"Oh?" she tore her gaze away from the cake, curious.
Well. There was no going back now.
He pulled a jewelry box out from his jacket pocket. He slid the box across the table to her.
A flash of trepidation crossed her features. Jewelry? She took the box and opened it.
Inside, nestled on the soft velvet was a necklace.
But not just any necklace.
It was in the style of the ones all the other girls had - a style that was still quite popular (Meg insisted that she even slept with hers on), and a style she still couldn't afford. Out of all the little charms they offered, he had picked for her the orange colored design of two little beamed eighth notes on a golden chain.
She took a deep breath.
There was no way she could accept this from him - it was far too expensive a gift, far more suited as a token from a patron than from a tutor, far too much, and she should politely decline it. It simply wouldn't be proper or right to accept it.
Her eyes slowly slid from the necklace in the box to Erik's intent gaze, and she pulled her hair up, away from her neck, and turned her back towards him.
"Would you put it on me, please?"
He jumped up from his chair, hastily taking the necklace out of the box and savoring the feeling of standing so close to her, of how close his hands were to touching the bare skin of her neck (so, so close, but not quite, he made sure), and he thankfully had little trouble with the tiny clasp as he settled the delicate chain around her throat.
"If you don't like the design or the color, just let me know, Christine - I can exchange it for a different one, I don't mind," he nearly babbled, but he was desperate to make sure that she didn't go to the only jewelry store in town that sold those necklaces - not after how he had panicked when the salesman asked who he was shopping for and Erik had blurted out my wife, it's her birthday.
Her hand fluttered over the charm before clasping it protectively, turning to face him with a serious look in her eye.
"Oh, no - I could never exchange this! I love it!"
The same wild impulse that had caused her to apply lipstick that morning suddenly returned, and this time it was with the absurd notion to throw her arms around his neck and press a kiss to his cheek. She resisted this impulse - it would only make things indefinitely and immeasurably awkward between them.
"Erik, you- you have no idea how much I appreciate this," she stuttered instead. "Thank you so, so much."
"You are quite welcome, my dear," he smiled kindly, the tension leaving his shoulders. "I'm glad you like it. Now, how about some breakfast?"
He gestured towards the cake and her lips quirked into a funny smile.
"Cake for breakfast?" she asked.
"Yes. Why not?"
She arched an eyebrow.
"I must ask, good monsieur - who are you and what have you done with my maestro?"
Erik's laugh rang out.
"Come now, Christine, it is a special occasion, after all. Am I truly that strict with you?"
She tilted her head, smiling wider.
"Christine! Truly?"
She took a slice of cake, her eyes widening with anticipation when she saw the filling.
"I am merely saying that if I were to tell you any other day that I had cake for breakfast, I would receive an hour long lecture of the dangers of sugar to one's voice," she said primly.
He sat back down with a huff.
"But Christine, perhaps that reflects not on your teacher's strictness, but on his student's over-fondness for sweets..."
She paused and frowned, shaking her head.
"No, I don't think it works that way in the least."
He gave a theatrical sigh and sagged in his chair as she giggled.
"Won't you have some too?"
He hesitated - he was not at all hungry (after all, had he not already eaten two prawns and a bite of custard a mere fourteen hours ago?) but the look on her face brokered no discussion - she clearly expected him to eat. He took as small a slice as he thought she would let him get away with.
They talked more over breakfast, but over and over Erik found his eyes inappropriately being drawn to her décolletage - he was thankful that Christine was so engrossed in her cake and didn't seem to notice. He was not staring! He would have sworn it, he was not staring at that hint of cleavage at the neckline of her dress - no, he was staring a few inches above that, at the necklace, the necklace he had given her.
