A/N: Thank you for the reviews! :) I just want to say again how your encouragement means so much. A red rose tied with a black silk ribbon for each of you. :) And now…
Your Darkest Fears
LII
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Christine slowly came to consciousness, her mind still in a slumberous haze as she felt the bed shift. She opened sleepy eyes to catch a glimpse of Erik's scarred back before he covered himself with his velvet robe. He turned to see her eyes on him.
"Good morning." He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over where she lay, bracing his hands on the mattress. "Are you feeling alright?"
It was his first question to her each time they awakened to a new dawn, since he had brought her with him to remain below.
By unspoken agreement, after their initial discussion that first horrid day, they chose not to speak of the revolution brewing above. Not pretending its existence into absence, exactly, just not letting it invade their hidden sanctuary of candlelight and music.
She nodded against the pillow. "I am much better than alright." He gently smiled and brushed his lips over hers, and she gave a soft, welcoming murmur of delight.
Her sleep had been devoid of dreams or nightmares and blessedly painless with the warmth of her husband lying next to her, her head nestled in the crook of his arm. She now felt foolish for the drama she made of four nights ago, and they shared a tender kiss.
Erik had shown tremendous consideration during this awkward time, treating her as a queen – allowing her to nap long hours or read in bed throughout the days, if she wished it, even suggesting it, and not insisting on lessons at night. He had even massaged the soreness in her lower back with his sweet, exotic oils on the second day when the sharp twinges arrived with their irritable steadfastness – all of it making her feel truly cherished. Madame had insisted her girls practice and perform despite related discomforts, citing that the opera waited for no woman to "be herself" and must progress as scheduled. Unaccustomed to such lavish pampering during her time, any pampering really, Christine delightedly soaked up every bit of attention her husband gave. It was a merciful relief that they had crossed the previously dreaded and inevitable hurdle of her womanly embarrassment to the point of insignificance, so that it need never be an issue again.
"In fact," she softly declared with a smile, pulling away from his lips to speak, "today I shall make you breakfast. After yesterday's culinary lesson I think I'm ready. And later this afternoon, perhaps I shall try a bread pudding…"
He regarded her in wariness, no doubt remembering their last failed attempt. Or perhaps what it engendered. She would never again look at their kitchen table in the same manner. Or the pipe organ for that matter. Withholding a girlish giggle, she wondered if Erik intended that they should christen all the furniture of their newly shared home, in every chamber of the caverns, and felt warmth flush her face at the prospect which did not shock her in the least but greatly appealed…
Well, if she was wicked, he had made her that way.
"Is the Opera Ghost afraid to attempt such a feat twice?" she teased, her words coming quickly to cover shameless thoughts. "Or perhaps my Maestro is not up to the challenge?"
His eyes narrowed, his reply coming as a low growl, "The Opera Ghost fears nothing, my pet, and your Maestro has encountered far worse than teaching you a few culinary rudiments that almost brought the stove to ruins."
"Oh?" she lifted her brow.
He straightened to sit and regarded her with a mocking smirk. "The endless trials of teaching a frightened twelve-year old to sing."
She playfully swatted his shoulder. "I was not frightened."
"My dear, on a rare good day your voice warbled worse than La Carlotta's at her most appalling."
Her eyes widened at his patently sincere and perfectly horrendous slight.
"Oh!" This time she hit his shoulder with the edge of her fist. "How could you say such a thing to me? And what did you expect – I thought you were a true angel. Of course I was in petrified awe of you, that you had deigned to fly down from the clouds in heaven and agree to teach me!"
He grabbed both her wrists with a wicked grin and held her down, behaving entirely opposite of such a divine being. She struggled slightly in an offended attempt to get away, of course to no avail.
"If I was so bad," she hissed, "then why did you want anything more to do with me? Why did you even bother?"
"I saw true potential." He kissed the tip of her nose. His eyes swept over her face and throat. "I was not mistaken. I rarely am when it comes to matters of the arts."
