Sing for Me!

Chapter XXXIX

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Endurance.

How aptly Erik described the recurrent theme of their most recent twilight lessons. Christine eagerly looked forward to this evening's change, hoping it might be the start of a new method of instruction entirely.

As she waited for him to gather one of his scores, her mind went to his earlier words of caution to journey into the city, and she came to a decision.

She watched her Maestro take his place behind the organ, setting the papers before him. Determined to excel and win, giving him no cause to reprimand, she assumed the correct posture and waited for him to play the opening chord, the first in a series of her usual exercises.

The first minutes went better than Erik expected for her vocal respite of five days. As they progressed up the keyboard, he glanced her way and noticed she stood more rigid than he remembered from previous evenings of instruction, hardly relaxed as she needed to be for the notes to flow well. Clearly she was still apprehensive and he considered a method to help her relax, somewhat devious, yes…but at the same time he had begun to regret adding the incentive to the lesson - a reward that she could quite possibly win.

He had no desire to visit the crowded streets of Paris a third time in less than two weeks.

Catching her eye, he closed his lid in a slight wink, his lips tilting at the corners in a faint grin.

Stunned by his cavalier, easy behavior when in the role of her Maestro, Christine faltered on a five note scale. He lifted his brow in astonishment - though the devilish gleam in his eye suggested that he was full aware of the effect his startling conduct would have on her.

"Again?" he prompted. "And that's one."

"That's hardly fair -"

"Do you wish to argue the point, Christine? Given what it will cost you?"

Blinking in disbelief, she closed her gaping mouth and lifted her chin. Why should she expect the clever and most wicked Opera Ghost to play fair and not be up to one of his many tricks?

"Again, Maestro." She forced a brief smile, narrowing her eyes at him, and nodded that she was ready to resume. As a pupil to the Master of Mischief for half of one decade, she had learned enough to present her own challenge…

Erik took Christine through scales and warm ups and into her solo in Act Four of the present opera. First he planned to go over areas of the Don Juan that needed slight adjustments, then introduce the opening song for a third opera that he would eventually present to the managers.

He was pleased to note that five days of rest had not weakened the excellence of her voice. He carried her into the second verse, his attention moving from the page of his opus to her radiant face. Her eyes closed as she became one with his music. He watched her hand lift to her sash and pluck at the tie…

…and stared in rapt fascination as the edges of her wrapper slightly parted once the sash loosened, revealing a glimpse of snow white cleavage amid soft twin mounds.

His hands slipped on the keys producing a raucous chord.

She opened her eyes, the look in them one of innocent surprise.

"Again, Maestro?"

"What are you doing, Christine?" he rasped quietly.

"Doing?"

"Do you plan to add a new movement to the scene by disrobing?"

She smiled sweetly. "The sash was too tight and digging into my ribs. It made it painful when I inhaled." She flipped the ties completely free and pulled her wrapper more firmly around her, but not before it flashed open a fraction of a second offering him a much more generous view. She retied the wrapper.

"I only wished to loosen the knot. I apologize if I distracted you, Maestro."

The naughty glint of mischief in her eyes made it clear she wasn't one bit repentant.

Ignoring the sudden pounding of his heart, he crossed his arms over his chest. "I could count this an act of rebellion, with two strikes against you."

"Which would be cruel and unfair. The first strike should never have counted. You caught me off guard! I've never seen you wink at me like - like some vainglorious rogue!"

He snorted at the ill-suited moniker. A scoundrel, yes, he wore the title like a well-tailored waistcoat. But he could hardly be called vain.

"Think of it as a lesson to remember," he insisted. "You cannot allow outside circumstances to influence your behavior while you're beneath the spotlight. What if a hapless stagehand winks at you during a performance? Never mind the fool's fate, would you have faltered as you did?"

She shrugged with clear unconcern and flipped her long curls over one shoulder. "Since I have no interest in any stagehand, his action would have been inconsequential. Likely I would have ignored him. As to what just happened, I was hardly being rebellious, Maestro. You often tell me I must become the character and live out the emotion. That song is extremely passionate, entailing the depths of what she feels for her lover. Perhaps without realizing it I was 'getting into character'.'"

