Erik bemoaned the terrible casting choice the entire carriage ride back to the hotel.
"That man has no sense, Christine," he fumed. "Carlotta will fail spectacularly, and by extension, so will you! The absolute nerve of him, to give her a role that rightfully should have been yours!"
"I know, dear, I know," she murmured and patted his hand, leaning her head on his shoulder.
"It's just- it's not right! Was he even paying any attention at all to what he saw on stage?" he flailed his free hand about.
"Mmm, horrible," she sighed.
Her plan was slowly working as he became more and more distracted by her next to him, slowly forgetting his rage and distaste in favor of paying attention to her.
He cleared his throat, trying to focus his mind.
"It's a travesty, that's what it is," he tried again to rally the fury that was swiftly fleeing him as she played his hand, walking her fingertips across his knuckles.
"Its a work in progress, Erik," she reminded him gently. "He might, er, see reason, yet. What's important is that we didn't get in trouble..."
She cast a sidelong glance up at him.
"For anything," she added.
He grimaced. She was right. Although the managers had taken the news of her marriage in stride, he knew that she hadn't had a chance to explain much of anything to any of the girls who had seen them. Heaven only knew what the current gossip about her was. He took her hand in his and squeezed it.
"You won't have to stay in the dormitory very much longer, anyway," he told her apologetically.
She nodded. Moving out seemed like such a huge step, like leaving an old chapter of her life behind, but it thrilled her even as it terrified her. She already practically lived with Erik, but relinquishing her dorm room felt like it was finally making it official and final. She was someone's wife - no turning back now. While she didn't consider herself a particularly young woman - or at least, not as young as she used to be - she wondered if this was what it felt like to grow up, and if perhaps the growing up never really stopped. She'd considered herself quite grown up as she'd had to care for ailing Papa and then for Mamma Valerius when she was ill, and then as an older teen when she had first moved into the dorms. And then as she'd come to terms to her feelings for Erik - and now as she was on the precipice of moving into her own house. She thought about what might be in the future for them, what events might come along and change their lives once again to make her feel like her previous life up until that had been but a simple childhood that she had outgrown.
He was speaking about something regarding the design of the latest building he was working on with Bernard, but she closed her eyes as she leaned against his arm and tried to imagine some of those events. Maybe when they had a child - or more than one. When said child, or children, left to pursue their own lives. When she had to retire from the stage. When she had to bury Erik.
Her forehead scrunched up and she squeezed her fingers into his arm at that last thought.
"Christine?" Erik asked, puzzled. "What's wrong?"
She opened her eyes, realizing that she'd hardly heard anything he'd been talking about.
"Nothing," she whispered.
He studied her a moment longer, not believing her. Had he done something wrong? He'd been telling her about the latest styles coming out of America, and their influence on his current work... Perhaps she preferred a more classical look? Or was it something else?
"Tell me about our house," she said suddenly, wanting to put certain other thoughts out of her mind.
Erik shifted uncomfortably. She hadn't seen the house yet, and he hadn't consulted her in any of the stylistic choices... He hoped she'd like it.
"It's completely ready to move into. It just needs furniture... And a woman's touch," he chuckled a little.
She made an interested noise.
"We'll have to divvy up some of the items from the house under the Populaire," he mused. "But the rest we'll need to buy."
They'd talked on it only very briefly, but they'd planned to live in the house he'd built for her, though still keep the underground house for times when one or both of them needed to stay close to the opera house.
But for the brief time being, they would be staying at the hotel until further arrangements could be made, particularly because of an early morning meeting Erik had with Bernard the next day.
Before stopping at the hotel, Erik took her to a late lunch - or perhaps an early dinner. Tucked away in the corner of a restaurant, he raised his glass in a solemn toast before the meal.
"To not getting fired," his lips twitched into a wry grin, and she giggled as she raised her own glass.
By the time they returned to the hotel, it was nearly dark out. Though she knew that she should get some rest, she still felt too keyed up from the earlier drama. She paced a little as Erik sat at the table and frowned at a few letters that had been slipped under the door while they were gone.
She busied herself with starting a fire in the fireplace as he tore up one of the letters then raised an eyebrow at the other. Three matches were used and wasted, none of them catching despite her best efforts. She fiddled with the fourth match as she knelt on the hearth, pouting a little.
"Light the smaller pieces, my dear, not the larger logs," he murmured from his place at the table, watching her from the corner of his eye.
She tried again, this time succeeding with his advice. She sat back on her heels, shaking her head. If there was one thing that man knew, it was fire.
Erik watched her as she she stood, brushing out her skirts. He dropped the letter on the table, its contents suddenly no longer important.
"Christine," he drawled, licking at his dry lips. "Come here, sweet girl."