His lips dipped to her pouting ones. Within traitorous seconds, she melted and reciprocated, his kiss warming her to her toes. It was almost frightening this endless power he held over her and the fervent response she had toward him.
"Very well," he said, pulling away, "you wish to learn, and the time to do so is at hand. I am famished." He stood to his feet and playfully snapped the silk sheet away from her body.
"Oh!" By instinct her hands flew up, though she wasn't sure which to try to cover as ineffectual as the idea was – the ridiculously ruffled pantalets or her bare aroused breasts.
By the way Erik stared he had forgotten all about the pantalets.
She dared not speak, could not move, watching him as he watched her, his expression hungry for things other than food. "I will light the stove," he said in a raspy voice that sounded little like his own, and swiftly exited the bedchamber.
Christine was surprised that he had not attempted to follow through with what had been brewing in his eyes but supposed it was for the best when her stomach grumbled in loud protest. She closed her eyes in gratitude that this time dignity spared her and he did not hear her belly's unladylike demand.
Quickly she left the bed and tended her morning ablutions, then dressed in a day gown of muted deep violet in a dusky tone. A single froth of cream ruffles at the wrists and throat made it beautiful in its simplicity. Knowing how messy the art of cooking could be, she tied her wild mane of curls back with a narrow velvet ribbon of deepest blue.
She met Erik in the main room, seeing he had also dressed, informally, his velvet robe hanging from his shoulders, loose and unbelted, with his parted shirt slightly untucked from his trousers. She loved him like this, so casually domestic and comfortable with her, as much as she loved it when he dressed in elegance to the nines. Her heart gave a giddy little thump to witness him slightly turn and catch sight of her – then smile.
She moved to stand before him and lifted her hands to cradle his jaw, kissing first his bare ridged cheek then the smooth one.
"Now," she said, pulling away and steering him by the shoulders to the nearest chair, which happened to be in front of his mini theatre, "sit down and let your wife prepare you breakfast for a change."
She ignored the scarlet silk that hid the dead rose, its chilling presence still unsettling to her soul. She did not consider it a bad omen. Indeed, if it helped Erik curb his violence against the theatre, the blossom of future shadows was a good thing to have in their home. But the fact that it could exist defied all logic and made his Night with the Spirits all the more real. For a man of genius like her husband, that must be doubly hard to bear.
He regarded her with indecision but took the seat where she led him.
"You are certain you are prepared for this, to tackle such a task alone?"
"Of course." She rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, do stop worrying, mon Ange. I was paying attention to every instruction given, as I always do."
"Always?"
Her face warmed at his dry reminder of her little rebellions. "Yes, well, most of the time I listen and do as you say."
He quietly snorted. "Very well, my dear. I shall sit here and endeavor to wait."
Christine lingered to watch as he took a piece of blank parchment rimmed with a thin black border from a small wooden box, unstopped a bottle of ink then picked up a pen.
"You're writing a note?" she asked, keeping her tone light and curious, but desperately hoping he had no plans to exert his authority as the Opera Ghost with the treacherous men above. She knew he despised the invasion into their beloved theatre as much as she did, but these were men not to be trifled with and certainly ten times more dangerous than the managers, who often behaved like the insipid, clownish fools Erik called them.
He paused midway through the first line to look up at her where she stood by his elbow.
"It is the manner by which Madame Giry and I have decided to maintain contact, through the usual method using Box Five. She in turn will leave a note answering questions I might have, also informing me of any significant news from above."
Christine decided she approved of the idea, feeling terribly foolish for her attack of jealousy five days ago, when her emotions had been so chaotic. "Ask after Meg. Write that I'm thinking of her."
His features smoothed into tenderness, and she loved being able to see all of his face to learn and know each change in expression.
"You will see her again, Christine."
She nodded, offering a half smile, and left to assume her task. Folded on the kitchen table, she noticed a pile of white cloth and curiously lifted it. Her eyes opened wide at the frilled apron and she looked at her husband in curiosity. He was watching her, his eyes alight with anticipation to see her reaction.
