A/N: Thank you for your reviews! :) And now…
Chapter XXVIII
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He stared at her where she sat, mussed and fragile, his heart beating fast and wary.
She looked up at him where he towered above her, a light of determination in her eyes.
"You have decided," he repeated, his voice low. He despised the quaver that revealed his turbulent emotions, his vulnerability and anger, his disbelief and that once forgotten glimmer of wretched hope. "Exactly what have you decided, mademoiselle?"
Surely she would not…
"I will sing for you, and will agree for you to teach me your opera…"
He struggled for the next breath.
"But I will not marry you."
A chill calm swept away the unwelcome heat that had begun to burn through his blood. Her last words came as little surprise. Did he honestly expect her to agree to an eternal union with the Phantom she abhorred? That she was ignorant of his identity failed to matter; she had never wanted him as the pitiful creature she had known either, her persuasive words empty when held up against her divergent acts. He had been a girlish curiosity to her budding womanhood - had received the cruel message of her true feelings well and from more than one source. But this time her callous heart would be given no chance to refuse. This time she would concede or live in this hell of their making until her last breath.
She thought him a monster? Then he would give her a monster!
"Your condition is not an option," he quietly seethed. "The terms I have set are not open for compromise. You will marry me, Mademoiselle Daaé, or you will live beneath the earth forever!"
Desperation entered her eyes. "I swear to you, I'll obey all your rules and be a model student. I'll never attempt to escape again. But please don't ask this of me!"
He hardened his heart to the tremor in her voice. "You must do all I have said."
"But - why? I don't understand why it's even necessary!"
He crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you know anything of the law?"
She winced, reminded that she was a fugitive…
But then, so was he.
"What does the law have to do with your insistence that I marry you?" she demanded.
"By marital rights, a husband receives the entirety of his wife's worldly goods."
"I have no worldly goods!"
"Surely you must know that once you become the lead in my opera, you will receive a salary to reflect that? As your manager and teacher I will make certain you receive the highest sum allotted."
She blinked. "That's what this is about? The money?" She gave a frustrated laugh. "I care nothing about the money! You can have every bit of it if you wish."
"Forgive me, mademoiselle, if I cannot take you at your word."
He regarded her coldly. How smoothly she lied to gain what she desired. In that respect she had not changed.
"Then," she thought frantically, "give me a contract to sign. I will sign all of it away if you will only release me from this one condition and not force me to go through with a wedding. I cannot marry you, monsieur! I just - I cannot!" She stopped short of explaining that she could marry no one. That she would never marry.
"The law officials and I have no warm-hearted camaraderie," he said dryly. "I cannot procure a notary to witness the contract."
She drew her brows together, remembering a little of what she had overheard Raoul and his friend speak of unofficial contracts. Too little to help but enough to know they existed. Did they not have such documents in France?
"Surely we can find one witness, any witness - "
He held up his hand. "I, too, have decided, and my decision stands."
She crossed her arms over the coverlet she had tucked beneath her armpits. "There must be some method of compromise, a way to satisfy us both."
He narrowed his eyes pensively and she hastened to add, "To give you the singer you wish for your opera and to allot me the freedom I desire."
"I have told you the way to earn it."
"But - that is not freedom!"
He shrugged. "It is the sum of all you will ever receive."
Her shoulders drooped in defeat and the light left her eyes.
The change disturbed him.
"However…"
Christine gazed intently at his masked face as she waited for him to continue. Not for the first time she wished she could see beyond the concealing black leather to read his expressions.
"I will teach you, starting tomorrow, if you feel enough recovered…" She gave a little consenting nod and he went on, "We need every allowable moment to prepare you for the role. In these upcoming months, perhaps you will realize that to live in a drafty cave five levels beneath the earth is a death in itself and will come to your senses to accept the rest of your fate."
"And if I don't?"
"I have made the consequences abundantly clear."
She considered it useless to persist in refusing to marry him when he was so adamantly closed to her response. A thought came to mind and buoyed her hope.
"How do you expect me to sing in your opera if you keep me imprisoned here?"
His mouth twisted in a wicked grin that caused her heart to skip a beat. He drew his hands behind him, clasping his wrist while slowly walking a short distance away. "I could keep you here to sing only for me …" He turned in profile to look at her. "But it is essential to dispense with the excuse for a diva that currently litters the stage. At one time, perhaps, she had talent to garner what loyal admirers she has left. Yet she is long past her prime and her wretched vanity refuses to make allowances for that."
"Dispense with her?" she whispered. "You don't mean murder?"
He chuckled softly, darkly, sending a chill along her spine.
"You know of my reputation."
"But - you cannot kill her simply because you do not wish her to sing!"
"She has committed numerous crimes to deserve such justice. Abandoning a family to wallow in poverty while she rose to fame and destroyed who she must to do it; engaging in affairs with married men and destroying their families…those are only a few societal atrocities I could list," he sneered then waved a careless hand. "But sins against society hold no interest for me. Outside of this theatre the soon deposed diva may do as she damn well pleases and all the better if she inflicts anguish on the heartless. Let them all burn! I have committed more than my fair share of offenses against humanity …"
Her throat went dry with apprehension at his damning words even as compassion twisted her heart at the anguish she could see beyond the rage smoldering in his eyes. Twin windows of gold into the mask that covered his soul, they exposed great torment and hatred and she wondered what terrible misery he had suffered.