He had already been anxious enough simply going into the jewelry store, and the salesman, who despite being surprised by his mask and trying his best not to look directly at it, still insisted on asking so him so many questions which only flustered Erik all the further. Once he had told the salesman he was looking for a gift for his wife (he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth), the man was intent on pointing out a number of lovely rings, and Erik had been sorely tempted. The thought of Christine wearing a ring that he had given her made him feel nearly giddy, and even still the image wouldn't leave his mind. But there were so many potential problems with buying her a ring - what if it didn't fit properly? What if she refused it on the grounds of the symbolism? What if she didn't like it? He knew she liked the necklaces but she would never buy one for herself, because she was a practical young woman. He wasn't certain if she already had her eye on a certain design (the little cat face? The peacock feather? The sunburst?) but when he had seen the musical notes he had known.
And it seemed he had chosen well - words and facial expressions could be faked, but there was no faking the unconscious movement of her hand up to the little charm every now and then, as if she wanted to make certain she still had it on, the way her finger ran over the chain as though she still couldn't believe she was wearing it.
But soon the glorious day was coming to an end when it was time for Christine to return back upstairs. For all the worry he held about having her stay with him, he couldn't help but feel disappointed that she was leaving. Still - her life was up above, and he knew she had to return.
She exited her room, her hair now pinned up underneath her little hat, her lipstick touched up, her overcoat on, and Erik escorted her to the gondola. They were both quiet for much of the boat ride, and it wasn't until they had been on the shore of the other side for a little while that she spoke up.
"Does the guest room tub get hot water?"
He blinked.
"The entire house gets hot water," he told her, and she nodded thoughtfully.
"I will keep that in mind, then. For next time."
He froze mid stride, whirling around to look at her.
"Next time?"
She nodded.
"The next time I stay. Unless- I mean, am I not invited back? Was I that terrible of a guest?" she smiled wryly.
"No, no, no!" he rushed to assure her. "You are always welcome in my home, Christine, always."
Erik felt like his head was swimming - Christine would truly be coming back? He was glad he was walking just a few steps ahead of her so she couldn't see the silly grin he could feel on his face. He supposed this might be what normal people felt like when they found out the object of their affection held similar affection in return (though he knew, of course, that she probably liked the big bed and the thought of a hot bath more than she liked him).
Normal people. What he wouldn't give to be a normal person, to be able to just ask her permission to court her, to be able to actually court her in a way she deserved.
The thought brought his mood down. Normal. But still - he glanced back at Christine. If he were normal, he'd have never know the sheer wonder of having Christine spend the night in his house, likely wouldn't be her tutor, and might not have ever even met her.
Perhaps being abnormal in a few ways was not the worst thing in the world - not if it meant Christine would stay at his house every now and then.
He took her up to the Rue Scribe exit, and she paused for a moment in the doorway, looking this way and that to make sure no one would se her.
"Oh!" she said suddenly, and reached into her pocket.
She pulled out the pocket watch and held it out to him.
"Thank you for lending me this," she told him as he held out his gloved hand, intending for her to simply drop the watch into his palm.
Instead, she placed it in his hand in such a way that her own little fingers brushed against his hand, and then, to his utter shock, she squeezed his hand a little before letting go.
"And thank you for letting stay with you," she looked down, her cheeks pink. "And for my necklace. And the wonderful food. You didn't have to do all that, but you did, and - thank you."
She looked up into his golden eyes, her face shining with sincerity.
"You're a good man, Erik."
He stared back at her blankly, nodding a little in acknowledgment of her thanks as he tucked the watch into his own pocket.
"Have a good day, Christine," he pulled back into the shadows, his voice sounding a little hollow.
"I'll see you soon, Angel."
He stayed where he stood, watching her as she walked out towards the street, adjusting her hat and patting her hair and probably thinking up lies to tell about where she had been the past two days. When she disappeared from view he turned back into the tunnel once more.
you're a good man, Erik
The full weight of her words hit him like a punch and he stopped to lean his arms and forehead against the cold stone wall.
No one had ever, ever told him he was good before.
He had been good at things - of course he received compliments on his music, his singing, his architectural skills and stonework, even on those awful skills that had served him so well for a time in Persia.