"I brought that from the costume department when I went above last night. You asked me if I owned one on the night you indulged so freely in champagne, and I thought you might like it, to keep your gowns protected from spills and whatnot."
"Thank you, Erik, I do," she said, her heart warmed by his thoughtful act.
Slipping her arms through the straps, she noted it looked like the uniform of a maid in an operetta from the previous season. Wearing it made her feel even more like a wife taking care of their home, making her husband breakfast, and now with a pretty, frilled apron to complete the picture of the long held dream she now lived.
If only…
She brushed a wistful hand over her flat stomach. Noticing his eyes still on her, she disguised the gesture as brushing away a loose thread.
.
xXx
.
Erik surreptitiously watched his bride prepare the meal as he penned his note, painfully aware of her somber lapses into silence. Every so often she would pause and stare into the distance, all former signs of happiness gone. Clearly she was distressed and pensive … had she truly been happy? Or was this morning all pretense?
Do you wish for Christine to come to regard her home as a prison, buried beneath the earth, and never think herself allowed to partake of fresh air…?
Madame Giry's former words rose to conscious thought, like hooded cobras to a snake charmer's flute, and he scowled as if bitten. Viciously he crumpled the note with the mistake just made, letting it fall to the ground. He reached for fresh parchment to begin his task anew.
Christine was not his prisoner, he was protecting her; she understood that. After learning the secret of the decayed rose, surely she understood…
She had offered no rebuttal or refusal when he arrived in the shadows to collect her from the theatre five days ago. She often told him she was delighted to be here with him, and he had lavished attention on her during her womanly time, preferring that idiom to The Curse she called it. That word did not fit his Angel, and seemed blasphemous to relate to one so lovely and sweet, though he had certainly received a lesson not to be forgotten on her bizarre swings of mood. Elated one moment, in tears the next and spitting nails at him for a minor infraction that a week ago she would not have batted an eyelash at. Of course, much of that could be attributed to the emotional upheaval with regard to the revolution that tore from her the dream to star in his operas. To give credence to Antoinette's foolish caution was of no consequence … still he could not quench the bothersome concern that Christine might soon come to despise her necessary confinement. She seemed content to live below the earth with him in indefinite solitude, but an angel of daylight surely would come to abhor always dwelling in the damp and the darkness ….
Once she invited him to partake of their meal and he assisted her to her chair next to his own, Erik endeavored to keep the conversation light and carefree, resolved to erase the somberness from her beautiful features. For the most part his efforts were rewarded, her smile soon sparkling with pleasure, his praise of her first solo undertaking not without merit. He had been tenderly amused to note the sliced honeyed apples she included with the toasted bread dipped in whipped eggs. For his bride, apples of red or gold or green, whatever was in season, were a staple for many a meal as well as her preferred snack.
Once breakfast concluded, he was again distressed to see her gaze wander to the flames of the candelabra and distantly remain there. He recognized that look, when she was deep in pensive thought that boded of confused sorrow, even if her lips did tilt in a seemingly content smile.
"Christine?" He took hold of her hand. "What troubles you so, to erase the happiness from those dark, expressive eyes?"
"I am happy, Erik," she was quick to assure. "Being with you like this is all I ever wanted." She glanced down at the napkin in her lap. "It's only my pesky little worries that torment me."
"About the situation above?" he prodded gently.
"No, since you told me nothing of consequence has occurred, after you visited with Madame last night, I feel somewhat reassured."
"Surely this is no longer about Antoinette?"
He still could not fathom how Beauty could entertain any jealousy with regard to the Beast.
Again she shook her head, her face flushing a shade of rose. "I was foolish about how I behaved and I apologize. The thought of you being with anyone else, with Madame Giry especially, made me feel such resentment and hurt that I've never known and certainly did not understand, in order to deal with it. I never knew what it was to feel jealous in matters of the heart. I can now empathize with what you felt when you saw me with Raoul on the rooftop, and I am so very sorry, Mon Ange. I will never allow anything like that to happen again, you have my word."