"No, mademoiselle, I will not kill her. There are other means available at my disposal to achieve the end result."
"What means?" She barely managed to utter the words.
"You have not observed the limitless abilities of the Opera Ghost. I have many tricks, many devices…"
"Tricks," she repeated incredulously. "Devices? That statue you pushed could have killed her!"
"I knew what I was doing. Each performer has a set position where they must stand during every moment of the performance. I was aware of where the Italian menace would be and the direction the statue would fall."
"You are so sure of yourself…" her words trailed off in disbelief. "What if your plan did not go as you intended? What if at the last minute something went wrong and she was not standing where she should have been?"
"Then…" He shrugged gracefully, again lifting slender hands with a careless little smirk. "…she would have died."
She stared at him in horrified disbelief. "You speak of death so freely, without any feeling…"
Henri had been cruel and evil, had deserved to suffer, but even so, his death haunted her in that she had been the one to deliver its eternal sentence. Christine shuddered at the memory.
"Do you not feel even an ounce of remorse for the lives you have taken?"
He suddenly turned from her, lowering his head and presenting her with his back. It was a moment before he spoke, his deep voice quieter than before.
"I am an inventor, mademoiselle. I was in complete control of the situation. I rigged that statue to fall as it did." He slowly spun to look at her again. "I am also a master magician, a creature of shadows, and can appear and disappear at will. And that is how you will go above to sing should you be so unwise as to refuse my condition to wed. I will be watching you each moment that you are absent from my caverns, and when the final bow is executed and the curtain falls to the stage, I will be there to sweep you away, back to my underground world. If you are foolish enough to cry out for help and anyone attempts to waylay me, then I will dispense with them too."
Speechless and shaken by his cool, implacable words, Christine dropped her gaze from his piercing amber eyes with their deadly promise. She found herself staring at the partial slope of his mouth that the bottom edge of the mask did not hide, at his firm chin and stubborn jaw with its faint shadow of a beard. Her eyes wandered to the column of his neck and below, where a thatch of pale skin glistened, quickly looking lower to the lean expanse of his chest she knew to be strong, the loose shirt he wore with its flowing lines oddly accentuating the fact. Despite his slim build she was certain he could outwit any opponent, if not with brawn then with his intellect.
Warmth rushed in a current beneath her skin, and she flicked her eyes back to his. He was a creature of power, of infinite danger and mercurial emotions that defied all reason - and she did not doubt a word of what he said. Madman that he was, she had come to realize he was indeed a genius at many things.
"Why do you do it?"
The Phantom felt as surprised as she looked by her blunt question. "Commit murder?"
"No, why do you live so far beneath the earth?"
"I have told you my reasons."
"Yes, I know, you're a wanted man in hiding." She waved a dismissive hand. "But why beneath the earth? Certainly there are other secluded places - places in the fresh air you could have gone."
"None within reach of the opera house."
"But why is the opera house so important to you?"
"Music is my life. All I possess. The one dream left to me that I will not let die…"
She looked at him curiously, certain there must be more to impel him to dwell in such bleak darkness. He clenched his jaw and looked away.
"Are you still willing to sing for me, Mademoiselle Daaé?"
Christine barely nodded, having come to accept such a fate as her only way to see another sunrise. "Yes."
"Very good. Jolene will bring the trunk you refused so that you have clothing to wear."
"Before you go, monsieur, there is one last matter that needs addressed."
x
She stopped him a second time before he could fully turn to exit, and he regarded her with bare patience. "Well?"
"There is one stipulation I must insist on before I agree to become your lead."
"I wasn't aware you were the one giving orders," he countered dryly.
"You would have no reason to disagree. It has nothing to do with you."
"I'm intrigued." He inclined his head in a nod. "Go on."
Christine hesitated, determined to tell him as little as possible. "I don't wish to go by my family name of Daaé."
"You are ashamed of simple beginnings?" The lax amusement on his face deepened to a mild scowl, his words full of censure. "Perhaps you wish to be addressed as La Christina and dispense with a surname entirely?"
She frowned at his sarcasm. "Why should you now assume I have simple beginnings? Need I remind you that earlier you thought I was a lady."
"I said that you behaved like a lady," he corrected. "Not that you are one."
"I could be a lady," she insisted. "An escaped daughter of a noble, not wishing to be found."
He snorted in wry amusement. "What I believe is that you are a consummate actress. And now that you've conceded to my demand to sing you wish to reinvent yourself into a mysterious role that permits no claim to family that can be traced - but will undoubtedly intrigue every avaricious reporter of the medium."
Her chin lifted in angry offense, weary of his blatant toying with her, a stalking cat to a caged canary. "My father was a wonderful violinist, a marvelous credit to the musical profession. My reasons to dispense with my surname have nothing to do with my family. It's for - other reasons I don't care to discuss."
Henri's death and her role in it had everything to do with her need to change her name.