She shrugged, her smile angelic, her mink eyes glittering like those of a mischievous imp. Perhaps she was the Belle of lore and did originate from the fairies...

This was getting them nowhere and Erik realized the futility to continue in this vein. "Very well, Christine. I call a truce. No more tricks, no more distractions."

"And we start anew, with no strikes against me?"

He nodded once. "Of course. My goal, after all, is to encourage your best performance on the stage and off of it. Now, shall we continue?"

Other than the bitter pill of her certain choice to take her on her foolish outing, either way, he would win. If she succeeded, he would still benefit from the magnificence of her performance, and if he should come out the victor in their little game, he would receive the prize of any wish. He pondered requesting that she forget the imprudent visit or stating that she never bring up the fool Vicomte and his family again.

Christine nodded toward him, silently congratulating herself for her small triumph. "I'm ready when you are, Maestro."

Either way, she was bound to win. If she succeeded, he must give her whatever she asked and she knew exactly what she wanted. And if she did not perform well, surely whatever he wished for would not be difficult to give, since her fondest hope was to please him in all things. He had quite easily molded her to all of his desires, both in and out of their bed. Bearing that in mind, she could not lose, whatever his choice.

The lesson progressed with Erik, ever watchful, more so than he had been in the past. Or perhaps she only imagined that. Despite the sensation of his hawk-like eyes, glittering bright and golden green and monitoring her every move, Christine managed to smother out all exterior influences as he'd taught - at this moment the lure of his commanding presence - and focus on the opera.

At long last he took his hands from the keys and swiveled on the bench to face her, his expression grim.

"Brava, my dear. It was an endeavor well executed."

She smiled brightly. "Then I have won?"

Erik could not help but faintly chuckle at her candid eagerness. "I do hope you have more regard for the mechanics of our lesson than to perceive what you've been taught as mere stepping stones toward the successful conclusion of a contest."

She wrinkled her nose at him and waved his critical words away, closing the distance. "Of course, but did I win?"

He somberly looked up into her eyes, reaching to take hold of her hands. "What do you think?"

She giggled and - with his sudden tug - fell into his lap. Her arms immediately looped around his neck.

"I think you owe me a wish, Maestro."

"Ah, yes, a wish." He spoke without enthusiasm. "And what would my lady have?"

She tilted her head, considering. "From this moment forth, there is to be no more talk of lessons or rebellions or of going above - for any reason. I want to share this night and all of tomorrow with you and only you, in thought and deed, and definitely with no more arguments between us. Starting now, with a soak in our delightful, secret underground spring."

He waited, lifting his brow when she said no more. "That is what you wish?"

"Yes." She regarded him curiously. "You want me to ask for more?"

He did not respond, relieved in her choice of a prize of course. However, after this week's experience of his apparent inability to keep his hands off of her, he found it curious that Christine would feel the need to regard complete intimacy as a reward to be earned.

"And do you wish to forego your supper?"

"No, of course not. We can take it with us."

Soggy bread had no appeal. "I don't think that would be wise."

"A small basket with fruit then. Apples. And wine ... perhaps cheese…"

He chuckled at the reflection of her request when she first braved his lair that long ago night after he'd sent her his farewell note, resigning as her teacher.

"By all means then, ma chérie, let us go and grant your wish."

She did not move from his lap and he turned a puzzled look her way.

"You thought I would ask for you to take me to see the child, didn't you?"

He sighed. "Are you not breaking your own rule that we cease to speak of such things?"

"Yes, but only to express what needs to be said." She rested her palm against his twisted cheek. "I still want to go see her, but I'll not manipulate you into taking me. I trust your judgment, Erik. I know your wish is to please me, but my safety is also your concern. You've watched over me since I was little and have always protected me. So I do want you to be the one to decide. I most certainly don't want you to be a surly companion because you were forced to accompany me due to our little game and thus hate every moment of our outing together. If we go, it will be your choice alone, without the burden of granting me a reward."