Even now, with her sitting beside him and holding his hand, her eyes brimming with love for him, mention of that detestable night and loathsome kiss inflicted pain. Those full, rosy lips were his and all future kisses belonged to him alone, as well as every other delicious facet that composed his Christine. The Vicomte had been warned, and the Phantom would not allow former jealousies to mar the life he now shared with his bride.
He attempted a smile. "That night is behind us. Let us speak of it no more. But if it is not this wretched revolution or your unfounded resentment that has you so vexed, what then has you upset?"
Christine winced at his unnerving ability to see through her. "Is it really so obvious?"
"You forget, I know every expression on that angelic face, enough to know when you act out of pretense, as you have been doing the majority of the morning, and I assisted with such training to recognize it."
She sighed. "You will think me silly."
"When have I ever thought that?"
Christine had told her dear Angel everything, from the time she was a child, and saw no reason to withhold her anxious concerns from him as his wife, especially since they had everything to do with him. Indeed, she hoped that he would relieve her fears.
"I just …" she hesitated, seeking the right words. They came little above a whisper. "I had so hoped to give you news of a child."
His hand remained warm on hers, but she sensed a sudden chill come over him.
"I mean, I know I'm not all that knowledgeable about how some of these things work, or at least I wasn't a month ago. I can hardly be called an innocent any longer…" she blushed. "…but with as often as we have made love, I would have thought that I, well, that I would have conceived. The Curse was late to come, and I had so hoped…" She shook her head, admitting the crux of her true fear. "Erik, what if I can never conceive? What if something is wrong with me and I am unable to give you a son?"
Throughout her anxious and timid recounting, the Phantom grew colder and colder, as if ice now chilled his veins. He managed to keep his voice moderate. "Do no let such matters trouble you, my dear."
"But they do!" Tears sparkled in her eyes. "I cannot help it. I overheard some girls in the chorus say that some women get pregnant their very first time. I want children, I want to give you children, and I'm so fearful that I may never be able to do so."
"It is unimportant." He waved his hand in a careless fashion.
"But if time proves that I'm barren will you still love me?"
"What a question!" He shook his head in terse disbelief. "I will always love you."
She wiped away her tears with the bottom of her apron and shook her head sadly. "You say that now, but no one can predict the future."
"You forget. I have seen its shadows," he said wryly.
"Yes, a future that will never occur. In that future we were never married and here we are. So how can you be sure what will truly happen? One day you may come to resent me, as my uncle must have resented my aunt. I was very young then, but I remember when they came to visit how cold he was toward her, how distant – they had no children. My maman conceived me late in life, and they were sisters –"
"Damn it, Christine, enough of this! I am not your fool uncle and you are not your mother or aunt." He pulled his hand away from hers and shot up from his chair to pace, running a shaky hand through his hair. He turned to look at her, noting her expression of guarded surprise.
"Forgive me, Mon Ange, I didn't mean to go on so," she apologized in a meek voice.
Her eyelashes swept her cheeks, and he exhaled a taut breath at the tear that lingered. Unable to witness her bitter self remorse, he made the decision to speak as he watched that jewel-like teardrop's slow descent. Hating to cause her pain...knowing he had no choice…
He could hardly keep the secret indefinitely. He had known at some point the matter would arise, and should have recalled what had become a tradition of her taking him unaware. There was no way to say what he must in a manner she would find acceptable, so he chose to be blunt and have it over and done with.
"You will not conceive a child, because I have seen to it that it will not occur."
Her dark Phantom stood tall and powerful, like one of his statues, and stared at her with unflappable regard. The seconds felt weighted, the atmosphere suffocating, making it difficult to breathe.
