she knew she would, but oddly woke up feeling refreshed, even hopeful. The hidden fear of the unknown had plagued her more than she realized, the uncertainty of what lay beneath the mask built up in her mind to such a degree that it had overwhelmed her, and despite her brave words to him, she'd been frightened of her initial reaction to see the truth. The defect was bad, it looked painful, and she couldn't help but sympathize for all the suffering he had endured because of it. But at the same time her relief was almost tangible, to know that she had passed whatever test he surely must have consciously or unconsciously held her to, but especially the knowledge that it had taken little effort to do so. The only effort had been in withholding her tears for his anguish, and in the end she had given way to them.

She had done what came naturally, following her heart, and all she had wanted was to hold him close, to touch that part of his face in discovery and bury her hand in the soft tufts of his hair she'd never known, and later, to go home with him again, to his lair. It had been over a week since he had taken her there. She had received three of her wishes, and the mysterious inflection of his words in the chapel led her to believe he might soon grant the fourth, perhaps even tonight after the performance …

The performance!

At the realization, she drew in a startled gasp that came out in a little squeak. Opening her eyes, she saw the sun had just risen. She threw the blanket off, sailing out of bed. Without bothering to retrieve her slippers, which had clearly found their way somewhere beneath her cot again, she quickly padded to her friend's bed and shook her shoulder, startling her awake.

Meg blinked in groggy confusion, "Christine …?" Then her golden-brown eyes flew wide. "The Don Juan!"

She also jumped out of bed with a squeal to see the rising sun beam through the window, and they rushed to and fro in a flurry of shifts, corsets, pantalets, and stockings, waking the other girls with the noise they made as they dressed. Their roommates grumbled and tumbled out of their beds, and soon the dormitory was filled with harsh exclamations and soft curses as the six girls who shared the room with them hurried to don their clothes, the start of every morning at the opera house since Christine had come to live there at the age of seven. Sometimes less frenetic and not as harried, but always as crowded with scant room to dress.

Usually Madame Giry awakened them before now, and Christine wondered why she had not appeared at the door. Before she could air her mild puzzlement, Meg grabbed her hand and together they ran out of the room, just in time to avoid getting hit by a flying shift thrown by one irate dancer at another ballet rat.

First they must eat breakfast, and for Christine, it would be one of two meals for her day. Water with lemon would fill any later moments of hunger close to production and help her voice maintain its crystal purity needed for the stage.

Christine noticed Madame coming up the stairs. She seemed somewhat agitated but relieved to see them awake and ordered them to hurry to their meal. In the dining room where the cast ate, they each took a plate, filling it with cold eggs and bread from the bland fare Pierre had made. They dispensed with the usual giggling and light gossip, hurrying through their meal, washing it down with hot, bitter tea that tasted as if it had been in the pot since the night before. Christine wrinkled her nose as she quickly set cup in saucer and pushed away her plate, more than half of her food untouched. Pierre certainly could take a lesson or two from Erik!

"Don't look now," Meg groaned, "but the redheaded tart from hell just walked inside with Monsieur Buquet."

Christine pulled in a swift breath. The last thing she needed was to come face to face with Chantel today of all days. "Is she looking this way?"

"They both are," Meg said with a scowl directed behind Christine. "But they don't appear to be interested in a confrontation at the moment. I never knew those two were so friendly …" Her words trailed off in curiosity. Suddenly she straightened, her eyes bright as they always got when she was about to divulge a secret. "That reminds me – yesterday when I was looking for Maman, I overheard Monsieur Andre scold her for firing Chantel."

Christine's eyes grew wide. "She fired her?"

"Well, she tried, but Monsieur Andre would have none of it. She's his latest pet, you know. When he asked why Maman dismissed her, she couldn't come up with one good reason that would satisfy our manager, and he told her to rectify the matter at once." Meg leaned closer. "I think your teacher was the one to insist on Mademoiselle La Tart's dismissal. I have never known Maman to dismiss a dancer from the chorus for a lack of punctuality, the excuse she gave Monsieur Andre. Not on the day before a new opening."

Christine agreed. And it would make even more sense that her Angel would have instructed Madame to do that, if he had been watching from the flies as she strongly suspected on the day she slapped the redheaded terror. She had sensed his presence then, too. And she was rarely wrong in such knowledge, especially now that they'd grown so close in their relationship.