He was surprised by her explanation and felt a twinge of shame at his own manipulative reward, had he won. Even if one choice did ensure her protection, and the other his sanity.

"If I agree to take you, I cannot promise that I'll not be surly, Christine. But I can assure you that I'll abhor the experience. For reasons I am sure you can now guess, I refrain from putting myself on display, and most certainly to those outside the opera house." He lifted a wry brow, motioning to the warped side of his face she still cupped. "A mask only invites further attention."

"Yes, I understand all of what you've been through, darling. But perhaps it's time to close the old chapter of your solitary life and continue with our fresh and new tale?" Before he could respond with his usual curt reply that he could never forget, she pressed her lips softly to his. Any immediate rancor caused by her gentle admonition died a quick death. "This time, I ask only that you grant my wish for the entirety of tonight and tomorrow - what will be our last sojourn of absolute solitude together."

"This time?" His mouth twisted in amusement that the one opportunity he extended to include a reward she had swiftly decided would now become an ongoing addition to their lessons. She was his wife and most decidedly all woman, but she still loved to play…

Then again, so did he.

"There will be other opportunities, won't there," she stated quickly. "The addition of a reward helps motivate me to give my best. Therefore, I think they should become a permanent part of our lessons."

He brought his attention up from lingering on her lush curves and dwelling on the various means he planned to grant her wish. If her current selection of a prize was the precedent of rewards to come, he would gladly surrender all future wins.

"Very well, I will also grant that wish."

She brought her face close, pressing her forehead to his with an endearing grin. "I warn you, my dear Maestro husband, I intend always to win. So I ask, are you up to the challenge?"

"I am up to all challenges you present, mon amour. Tonight and tomorrow and for all time to come … shall we proceed?"

His tone was silken, his hands warm at her waist as he helped her rise from his lap, and Christine shivered a little in pleasure from the intent look he gave, anticipating the delicious fruition of her hard-earned reward.

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xXx

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The morning of her return to the theater came as she knew it must.

While Christine dressed she basked in the memories of her time with Erik. Delightful and satisfying could not begin to encapsulate the experience. She still felt traces of his warmth, where his skin had recently molded against hers as they lay in their bed, his spicy scent embedded in her flesh and hair, and when he came up behind she could not help press her back to his chest, wishing they never had to part. They would reunite after tonight's performance, of course, but even a day's separation from her new husband seemed too much to bear.

He did not respond as she hoped, by slipping his arms around her waist and holding her tightly against him, but instead remained motionless. She drew her brows together in confusion at his continued silence.

"I have something for you," he said quietly, his words sounding like an apology.

Before she could ask, she felt him step back. Something cold and metallic slipped against her neck, its intrusive chill dripping down her loose chemise to the valley between her breasts. She shuddered with the shock of it and fingered a chain of gold links that he now fastened at the back.

"Erik…" He knew her dislike for such trinkets due to how a few tendrils of her wild hair always managed to painfully become caught in the clasp, on the rare occasions she'd been required to wear a pendant for a costume. "Why are you giving me this?"

"I vowed I would not cast a pall on our last day of complete togetherness, due to your wish, and I waited to act. But I can remain silent no longer…" He turned her around by the shoulders, the look in his eyes cheerless but determined. "You will never agree to leave them behind and I would not wish you to."

"Leave what behin …" At his glance past her hip, comprehension dawned. "Oh, no… Not my beautiful rings." She covered her jeweled hand with the other. "Erik - you cannot mean to take my rings from me!"

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous." His tone came on edge though he tried to reason. "Christine, you cannot go above wearing rings on your wedding finger without drawing notice and casting more speculation and suspicion upon you. And this time, they would be correct in the assumption - that you are wed."

"I don't care! Maybe I want them to know."

"Do you, Christine?" His voice came low and steady but firm with resolve. "Do you wish to field the endless questions of journalists and chorus alike? You are now the lead, a star, and newsworthy to the populace. If you revealed a secret marriage, how long before they demand to know the identity of your husband? How long can you keep that secret from them?"

"As long as I need to," she insisted. "I can keep a secret, Erik. You should know that by now."