"What do you mean?" Christine half whispered once the initial shock wore away. Her eyes widened. "Did you, did you do something to me?" Even as she let the detestable words break loose from her burgeoning dark thoughts she did not believe them true.
His stormy green eyes regarded her in wounded disbelief. "I would never do anything that might cause you harm. Surely, you know this by now …"
"Yes, yes, I do." She cursed her rash tongue. "It's the way you said it – tell me what you meant, Erik. If you did nothing to me then … it must be you?"
He studied her a long moment, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade.
"Would it matter if I could not give you children?" he asked very softly, his voice like dark silk.
Stunned, she thought about that. She had never considered the possibility that he might not be able to produce heirs. As an only child she dreamed of a big family, but what if they were destined to be childless? She tried to imagine a life absent of children, never to be a mother, never to hold their child. The prospect distressed her heart, but did not cause half as much despair as thinking of a life either absent or filled with sons and daughters – and experienced without Erik.
"I would still love you and want to be with you."
"Then let us leave it at that."
Leave it at that …
Something about his quiet directive and wary conduct led her to believe there was more he didn't say, and she pressed forward, though logic told her it would be wise to stop.
"Don't I deserve the right to know the truth?" She shook her head in helpless confusion. "It doesn't make sense – you said you have seen to it that I won't conceive – as if the cause for prevention was made by your hand."
"I have told you all you must know." His eyes were distant and inscrutable, a phantom's eyes, and Christine was resolved to try and piece together the mystery for herself.
Even with nothing to compare, she knew that part of his anatomy was the quintessence of physical perfection and function, the hazy glances she'd given to his hardened flesh while in passion having shown no scars alluding to torture that could pose a problem, and she could not imagine what he meant or what he had done. In confusion, her eyes wandered to a nearby table and his case of medicinal herbs and powders…
His gaze followed hers, then fell to the ground. Guilt-ridden. An expression he did not wear often and one she could see clearly without a mask to act as a shield.
It was then she knew.
"It's something in that case, isn't it? You're taking something to make it impossible … the tea," she whispered in sudden realization. "It must be the tea …"
She thought of the tea he drank every morning without fail. The one time she curiously lifted his cup to her lips he immediately stopped her with a strong hand to her wrist. His argument had been that it was an exotic blend of leaves, very bitter and nothing she would enjoy. She had insisted she would like to try it, but he smoothly steered her to the kitchen, fixing her a cup of the black tea she usually drank.
The Phantom grimaced at her quick mind but saw no reason to withhold the truth, as he would have preferred. With her damnably curious nature, she would come to the realization soon enough. Better she know all of it so they could put this unfortunate discovery behind them, as they had all other awkward moments of the past.
"A plant from India contains leaves that if consumed daily prevent a man's seed from achieving the potency to produce children."
His abrupt, candid words might have caused a morsel of embarrassment if she wasn't so incredibly angry.
"So you took away any chance for conception, without even once speaking with me beforehand or telling me what you had done?" she demanded. "Without even considering how I might feel?" She wiped the tears from one side of her cheek with a quick swipe her hand. "How could you do something so dreadful?!"
His expression remained stoic. "I did what had to be done."
She shook her head briskly, refusing his words. "You know I have always wanted a family – it was a dream I shared many times, when you were my Angel in the chapel … why must you always treat me like a small child who cannot be trusted? Why could you not have first TOLD ME what you had planned?! Why must I find out about it – LIKE THIS?"
Her irate gaze flew to the box, her mind frantically trying to recall what canvas pouch she had seen him retrieve. With little clear thought and no other wish but to destroy the horrid tea that stole her dream, she darted up from her chair and rushed toward the table, ready to throw the entire box into the wretched lake. But Erik was faster, darting like a wildcat to block her path.
"Don't bother to try," he growled, grabbing her above the elbow, as if reading her intent. His eyes burned with grim determination. "I can easily locate more at the shop where I procure my herbs and spices."
"Why, Erik?" she pleaded in soft appeal, the rush of her ire diminishing into confused despair. "Why don't you wish to have children with me?"