But Erik knew on a very deep level that there were worlds between being at something - and being good. She had said those words he had unconsciously been longing to hear ever since he could remember, those words that had never come, that he truly thought he would never hear because they could never be true.
Christine thought he was good. She thought it enough to actually tell him. She didn't think he had the potential to be good in the future, didn't think perhaps he had been good in the past at some point, didn't think he would be good if he changed something about himself or undertook some action or ceased doing something - no, she thought he was good just as he was right then.
He pulled off his mask and pulled out his handkerchief and scrubbed it across his eyes in an attempt to clear up the tears that were falling so freely.
Christine thought he was good.
And what could he do in response to that except try to live up to her opinion of him? He must try to be good for her.
Christine neared the steps of the opera house, feeling a little silly. She had already decided to stay quiet about what, exactly, she had been doing while she was gone. She couldn't very well say she'd been to someplace she hadn't, because what if another girl had been there recently and asked a question about it that she didn't know how to answer? That would never do.
Sure enough as she neared the dormitories a few girls saw her and leaned together, whispering. They got up and came near her.
"Christine, you're back!" Marie said. "How was your trip?"
"Yes, how did it go?" Colette asked.
"It went quite well, thank you," she smiled a little.
Colette and Marie glanced at each other, curious. Meg was right behind them.
"Oh!" Meg exclaimed. "Your necklace!"
Christine's eyes widened a moment, then she blushed as her smile widened. She toyed with the charm a little.
"It's new," was all she said, and opened the door to her room. "I need to unpack, if you'll excuse me."
Marie and Colette nodded, scurrying off to whisper about where Christine could have gone - and with whom.
But Meg stayed behind and knocked lightly on her door. Christine opened it, and seeing it was just her, let her in.
Meg sat on the bed and watched as Christine put her belongings away.
"Are you seeing someone, Christine?" she finally asked, picking at a corner of the blanket underneath of her.
Christine turned to look at her and took in the wounded look on her face. She wasn't sure what to say.
"I told you about Dmitry," she continued quietly. "I thought- I thought maybe you would tell me, too, if there was someone..."
Christine's heart sank. She hadn't meant to make her best friend feel like she didn't tell her things.
"Oh, Meg," she sighed, and sat next to her. "You know I would tell you if I was involved with someone..."
"Would you?" Meg looked up, her eyes a little watery. "You left on a trip, and I didn't even know about it until you told everyone else."
"Oh, Meg," she said again, smiling sadly. "I can tell you, but you absolutely must keep it a secret - can you do that?"
Meg nodded eagerly, sniffling a little and wiping at her eyes.
Christine took her hands and squeezed them.
"You're my very best friend, Meg," she told her. "I didn't mean to make you feel left out. But the truth is... I didn't really go on an actual trip somewhere."
"You didn't? But where did you go?"
"Well, I... I spent the night with someone."
Meg's eyes widened.
"With-with my voice teacher," she squeaked, trying to make Meg understand, but as Meg's eyes widened even more and a look of horror crossed her face, she realized she had done more harm than good.
She covered her face with her hands.
"I just stayed in his house, I mean! He lent me his guest room to stay in, Meg, nothing happened," she groaned from behind her hands.
Meg put a hand over her heart and took a deep breath.
"Oh," she said. "Oh."
Then she frowned.
"Are you courting your voice teacher, Christine?"
Christine shook her head.
"No! No, it's not like that. We aren't courting. He's not a suitor, or a patron, either. He's just... Erik," she shrugged a little. "He's a friend."
"A friend?" she raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Did he give you that necklace?"
She nodded, her hand going up to touch the charm, and Meg narrowed her eyes, a strange smile playing across her lips.
"A friend," she said. "I see."
"Oh, please don't tell anyone, Meg," she begged. "All the girls were talking about their trips and I was so jealous, you know."
"You lied because you were jealous?" Meg giggled.
"I didn't lie," Christine pouted. "I merely let them believe something that their own mind's came up with."
Meg burst into laughter.
"Well it's true," Christine insisted. "I only said I was going somewhere, I didn't say where."