"Yes, but journalists are cunning and shrewd. It would not be long before they picked you apart to uncover the truth." He shook her a little to try to dispel the flame of stubbornness in her flashing brown eyes. "You have said you understood, that you know I have your best interest at heart always..."

She tried to look away but he wouldn't let her.

"No - listen to me. You've been gone an entire week, Christine, the second time to disappear after an opening. The current explanation of visiting relations will not matter one whit if they should see those rings. The Vicomte is the only other man in whose company you've been seen. If asked, he might tell the truth - that you are not his wife. Worse, he might go along with their suspicions, foolishly thinking to help you, and pretend to be your husband - and that I could not bear!"

"And I cannot bear this!" She valued their privacy but did not wish to treat her marriage to Erik as if it were something of which to be ashamed. If it was her decision alone, she would shout it proudly from the opera house rooftop! "How long must we keep our marriage a secret? A week? A month? Several months?"

He shook his head wearily. "At this time, I cannot say. There are the current politics of the city to consider as well. It would not be wise if a member of the potential Commune were to realize your new state of affairs. Many keep their status secret, so it is impossible to know who to trust. One look at those rings and the truth would be apparent to all. You could be in danger, and I will do nothing to place you in peril!"

Sadly she looked down at her beautiful rings that her beloved Angel had designed. Of gold and one large diamond, the craftsmanship was of high quality, unique, certainly nothing the average worker could afford.

"I don't like this. I wish things were different."

"As do I," he said quietly and tilted her chin to look at him. "The need for secrecy will not last forever."

"Can you promise me that?" she insisted. "Can you promise that soon I'll no longer have to hide the fact that you're my husband? Can you, Erik?"

"You think I want this?" he asked incredulously. "Christine, if it were my choice, if I had no fear of repercussions toward you, even danger, I would announce the news of our nuptials from the stage to the entire opera house and not hesitate to claim you publicly as my wife! To receive the gift of your eternal devotion is the highest honor I will ever know."

His fierce, quiet words brought a slight upward tilt to her trembling lips that disappeared once he lifted her clenched hand in his. Gently he forced her fingertips from digging into her palm and straightened her stiff fingers, sliding the circles of gold from the one that proclaimed she was his wife, then he kissed where the rings had been. She tried not to show her dismay as he slipped the rings over the chain where they fell into her chemise. Tears pooled in her eyes, and one dripped from her lashes to land on the bared knuckle of her fist she stared down at. She pressed it to her bosom and the hidden rings.

"This doesn't feel right at all," she whispered as he again fastened the chain. Watching him remove from her finger the proof of what bound them together brought sheer dread, as if it were an omen of separation to come.

He again took her naked hand and placed her palm hard against his chest. "The promise of what the rings symbolize - my love and commitment to you - will never waver, mon amour, whether you wear them on your finger or concealed, over your heart. And each night, I vow to return them to their rightful place."

"Only to remove them again come morning," she sullenly predicted.

"At this time, yes." His voice was hollow but unyielding. "It must be done, Christine."

She nodded once, her eyes downcast. He drew her to him and held her close and she worked to control her dismay and cease in acting so childish. She did not want this...but neither did he, and it was unfair of her to make him feel worse than he already did. Reassuring herself that the delay would not last forever, she pulled away, forcing a smile when his beautiful, concerned eyes searched hers.

"If I linger any longer I'll never arrive to the stage in time for afternoon rehearsal, and I don't want to risk Madame coming to hunt us out again," she said with a little laugh, her cheeks going hot with the memory. "I'll need your help with lacing my corset. I don't think the peasant gypsy dress is the statement I wish to present as the opera's new diva."

"Of course." He smiled, his eyes a mirror to the wistfulness in hers. He turned her gently around and worked with the ties of the corset, pulling on them.

With her palms pressed to the wall, she shook her head when he quit. "You'll have to do better than that, Erik. Like you did yesterday. I need to actually fit into the dress."

"It is tight enough. I do not care for articles of clothing that bind you so securely as to impair your breathing, as it did yesterday. Surely that must make it difficult to sing."

