Julia37

Before I reached the guest room, I heard Erik muttering to himself. I winced each time he cursed, as it was rare that he used crude language in my company. Most of the time his anger or disapproval was voiced in a grunt or an inaudible grumble—more often, however, he showed displeasure by waving his arms about.

I took a deep breath, preparing myself to expect the worst, which didn't come easy considering our pleasant nap. His scent lingered on my hair and skin, the masculine smell of a man who could quicken my heart rate with only his voice.

"Madame Giry wishes to see you later on this evening," I said as I entered. He didn't lift his head or acknowledge my presence. He had the letter in hand, which I knew was the one Madame de Chagny had sent to him. "Madame Lowry paid a visit during lunch and brought something from her mother."

I paused, expecting his inquisitive nature to make him lift his head and ask what she'd brought. When he didn't, I grew frustrated with him. It was only a letter, but Christine had ensnared him once again.

"Cookies," I said. "For the children."

"Fine." He yawned as though I bored him.

I extended my arm to him as I entered, which made him lift his head and look at me. His eyes widened as he noticed the mask in my hand, and I could see in his gaze that he attempted to go back and remember what I had just said to him a moment earlier.

Light reflected from the mirror in my hand onto the walls, and he stared at it as though it was the most hideous object he'd ever seen. Suddenly I became quite embarrassed for having returned it to him.

"I wasn't sure if you'd want this or not when Madame Giry pays you a visit later." Awkwardly I fumbled with his lunch tray and left the mirror and mask beside him. I balanced the mirror on top of his hairpiece and felt as though I should have said something more. "The room is quite dark, but perhaps it isn't—"

"Thank you," he said softly before I finished. He looked at me, his face still swollen and bruised. He didn't say a word, but I knew he wouldn't don the mask or his hairpiece if she came to visit him. I couldn't decide if it was a step forward or if he'd resigned himself to being helpless.

"She has seen my true appearance. If the dimmed lights suit her, she may enter." He hesitated noticeably, which made me aware of his discomfort. She thought of him as a son, yet he quite obviously didn't want her to ever see him unmasked. "Warn her first," he added hastily.

I closed my eyes, appalled by his recommendation that I warn her before she entered. In all the years I had known Madame Giry and Madame Lowry not once had either of them shown any hint of repulsion.

"Erik," I started. "Alex—"

He took a deep breath and turned his face way. It shocked me that he would not meet my eye when I mentioned his son. I had expected him to be thrilled to hear that the child he adored wished to visit him, but I wasn't sure I should finish. Perhaps Alex was nothing more than a reminder of Christine and the life Erik had wanted.

He crumpled the note in his hand. "What about Alex?"

My eyes grew wide, though I doubted he could see them. He'd crumpled the note from Christine, which I hadn't expected. I thought he'd tuck it into his shirt pocket in order to keep it close to his heart, but he hadn't. For the first time I had faith that he could overcome his feelings for her. He could place her into his past and step forward…with me, perhaps.

"Alex has been asking me for the last four hours if he may see you."

He gave a weary sigh, and I saw his Adam's apple bob. "Once Madeline returns home he may visit for a while—for the night if he wants."

It was what Erik wanted, but I didn't comment. Instead I turned up the lamp and smoothed the wrinkles out of the linen covers, purposely touching his leg. He watched me, his eyes slightly widening as my palm passed over his knee. I heard him inhale sharply, almost appreciatively of the attention I gave him, which made me smile wickedly.

"Oh, Erik," I said. "I forgot all about the bath I promised you. With the house, the children—"

"Sit down," he said, sounding aggravated. "For God's sake, quit running around."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You look absolutely hideous."

My eyebrows shot up.

"Tired, I mean. You look tired." He stared up at me with genuine concern in his eyes. His expression left me breathless as I still found it difficult to believe that with Christine's note in hand he could concern himself with me.

I wanted him to care about me as much as I cared for him, though I knew it would take time for me to trust him again. He'd become a stranger to me in so many ways that I couldn't allow myself to overlook the past few months and hope to start where we'd left off. That place was gone. No matter what I wanted from him, I had to take it slow and relearn him. He needed time to do the same.

"Thank you," I replied quietly. "I would like to sit for a while."

He reached up to scratch his head and winced as his fingers touched his forehead.

"You shouldn't touch that at all. You're hands aren't clean and the swelling hasn't gone down yet. I'll bring you a compress."

"Don't leave," he blurted out. Panic flickered in his eyes, and he reached for my hand and squeezed it.

"I won't," I promised. "I'll sit for a while, but if Madame Giry arrives—"

He blew a raspberry. "If you sit here long enough she'll clean the whole house for you."