Thankfully, Chantel and Buquet left the room before Meg and Christine finished, eliminating any chance of another bad encounter and before one of the most important rehearsals of her career.

The next several hours were an equivalent to the rushed morning and moved with such haste she didn't have time to miss her annual visit to her father's grave. The rehearsals went horribly, everything that could go wrong did – from the dancers' mistakes to La Carlotta's mini-tantrums, still not happy that her role as reigning diva had been usurped by "the leetle ballet rat" as she often called Christine – and poor Monsieur Reyer must have tapped his baton on the podium so many times both should have cracked by now.

Meg comforted Christine later that evening. "It certainly wasn't your fault. I rarely heard Monsieur Reyer or Maman scold you. Besides, rehearsals are always a travesty. You know that. Once the show begins, you will shine like the star you were born to be, and if by some grim happenstance anything goes wrong – knock on wood it doesn't ..." She rapped her knuckles three times against a beam, "it will likely be La Carlotta's fault for trying to upstage someone or it will be one of the dancer's mistakes. But no one will notice because all eyes will be on you."

Christine hugged her friend for her sweet reassurances, wishing she felt half as confident. With three hours before curtain call, she and Meg quickly ate a small meal of flaky, fried bread wrapped around small sausages, better than breakfast but Christine's stomach was too full of butterflies to do any food justice. After only a few bites, Christine excused herself from the table and went to her dressing room to lie down for an hour to rest. Yet rest would not come. She could barely keep her eyes closed for more than half a minute.

She tossed and turned then stared at the ceiling. She was being foolish again, acting like a child. The most important night of her operatic career lay before her, all thanks to her incredible Maestro, who was also at last her lover. Many of her dreams that at times seemed hopeless throughout the past years had actually come true. She certainly had no reason to sulk over such trifling matters as forgotten greetings.

The hours slipped away and before she quite understood or was ready, the curtain parted, the lights blinding her view of the packed house, and Christine took the stage for her first number. "This is for you, Mon Ange," she whispered beneath her breath, wishing to still her jittery nerves. The intro to his music began. She opened her mouth to sing her first line, saw the curtain at Box Five stir, and from that moment on forgot all her fears.

Knowing her beloved was there, watching from above, gave her a burst of needed confidence she hadn't felt all day. She sailed through her lines, hitting all her cues and lifting her voice with perfection to match whatever mood was required.

When the time came for her to sing her solo at the end of Act Three, she smiled to realize she faced Box Five. Instead of singing to the full moon, as Aminta was scripted to do, her eyes surreptitiously sought out the shadowed alcove directly across from her, the smile on her face and the words on her lips only for him. As her voice rang with crystal clarity on the highest note, she thought she saw the curtain again stir, a black glove clutching its edge, and she prayed that he felt all that was in her heart to offer, the entirety of who she was and wished to give.

The audience response was astounding, their applause thunderous, and showers of single pink roses were tossed upon the stage. She smiled with relief, greatly pleased by her success and the crowd's positive reception, but her heart soared in the most delight yet to suddenly hear his quiet, lyrical voice magically directed in her ear, "Brava, ma chèrie … Je t'aime pour toujours…" and she clutched the edge of the high balcony, feeling as if she might surely float away.

But there was no time to float away or even think of his avowal of eternal love as Madame motioned her down the narrow staircase and to the ground then instructed her to hurry to her next costume change.

The night progressed, each aria becoming easier to sing than the one before it, as Christine grew more comfortable in her role. With every breath, she poured her love for Erik into the sensual and beseeching lines.

"No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy … no dreams within her heart but dreams of love!"

Tempted to turn her head and look up at him, she squelched the idea at the last moment, sitting down with her basket to twist the thorns off the roses and await Piangi's entrance. But she could not help the secret smile as she thought of his roses and the night of her operatic debut when he'd given her one such as this, tied with a shimmering black ribbon. Her mind briefly dipped into that moment at the mirror and their first journey down to his lair, and when next she sang her lines, there was a wistful, ethereal quality to her voice, its reason not apparent to the crowd but surely understood by the man in the shadows to whom she turned her eyes upward as she again looked toward Box Five.