A shiver went up her spine at that rich, dark voice that never failed to give her butterflies in her stomach, and she approached the table with a ducked head and burning cheeks.
He reached an arm out to her to her, wrapping it around her waist and pulling her down to his level, making her sit across his lap as he kissed her deeply. He didn't think he'd ever get over the feeling of giddiness at how easily she capitulated to his touch, how she complied to his every whim. She eagerly returned the kiss, melting into his arms. He removed one hand from her back to reach under her knee so he could pull her closer and make her straddle his waist.
She flinched, an involuntary gasp leaving her lips. It was too similar a motion to how he'd moved her leg the previous night, and the bumpy carriage ride had done the strained muscle no favors.
He stopped immediately, terrified by her reaction.
"Are you okay?" he asked anxiously, searching her face.
"I'm fine," she wouldn't look at him. "It's okay."
"Christine, are you hurt?" he slowly, gently tried to move her leg again, and she shifted uncomfortably.
"Did I-" he swallowed hard.
"It's just a little strain, Erik," she tried to placate him, both because she didn't want to stop and also because she knew he wouldn't handle the guilt of it very well, even though it had been an accident.
"A strain?"
"It's not a big deal," she insisted.
"Christine-" he whispered, anguish and shame creeping into his voice. "Did I hurt you last night?"
"It was an accident, Erik," she said softly.
He let out a pained exhale, standing her up at an arm's length away from him before standing up himself. He walked away from her, going to stand in front of the fire.
He had hurt her.
It was bad enough that he had done so, that he had caused her pain of any kind for any amount of time - but to have hurt her in the midst of doing that, of something so intimate and personal - he felt sick over it. In his quest to make up for a lifetime of celibacy, he'd expected too much of her, had been too rough with her.
She came to stand behind him, placing a comforting hand on his back.
"It's not a big deal, Erik," she murmured again.
"Why didn't you say anything last night?" he thought uncomfortably of the moments he'd put his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. He had thought she'd been enjoying it all, but now-
"I didn't really notice last night," she said sheepishly. "I was a little more focused on- well, certain other things."
"You should have stopped me," he was on the verge of tears. "If it hurts, you need to tell me to stop. Christine, I won't know if you don't say anything-"
"I will," she promised him. "I'll tell you."
He nodded, not looking at her.
"Besides," she added carefully. "You didn't really hurt me, not truly - I'm just not as flexible as I used to be, not since I stopped dancing. I didn't even feel it all that much until today."
"Hm," he didn't seem convinced.
"You'll have to warn me ahead of time," she teased. "That way I can warm up beforehand."
Despite how cavalier she was acting, he still felt absolutely vile.
"Perhaps you'll have to, ah, assist me with my stretches, Monsieur," she lowered her voice seductively. "Then I'll be able to do whatever you wish of me..."
He turned from the fire and bundled her into his arms, holding her close. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"Go get ready for bed, sweet," he said gently.
She left him with a small sigh and changed into her bedclothes. He seemed absolutely crushed over the whole thing, and she could only hope that it hadn't affected him permanently. If the man swore off sex simply because of a little muscle pull caused by overeagerness, she was going to scream.
Erik had also changed by the time she came out of the bathroom, and he was standing by the table and sorting papers while wrapped in his own robe.
"Erik," she said softly. "Your meeting is early tomorrow, you should come to bed."
He reluctantly came to bed with her, hesitating as she scooted in close to him. He rolled to his side to face her, placing a hand on her waist and running it down over her hip and thigh. His yellow eyes glinted with concern in the near darkness of the room.
"Can I do anything to make it better?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
She shook her head.
"It'll feel better tomorrow, probably. Tonight- just hold me," she answered him just as quietly.
He carefully pulled her against his chest.
"Is this okay?"
"Perfect," she sighed.
To her contentment, she found that even a chaste activity such as this caused his skin to warm. She smiled at the sensation. The gentle crackle of the fireplace and the glow of the firelight, along with the safety of being in his arms, promised to lull her right to sleep.
All at once she felt several cold spots touch her face - he was tracing his fingertips down her jaw. She gave a muffled squeak and snuggled closer to his chest.
"You can't even imagine how long I've dreamed of this," he said quietly. "Of being able to be here with you, like this. I never thought it possible."
She could have left it at that - sleep was already encroaching on her mind, her thoughts going fuzzy and soft at the edges. A nighttime confession spoken with love. But she had one of her own to make, too.
"I used to dream about this too," she admitted, and his fingers paused in their tracks as they skated over her face. "What it would feel like, to be with you. In your arms. Under your lips. I thought about it a lot."
"A lot?" he breathed.
"Oh, a lot," she said shyly.
"Oh."
He peppered the side of her face with kisses as she squirmed and made little noises.
"I love you Christine," he murmured against her skin.
"I love you, too, Erik."