"Erik, it's rude."

"Please, just sit with me. Just for a moment." He pulled his hand away and scratched at his head again, his teeth gritted in agony.

With a nod, I sat down beside him and folded my hands in my lap while he fidgeted a moment with the note and envelope. After a while, he sighed and handed me the letter—or rather shoved it into my grasp.

I squinted at it, unsure of what to say or do. My first impulse was to toss it into the fire and be rid of it. This was his intimate business, and as much as I wanted to see what she'd said to Erik, it felt intrusive. I knew that no matter what I would never have given Erik a letter from Louis. My past was private and I wanted it respected.

"Are you absolutely certain you want me to read this?" I asked.

He stared at my hands. "Yes, of course I'm sure."

Reluctantly I opened the letter and read her note, surprised that it didn't include false flattery. What I read angered me, as she questioned Alex's paternity and claimed she needed to know who his father was when to me it was plain to see who he belonged to. He was Erik's son in the way he acted and reacted. Alex had belonged to Erik since he was months old, which made him exclusively the son of the man who'd raised him.

Despite being a mother, I had no sympathy toward Christine. As much as I looked for a reason to sympathize with her, I found merely lies. She knew damned well that Alex was Erik's son, not her husband's. I suspected she hadn't bee truthful with the Vicomte either.

It was too much, and I handed it back to him. Teeth gritted, he crumpled it into a ball and tossed it onto the desk.

"Erik—"

"Listen to me," he said. "Please, no questions. Just listen to me." He looked away, and I wondered if he'd lied to her as well.

"I realize what a fool I've been. The kiss, the ring, all of it was for naught. She had acted out a beautiful moment, one of which had been the pinnacle of my life for so long." He paused, briefly met my eye, and frowned. "She had a pretty little stage of smoke and mirrors and a master who turned into a puppet once something better appeared before her eyes."

His words both confused and alarmed me. I touched his hand, and he looked at me. "Erik, I don't understand."

"She was only a chorus girl when I first saw her, but I changed her. I kept her disciplined, and I made her work on her voice. I made an orphan into a princess."

He'd made a little brat into a princess, I wanted to say. Because I didn't want him to stop speaking, I nodded and adjusted myself on the bed beside him, assuming I'd be listening to him for quite some time.

"Everything was my doing. My fixation with Christine allowed her the upper hand, which I hadn't even realized. There was nothing I wouldn't do to see her happy, to make her smile and she knew it. Physically, I could do nothing for her. She tempted me, there was no doubt, and I persisted to win her, but nothing ever came of it."

I nodded, barely able to believe that he admitted fault. "You were a gentleman," I said for lack of anything else.

"Not for lack of trying to be a louse. After a while, I tired of coaxing her into the bed chamber and having nothing come of it." He took a breath, and I imagined him some fifteen years ago. What would Erik as a thirty-year-old man been like, I wondered? What would have happened if I'd met him then?

"I settled on satisfying her emotionally," he continued. "By her own free will she came to me again and again, even when she had engaged herself to the boy. I taught her how to make her way down into the opera house. I gave her everything. I shared everything with her gladly."

I looked away from him, and for a moment I didn't hear his voice. He'd shared everything with her. The words lingered longer than they should have, but I allowed myself a moment of jealousy. Only now had he begun to share himself with me, truly share himself. Before this he'd only allowed me to skim across the surface.

"…Madeline was instructed to keep two thousand francs each month from my salary so that gifts could be purchased for Christine."

I blinked as money was mentioned. "Two thousand francs? How much did you receive?"

"Twenty thousand."

"For what?"

He shrugged, giving me a curious expression. "For leaving them be."

I stared at him a moment longer, completely confused by the turn in the conversation. "This, we will discuss later. With all of that money you could have bought her France."

He smirked, which reminded me of the old Erik. "Don't think it didn't cross my mind. I spared nothing for her. I thought she was happy to visit me. She would sit and listen to me play; she would have her music lessons, play with her gifts, tell me how much she adored the trinkets and then be gone for weeks."

"You spoiled her."

"I thought I had earned her company. As I returned her to her room, I would beg her to tell me why she wouldn't stay a little longer. Perhaps it was selfish of me to want companionship but the only moments I found joy were when she sat by the organ and sang, or when she fell asleep in the bed I respectfully left to her—and I did leave her alone. She gave me enough attention, just enough hope that she would love me and that she would stay with me for a lifetime."

My God, he knew precisely how to torment me. I looked away from him, wondering how long he could possibly speak about the woman he claimed he didn't still love. Most likely he'd talk as long as I listened, and then perhaps he'd forget that I was there.