"And why would you wish to bear any offspring of mine?" he asked bitterly. "The child of a monster, a demon – surely such a child would be cursed from the moment of its inception in the womb …" He released his hold on her with a disgusted little push.
"Then this is only about your face?" she said, almost relieved, ignoring his self disparaging remarks that she had learned to endure but was pleased to note came with less frequency over the past weeks. Hearing him speak of the concept of his child inside her sent a flutter of excitement through her soul, as if words gave power to make dreams come true despite his attempts to waylay them.
The Phantom hesitated, curious by her bizarre response and why hope should suddenly light her eyes as if she anticipated the dismal picture he painted. He shook his head slightly to clear it, giving heed to the question asked.
"It is true that once, before I learned my heritage, I feared that my curse would poison any issue of my loins…"
"Then you no longer feel that way?"
She was quick to pounce on the former tense of his words and he gave no answer. She moved a step closer, placing a tentative palm against the middle of his chest.
"You never did tell me about your face and what happened," she said. "Will you tell me now?"
He clenched his jaw, letting out a hissed breath at the dark misery to relive that moment but gave a short nod. She had earned the right to know. Even after being subjected to the horror, day after day, still she preferred him without a mask. Still, she regarded his scars without disgust and treated his face as if there was no defect to it. She treated him as the man he'd always wished to become in her eyes, though he would never deserve such a position, not with all the monstrous death and destruction he had wrought.
It was a moment before he could speak.
"I was born with this curse – this face – but during my Night with the Spirits, I heard the servants converse in past shadows, alluding to an accident my mother had while she carried this demon in her womb. They blamed my affliction on her foolish act of rebellion to ride against orders given. The horse threw her and she almost died. Perhaps in months to come, she came to wish Death had taken her soul, but instead both she and I survived to become the bane of the de Chagny's existence! The wretched scandal hidden under lock and key …"
Against her hand, his heart hammered out in angry despair, and she bled for the child who had been denied so much and the man who felt deserved so little.
"Erik, I told you, your scars don't matter to me." She kept her words gentle. "They are harsh, but they don't repulse me or give me reason not to love you as I do. Nor would your face matter to any children we might create together. They would love you as their papa, because they would not know or be taught any fear of you to realize it even exists in the foolishness of men's minds. And what do we care what those others think? When have you ever cared what anyone thinks? As long as we have our family –"
"It fails to matter." He shook his head at her persistence. "It is not going to happen."
She drew her brows together in puzzled dismay. "But, if you are no longer worried about our child inheriting your defects, then I don't understand –"
She spoke possessively of the nonexistent spawn as if it were an actual being, and he took a step back in panic.
"This is about much more than my wretched face, Christine! And I am not thoroughly convinced, despite the servants' gossip."
"But – what else is there?" she pleaded, her hands outstretched, "Please, tell me, Erik – I don't understand and I want to know, so as to understand everything –"
"It's YOU! I cannot lose YOU! Don't you see?" He desperately tried to regain control of his shattering emotions. "It happened once, I told you of this – and I cannot allow it to happen again!"
The vivid memory washed over him like an icy wave – her angelic apparition clutching the skeletal hand of Death, both of them vanishing in an explosion of white light –
The Phantom broke and fell to his knees, grabbing her close. His arms wrapped around her hips while he pressed his face against her blissfully empty womb.
Stunned by his response, Christine lifted her hand to cradle the back of his head. His tears of terrified panic and pain wet her skirts.
"My God, Christine – you died! That evil brat of his sapped the life from your body – you were little more than a walking specter while you carried that imp – and then you died giving birth to it. You did not possess any strength or will left to fight!"
She inhaled a stunned breath of awareness. He was speaking of the future shadows he had witnessed a little over two months ago – the future that never would happen.
"Erik, my darling, it was only a nightmare you lived, authentic in that it did happen, it's true. But it won't happen to us."