The Phantom watched as she nervously glanced at the bed. He stared hard at her.
Surely she had no desire to remain involved with the Vicomte and was not seeking what she assumed were viable solutions, to keep him and her career? After the attack she suffered at the foul hands of the condemned fool, he failed to understand - if that was her intent. He clenched his fists as he pondered her request and grew certain that must be her motive. What hold did the loathsome boy have over her! Yes, she was prideful and desired a life of plenty, with servants rushing to meet her every whim and a wardrobe of fine dresses to wear - but did she have no shame? Did she perceive herself as nothing more than a beautifully furnished rug to be beaten at will?
"No," he said, narrowing his eyes.
She slapped the bed beside her leg in exasperation. "Why not?"
"The name Daaé works well as a stage name. You have said your father was renowned in the world of music. What better reason to keep the name that would honor him and work to your credit?"
Her lips pressed into a tight line. "My mother's name would also benefit. She was a well known singer and dancer in Sweden." She sat up straighter. "I wish to be known as Christine Grendahl."
"No."
"Give me one reason why that name will not work," she insisted. "Is it so wrong to give credit to my mother? She was a singer too! Perhaps I wish to honor her, since I will also sing as she did, and thereby be following in her spotlight. You demand so much from me. Can you not grant me this one simple request?"
Frustrated with her persistence and the distressed shine that now wet her eyes, he growled out an answer, "Very well. I will consider it. I have no intention of arguing about this until sunup - at which time I will expect you to be ready for your first lesson."
She flinched in surprise. "As soon as that? But - what about breakfast? Surely you don't expect me to rouse in the early hours before dawn in order to eat?"
He lifted his brow wryly. "Already playing the role of the overconfident diva?"
"Is that not what you wanted?"
She coolly matched him stare for stare.
"Confidence is a trait you will need in abundance while on stage, but as my pupil I expect docile obedience."
She frowned and looked away without responding and he doubted she would be so submissive. Faced with the fearsome Opera Ghost that would have made anyone else in her position cower in terror, and certainly never speak to him with such venom and fire, Christine yet held her own. His lips twisted in reluctant admiration.
"I will say that I am pleased you have desisted with your foolish rejection of food."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Can you really blame me, monsieur?"
"I would be a beast to do so, but then, that is the entirety of all I am. Do you not agree, mademoiselle? A vile monster that claims his victims and has no right to inhabit the world above with those more deserving. A demon that belongs to this frozen hell. Yes, of course," he said as if answering his own question. "That is all I am to you..."
The agreement always so quick to jump to her lips faltered in a tight throat. His offhand, self-condemning words that had always reinforced her beliefs in his utter wickedness now served to confuse her. The pieces that should fit together with precision convoluted all present knowledge and failed to arrange a picture that made sense.
He sighed. "A beast I may be, but I am also now your manager and teacher. I will be the one making all decisions with regard to your instruction and career," his tone achieved steady authority. "You are never to eat two hours before a practice, before any performance. To achieve the clarity I demand of your voice you are not to pollute your throat with food of any sort that would interfere with your song. Take your fill tonight, if you are so inclined. Drink nothing but water after you awaken."
"And am I to begin every morning without breakfast?" she asked in disbelief.
"No. Tomorrow only will I require this of you. Once I have evaluated the scope of all that must be done, you may have your morning tea. Much will be required of you, mademoiselle, make no mistake. You have the disadvantage of being untrained with no more than three months to prepare for the lead of a major production…"
The prospect was daunting, but Christine felt a renewed desire to sing. Since the night she allowed her voice to soar from a vacant stage, the need had rekindled inside her soul, at first no more than a dim ember buried in the ashes of her regret. To hear the Phantom play while she had been bedridden had fanned that ember to a steady flame. She had been an aural witness to his amazing talent as a composer - but still feared that four years was too long to deny her voice, that she had lost what little she knew.
"Have you done this before?" she asked, suddenly unsure of herself. "Made a nobody into a star and in so little time? Can such a task truly be accomplished with any level of satisfaction?" Nervously she plucked at the coverlet. "You heard me that night, on stage. You must know how out of form my voice was…is…how long it's been since I've done this…"
Confusion mellowed the hard edge in his golden eyes, and they softened with what looked like compassion, riveting her to their glow.
"I don't give praise where it is undeserved, mademoiselle. All I have said about the quality of your voice, I meant every word."
"But, honestly, monsieur, I'm not sure I have such ability as you give me credit for. That I can live up to all of what you expect of me - to have never sung professionally and take the lead …?"
He held up a hand to halt her anxious words.
"Cease to dwell on such matters." His voice now caressed her ears, deep and lyrical, a quiet assurance. "Those who treat the grandeur of music as a vague reflection of their form find it impossible to move through the mirror and capture its image. Only to them who inhabit the notes can that world of splendor be opened. Think on that, instead."
Christine stared at the Phantom, her heart quickening at his soothing admonition that seemed wrapped in layers of mystery as profound as the man himself … and struck a chord deep within her soul.
He remained unmoving, his eyes a wealth of repressed emotion, then inclined his head in farewell and left the bedchamber.
xXx