The finale was explosive in performance and received another standing ovation, followed by at least half a dozen curtain calls, where Christine was bestowed with armfuls of roses in all colors. She beamed at the adulation, gracefully nodding her thanks, thrilled that they also clearly loved her genius Maestro's work. She felt impatient and eager to see him, hoping he would come to her dressing room soon. The night had concluded without grave consequence, the opera not the precursor to danger Erik had expected, and she could not wait to share with him in their greatest triumph.

Traversing the area backstage and to her dressing room proved difficult, the narrow corridors crowded with every form of teeming, excited humanity. Many that she brushed past reached out to her or tried to touch her somehow and congratulate her. Such odd familiarity made her nervous, especially since only days before a number of this multitude had treated her with contempt, and some still did, as she noticed some members of the chorus cast reproachful and envious glances her way.

Madame shooed a path for her to the dressing room. "Rest while you can," she told Christine, opening the door for her. "I will be in shortly."

Christine nodded in relief, spotting Meg in the distance laughing and sharing a champagne toast with two male dancers before the door closed and Madame locked Christine in from the outside, away from all the noise and pandemonium. She grinned to have witnessed Meg's exuberance, but for herself wanted nothing more than the soothing quiet and to be held in the arms of her Angel.

She had hoped he might be waiting for her, but the room was empty.

Shrugging aside her disappointment – realizing he was probably on his way to see her even now – she went behind the dressing screen to change out of her costume. Once that was accomplished, she pulled her ivory silk wrapper over her corset and tied it, moving away from the screen and to her dressing table.

She saw his gift immediately and smiled in excited pleasure, again recalling the first time she had received a similar token, after her singing debut in Hannibal.

There, on the dressing table, lay a long-stemmed red rose tied with a narrow ribbon of black satin.

A secret meeting indeed, she thought with delight and looked at the mirror door, but it did not open. Perhaps he had left the rose while she was onstage. She moved closer to take it in her hand and enjoy its sweet fragrance. The flickering glow from the nearby candelabra cast golden light on the colorful blossom and its leaves, making one glitter strangely.

She halted in curious shock, her heart picking up speed, then quickly moved forward and lifted the rose. Her eyes widened at the ring of gold that held a diamond, tied at the end of one ribbon. Blinking, uncertain if she was seeing things, she took the ring in her hand. It remained solid, the setting beautiful and delicately engraved, swirls of twin gold roses entwined together and holding a round diamond in its center. She gasped in bewilderment, her mind and heart in a daze, and then heard a whisper of material rustle behind her.

Her heart jumped a beat, and she swiftly turned around, coming face to face with the prince of her dreams.

"Erik," she breathed, dizzy with the shock of this moment and his swift and sudden presence there. Silent, enthralling, majestic. In evening dress, he took her breath away, and she stared up at him in wonder, thinking how much like a prince he really did appear. A true noble by blood …

"Christine, you were exquisite," he began, the timbre of his deep voice gliding like the brush of silk over her senses, soft and sensual, making her tremble. "I wanted this day, this night, to be all that you ever dreamed it would be. And I wish you the happiest of birthdays, Ma Bel Ange." He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed them over the back of her fingers.

Tears gathered in her eyes. "I didn't think anyone remembered."

"I could never forget a day so special that brought you into this world." His eyes glowed like twin emeralds, mysterious, rich and elegant though his expression seemed uncertain, almost boyish and shy. "Will you do me the consummate honor of sharing the rest of your life with me, each night and each morning, all of your years yet to come, to flourish in the promise of our years spent together? Christine … will you marry me?"

She gasped a little then sobbed, the beautiful ring suddenly making perfect sense, and the tears spilled over onto her lashes, gliding down her cheeks. At last, to hear those precious words …

He looked at her, worried. "I did not wish to make you cry."

She shook her head, smiling. "I cry only because you've made me so happy." She nodded then. "Yes, Erik. I would be most honored to marry you."

His eyes sparkled with relief, perhaps joy, before they briefly closed and again he kissed her hand he still held, his lips this time brushing the insides of her fingers. Despite her answer, he seemed oddly reticent, and she tilted her head with a curious smile.

His answering smile came less confident. "I have one final request I must ask of you."

Puzzled, she nodded for him to go on. He hesitated then gently took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the chaise longue. The lace wedding dress that had been on his mannequin lay there in shimmering folds of the purest ivory.

"Will you marry me tonight?" he whispered against her ear.

xXx

A/N: Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it!

Hope your holidays are wonderful! :)