"Christine, you're terrible!" she snickered. "They all think you went someplace amazing with a mysterious suitor, you wouldn't believe the kinds of stories they're coming up with!"
Christine flopped back on the bed.
"Well that's not my fault," she muttered, but she did feel a little guilty. "Besides, I'd rather they think what they please than have them know about Erik."
Meg's laughter subsided.
"Is there a reason you don't want people to know about him? Is it a bad situation?"
Christine frowned a little.
"No, it's not that," she hesitated. "He's just... he's a very private person. He'd probably be upset that I even told you about him."
She paused a moment.
"No, not upset - he'd be sad. And he has enough reasons to be sad, I don't want to add to that."
Meg nodded, thoughtful.
"Well, you must be quite close to him then, if he's so private but he let you stay overnight without a chaperone."
Christine put her hands over face as it turned red.
"I think he likes me, Meg," her words were muffled by her hands, but Meg could still understand them.
"Ooo!" her eyes widened again. "Do you like him?"
She let her hands drop to either side of her face and sighed deeply.
"I don't know," she said truthfully. "I mean - I like him, but I don't know if we like each other the same way. He's a good friend of mine, but sometimes..."
"Sometimes what? Sometimes what?!" Meg leaned forward eagerly.
Christine groaned, almost regretting that she'd even mentioned it.
"He's not- oh, Meg you can't tell anyone! - he's not... handsome, but sometimes... sometimes I think he's terribly attractive," Christine grimaced, embarrassed at admitting it.
Meg giggled a little.
"So you like him! And what makes you think he likes you too?"
Her hand strayed to the necklace he had given her.
"The way he looks at me, sometimes, when he thinks I'm not looking," she said softly. "The way he treats me so tenderly. I don't think there's anything he wouldn't do for me."
She decided to leave out the horrifically embarrassing conversation he had had with her after their dinner, though it had played its part in making her think her suspicions were true.
"Hmm," Meg smiled at the dreamy, far off look on her friend's face. How often had she worn that look on her own face, thinking about Dmitry?
But the look passed and a cloud seemed to come over her countenance.
"But I think, maybe, he's just being kind to me. He's, well, he's had a hard life, you know, and I think when he's around me he can kind of forget all that. Sometimes I don't think it means very much at all, not really. I don't really know how he feels about me at all, I'm afraid."
"Do you want him to love you?" Meg asked, curious.
Christine was quiet a long moment.
"No," she finally said, but something about her own denial struck her heart with pain. "No, it would be too sad if he was in love with me. How could I do all this to him if I knew he loved me?"
"All what?"
Christine gestured vaguely.
"Stay at his house overnight, and let him cook for me, and accepting this necklace, and all the time we spend together - oh, it would feel too cruel!"
Meg chewed at her thumbnail, considering Christine's despairing words.
"Well, you don't know that he loves you," she pointed out. "Maybe he's just kind, like you said."
Christine nodded. It was what she had to tell herself over and over in those moments she wasn't certain about it - she wasn't taking advantage of his feelings towards her because she didn't even know what his feelings towards her were. Should she have to guess at every meaning behind every gesture? She would assume he considered her only as a friend until he saw fit to tell her otherwise.
"Does Raoul know you stayed with Erik?" Meg suddenly asked, and Christine glared at her.
"No," she huffed. "No, he most certainly does not. Raoul doesn't own me, he isn't entitled to know where I spend my time. We aren't even courting, he knows that."
Her expression grew concerned and she propped herself up on her elbows.
"But Meg, please don't tell him, all the same. I- I don't want him to know about me and Erik. Please?"
"I'd never tell anyone anything if you didn't want me to, Christine," she said seriously. "I promise I won't tell anyone, especially Raoul."
"Thank you, Meg," Christine said appreciatively.
Sure enough, later that evening a group of girls cornered Meg and grilled her for information, but she just smiled, shrugged, and shook her head.
"She wouldn't tell me where she went, or with who," was all she told them.