"I watched you, Christine!" he viciously whispered. "I watched you suffer, so pale and listless, your eyes sunken in and darkly shadowed, your spirit so weak as that, that thing in your womb slowly killed you. …"
"No, Erik…" Her smile trembled through her own tears of pain and apprehension to witness his. "I am not the fragile being of mist that existed in that dark world – you have made me strong! If I was weak in those awful future shadows, I would think it was because I was forced to live a life without you in it. I truly believe my spirit would wither and die, like that decayed blossom, if that were to happen, so it is no surprise that it did." She stroked his hair. "We destroyed all omens of that future – you and I both. We are together, living a life eternal through the sacred bond of marriage. I am yours and no one else's and always will be yours alone. Every day I feel my spirit soar with life, with you to guide me, teach me, love me. I have known such joy with you, and it has only made me stronger ..."
"Christine, please …" His voice was hoarse as he turned moist eyes up to hers. They shone with a fearful desperation. "Let this go. I can never risk it. Too much has happened that never should have commenced, all of which mirrored the wretched future in a twisted distortion of this present in which we now live. Despite your assurances, you cannot know that you'll be strong enough to endure such a trial. Perhaps the Fates' cruel mockery of this distortion would be that you would die from my spawn, not his. You cannot be sure that my curse of a child would not infect you and kill you. My God – I would rip open my veins and spill my own blood before I would condemn you to such a fate and know I was the cause…!"
Tears silently rained down her face, and she shuddered at his horrendous words, gasping as if she'd been struck when he spoke of his death so vehemently, the idea of his demise too terrible to conceive.
"Erik – please don't say such things …" She squeezed the words out through a tight throat. "I cannot bear it."
"Nor can I. Do you not see? I was forced to watch, Christine – I was given no choice! I saw that foul specter of Death take you away by the hand! And you went willingly, did not even try to fight it. I could not bear the anguish a second time…"
He kissed her hands fiercely and again looked up, holding to them as if she might suddenly turn into mist and slip away. "It is of no consequence, this idea of yours to create a family."
He stood to his feet, a sudden desperate eagerness controlling his actions. His eyes shone with bright fervor and his sudden smile trembled.
"Think of it, Christine! It would mean the end of your auspicious career which has only begun. We have both worked too hard to see this day accomplished. Together, we will continue to create music – my compositions, your voice. That has never failed to give you happiness before. And I will make you happy, mon Ange, in any other way, you have only to ask and if it's within my power I will grant it. One day soon you will again be on stage, singing my operas, of this I assure you…"
She smiled though her heart felt as if it was breaking.
"Yes," she whispered. "I do wish for that."
Her dream shared with Erik was imperative to her, always had been, and she had enjoyed her weeks of recognition on the stage. Beyond that and what had been the basis of such dreams was always to be with her Angel, to know and sing with him. Now she had the additional pleasure of sharing a life in matrimonial bliss with the only man she had ever loved…
A man who obsessively loved her with such fierce devotion he was terrified that she would be taken from him in death due to a ghostly warning she felt no longer applied. To be loved so tremendously and absolutely was a little frightening and greatly humbling but mostly it made her wish to be all that she could be for this beautiful, tragic man who had so captured her heart, its swift beats echoed in his every stilted inhalation.
"I will not speak of it again," she assured quietly.
It tore her heart to say the words, and she hoped one day to show him proof that his fears were unwarranted, but with the troubles they currently faced, she had no wish to add to his burden and attempt to sway his resolve. Now was not the time to bring a child into their world, and she must shelve the idealistic aspiration. For now…perhaps forever.
Logic demanded her surrender and her heart coaxed his liberation from fear, for the first time both warring factions in accord. At least there was that.
"I love you," he whispered intensely into her neck, his strong arms wrapping around her as if they might never let her go. "You are all the family I want or need..."
Her smile trembled and her eyes fell shut, dislodging more tears, for him, for herself, but her only response was to embrace him more tightly.
xXx