"At times, but what else is a diva to do but be fashionable?" she quipped.

"Simple." To her shock she felt him swiftly pull free the laces he had just gathered. "Dispense with the corset." He pulled the stays away from her ribs and tossed the device to the floor.

"Erik!" She turned to regard him in shock. "I can't go above without one!"

"I beg to differ." His eyes made a pragmatic survey of her form from breast to hip. "You are slender in all the ways that matter to make that contraption unnecessary." She continued to gape and he went on. "It is my opera, the costumes are my design, and if I say Aminta need not wear such a restricting piece of finery, she will not. The seamstress can make any necessary adjustments to your wardrobe."

"But the dress! My day dress."

"Any of them will fit without your need to be pinched and bound by unnecessary wiring." He pulled a sapphire blue woolen from the wardrobe. "Wear this one."

"Erik." She crossed her arms against her chemise. "Really, I must protest."

He lifted his brow. "You no longer like the dress? When you tried on the entirety of your wardrobe for me yesterday, you showed a particular liking to that one."

She remembered, also remembering his eyes, enigmatic pools of jade that never seemed to grow weary of watching her. But rarely had he offered a word, except when asked an opinion, and those had come brief.

"I love it, but…" She blew out a resigned breath, stopping mid sentence when she noted the obdurate expression in his glittering eyes. She despised the corset just as much and suddenly wondered why she fought to keep it. "Fine. I'll wear the dress without it, if it will fit." She took the butter-soft woolen and pulled it over her head. "There. Are you satisfied?"

"Quite." He grinned and without her request to do so, again turned her by the shoulders to do up the tiny buttons at the back, his fingers now deft with the experience.

Christine took a relaxing breath as he rapidly worked up her spine, surprised the gown fit well without the constricting undergarment. She shivered a little at the sudden touch of his lips at her nape.

"Tell me, my dear, is that not better?"

She nodded with a defeated smile and faced him. "Much. But if I never again wear a corset, the day may come when I won't fit into any of my beautiful dresses. Especially now that I've quit the dance."

"Let's take that as it comes, shall we?" His expression was mysterious, the quirk of his smile elevating her pulse rate. "One moment, and I will take you above."

Curious, she watched him leave their bedchamber then followed him to the main room and the table holding the mini stage.

He pulled the box from beneath and selected the white half mask.

She put a staying hand to his shoulder.

He let out an impatient breath.

"Christine, we have talked about this…"

"Not that one."

At his narrowed gaze of confusion, she lowered herself beside him. She hesitated with putting her hand inside the crate, recalling the promise she'd made. Even if she was hurt and angry when she had spouted the words, she would honor them and never again give him reason to doubt her.

"May I?"

He gave a curt nod and she pulled a black bandit mask from among the others, handing it to him. "It requires no paste," she said by way of explanation.

"The white one will not take long to apply. The paste is already mixed -"

"I don't like it when you use that glue on your face. There's no reason for it. Above, you rarely let anyone see you, and when we're alone together there's no reason for a mask."

His jaw hardened as if he might argue but she held firm in her resolve. She did not want his frail skin suffering further damage by that awful paste again. In these seven days, without a covering, the rawness had completely healed.

"Please, Erik. You chose my mode of dress. Allow me to choose your mask."

After a moment he gave a terse nod and took the black mask from her. He moved to a table with a covered round standing mirror surrounded by three wigs. Taking a black one from the first stand, he spared her only a brief glance, noting her disgruntled look.

"This is necessary." He pulled the wig snugly over his golden brown locks.

"As necessary as my corset."

"I have told you, it helps to cover a part of my deformity the mask does not hide."

"The corset helps to cinch in my waist for the dresses."

"Utterly unnecessary for your form, perhaps even harmful." He slipped on the mask, snapping the band into place then briskly adjusting the hairpiece.

"As is that wig, though I wouldn't call it harmful. Only an encumbrance."

He whirled to face her, gracefully sweeping his arms out to the sides. "I have no choice! Do you not understand that?"

"You do have a choice, but you've decided on the wrong one."

