Christine had tossed and turned throughout the night, her mind racing as she constructed the perfect secret meeting with Erik. Over and over she imagined herself weaving through the crowd and stealing into the old coat room. With one soft click of the lock, they would be alone together.
The thought intrigued Christine but also sent her heart racing in panic. There were too many possibilities, too many moments she worried would be interrupted or possibly discovered. She worried about being stopped on her way to their secret rendezvous, being caught at the door by Raoul. Since she had never been good at telling stories, she knew there was no way to hide the truth. Despite wanting to see Erik again, she knew that if Raoul asked her what she was doing, she would stammer and reveal the truth.
By morning she felt exhausted and sick with worry. Dragging herself from bed, Christine stood before her mirror and listened to the servants bustle through the household. Yawning, Christine combed her fingers through her tangled hair and heard Donatien barking orders at the rest.
"You heard the Vicomte," Donatien said impatiently. "If the Mademoiselle is sleeping, let her rest! Quit stomping around the house!"
Christine couldn't help but smile as she wondered how the head servant thought his grumbling would go unnoticed. As quickly as she could, Christine dressed and tiptoed out into the hallway where she was met by a young female servant.
"Breakfast is waiting for you," the young girl said before she continued down the hallway.
Donatien stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her with his hands behind his back. He offered a polite, yet tight-lipped smile and appeared somewhat impatient. There was something very brotherly and protective about him, yet he remained very stern and imposing.
"Are you well?" he asked.
"I'm fine, thank you." Christine suppressed a yawn. "Where is Raoul?"
Donatien looked her over. "He is gone for the day, Mademoiselle."
Christine felt her heart stutter. "For the day?" she questioned. "When? Where?"
The butler looked nonplussed by her questions. "You should have breakfast, Mademoiselle. You will make yourself sick if you do not eat," he said, ignoring her words.
"When did he leave?" she asked.
"Well before dawn," he answered at last.
Christine felt a spike of anger. She straightened her spine and balled her hands into fists. "Why was I not informed?" she questioned.
Donatien inhaled and released an exasperated sigh. "With all due respect, Mademoiselle, the Vicomte is thought it best not to disturb you."
"Leaving me here all day," she blurted out, her voice tight with emotion. "Why did he leave without at least telling me of his absence? Answer me that."
An icy glare passed through his sharp gaze and he looked her over like a disapproving man scolding an insolent child. "The Vicomte de Chagny is head of this household and my employer. I do not question his authority or overstep my bounds, Mademoiselle. I suggest you take your breakfast at once. You appear a little pale this morning."
Furious, she turned and started up the stairs, but lost her footing and slid to her knees with a hard thump. Heat rose to her cheeks and she heard the murmur of concerned servants in the back of her mind.
Donatien came up from behind and grabbed Christine by the elbow. He lifted her effortlessly to her feet, kept her upright, and guided her down the stairs without a word. Feeling like she had been reduced to a rag doll, she bowed her head and shamefully followed his lead, avoiding the wide-eyed, gaped-mouthed expressions of maids pressed up against the wall.
The butler sat her down at the end of the table and swiftly gave orders of what she was to be served. He stood over her, silent and imposing, and waited for hot food to be delivered.
Christine ate in silence, slowly forcing herself through the motions of what would be the start of her day. She knew no matter how many times she questioned Donatien, he would not offer up any answers. In essence she was trapped miles and miles away from anyone or anything familiar, a song bird left within a cage.
She thought about the theater and her promise to return to Erik's side. Her hands trembled as she lifted her teacup to her lips and took a sip. The liquid was so hot it nearly scalded her lips, but she didn't flinch. There was a greater agony gnawing at her, a knife's edge of betrayal once again. She froze in her seat and stared at a distant point, haunted by Erik's grief-stricken, defeated expression lingering in the back of her mind.
The image of her betrayal was fresh in her thoughts still, as raw as a wound. Tracks of tears stained his cheeks as he stared in disbelief at her hand in his. She could almost feel his trembling, cold hand against hers as she gently placed the ring in his palm. Ever so gently he had cradled the small band, his melancholy gaze fixed on the diamond. Not a single word had passed between them, yet their encounter spoke volumes.
Now, as she sat alone at the table in the dining room, she imagined him walking briskly to their rendezvous with a slight smile on his face. She could picture him dressed in his best suit with a crisp white shirt, brass buttons and cuff links, and a new cravat around his neck. The scene played through her mind as he opened the door and waited, the long moments stretching out until anticipation faded and anxiety settled in.
Once again Erik would find himself alone, longing for her company. Once again her teacher would stand in silence, a dejected, fallen angel. Once again her long-time, mysterious companion would wonder what he could have done to win her hand—and why she had set him up so cruelly.
A tear slipped down Christine's cheek and she inhaled sharply, breaking herself away from the heartache. Donatien stood on the opposite side of the table, his eyes narrowed as he studied her. He made no attempt to avoid her gaze when she looked up at him, which forced Christine to lower her tear-filled eyes.
She pushed away from the table, fully expecting the butler to block her path and force her to finish her meal. Breathlessly she stood and turned on her heel, bolting toward the hall. She glanced back and saw Donatien had not budged from his place in the dining room. He watched her in curious silence briefly before turning away and issuing orders to the subordinates beneath him.
Slipping out of sight, Christine scurried up the stairs to her room and pressed her back against the fabric wall. She attempted to harness her erratic breathing and make sense of her frantic thoughts.
With her heart racing, she felt like an inmate avoiding the watchful gaze of the prison master. Any moment now, Donatien would take the stairs two at a time and reprimand her for leaving the dining room so hastily. She knew the butler would record her every move and report to his employer, which only furthered her determination.
Swallowing hard, she marched across the room and pulled open the dresser drawers and wardrobe doors. With trembling hands she rifled through her belongings, her mind racing as she attempted to plan her escape from the sprawling estate. All of her beautiful, tailored dresses meant nothing if she wore them for the wrong man.
Christine took a breath and stood up straighter, steeling her nerves. She was tired of being considered a defenseless waif in need of a benefactor to make decisions on her behalf or plan the rest of her life. She knew Raoul de Chagny meant well and wanted what was best for her, but he had no idea what she wanted or needed—and she couldn't bear to spend the rest of her life being left behind.
One way or another, she would leave this place. Even if she had to crawl, she would return to Paris.
And to Erik.