"Christine…"

At his warning tone, she lifted her chin. "You are allowed to choose all that I wear but I'm not permitted to give an opinion to your preferences? That hardly seems fair."

She smiled serenely and glided toward him, noting the black leather gloves he picked up.

"Do you wear those so often because your hands are cold?"

He sighed impatiently. "And what precisely is wrong with my gloves?"

"Nothing. They're quite dashing, really. Only let me pose a question to you, Mon Ange - day after day, would you rather touch the warmth of my hand or the cold material of my glove?"

"Touché, my dear." He regarded her warily as she came close, his lips quirking at the corners. "Is there anything more you wish to analyze about the fine points of my appearance?"

She slipped her hands up to cradle his jaw. "One last thing…" she looked deeply into his eyes. "I love you, Erik, even with all your pointless idiosyncrasies that make moments like this one more difficult to achieve…" And drawing his head down she tenderly pressed her lips to his.

Suddenly he crushed her to him, clutching a handful of her curls at the nape and moving her so that the mask did not press into her flesh. His heated mouth became a welcome invasion to eager lips, as tongue fiercely tangled with tongue...

Abruptly he pulled away and pressed his brow to hers. "God, what you do to me, woman! Why now, when you are due on stage so soon?" he groaned. "Your fire and spirit make me forget all else and wish to ravish you where you stand."

She felt breathless by his low, fervent words and the sudden flames that blazed in his eyes. "If only there was a shortcut to the theater," she whispered, her heart racing as much from his words as by his actions.

He hesitated then smiled wickedly. "Perhaps there is."

"Then I think we should take advantage of it, don't you?"

For an answer, he swept her off her feet and into his arms, swiftly moving back with her toward their bedchamber.

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xXx

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With little time to spare, Christine and her Phantom took the shortcut to the main level of the opera house in what seemed half the usual time, leading to a corridor different than the one behind the mirror of her dressing room. The passage involved more walking, some of it steep, with none of the journey taken by boat or horse, but Christine felt any luxury sacrificed was far worth every additional moment she and Erik had stolen together.

He stopped as they approached a small wall of wood and turned to her. "This leads to the back of the cloakroom. Take care that no one sees you. I must leave you here, but I will return for you tonight, after the performance."

"I'll be counting the minutes," she assured him softly. "Every song I sing tonight, I will sing for you."

His eyes, a mystical jade, glowed with adoration.

The bitter knowledge that the time had so suddenly come to part after spending almost every hour of the last six days with her new husband caused Christine to release his hand and throw herself at him, her arms going around his neck as she kissed him desperately. He brought his hand not holding the torch against her spine, enfolding her in his cloak, and kissed her with equal passion.

"You must go," he said after a moment, pulling back.

"I know," she said sadly, taking sweet refuge in one last stolen kiss before stepping from his arms. "You will come for me directly after the last curtain call, without delay?"

"Need you truly ask, Christine?" He chuckled softly. "Nothing will keep me from you the moment your obligations are met."

Perhaps she would feel differently once the performance began and she took center stage, but in this moment she never wished to leave his side, even to sing.

He pressed his bare hand against the wall, and she watched as a panel silently slid from view. Erik helped her as she crouched through the low opening half the height of a wardrobe and twice as narrow, instantly noting she was blocked from detection by a row of floor-length coats.

She turned to him once more, finding it difficult to go. He again took her hand in his warm one and slowly kissed it. "Je t'aime, Mon Ange de la Musique," he whispered before releasing her...

...and then he was gone, the paneling swept back into place, again to become part of the wall, as if an opening had never been there.

Christine blinked back a foolish rush of tears, knowing she must quickly accustom herself to this routine, what now would be the customary program of her days. Only the nights were hers to spend with Erik, but at least she did have those. With a wistful little sigh, she stiffened her shoulders and prepared to meet her public.

Peeking out from between two long fur coats, she was relieved to see the room empty of all other humanity. She darted out of her area of concealment, smoothing her hair as she moved through the cloakroom door and took the corridor that led to the stage.

xXx

A/N: Aw, honeymoon's over. Darn. But that doesn't mean the lovin' stops. ;-)