The first thin rays of dawn stole through the sheer curtains, washing the room in a soft pink glow. Christine opened her eyes, and breathed a prayer of thanks to the-powers-that-be for giving her a second chance with the man lying beside her. He was soundly asleep; she watched his chest rise and fall in rhythm with her own steady breathing. She was content in a way she'd never been before.
She remembered locking eyes with him as she rose from the sofa, pulling him by the hand and moving with him to the bedroom. She recalled how he'd divested himself of his mask with a single hand, and the slight flinch when she removed the rest of his disguise, baring his true physiognomy to her eyes. As to the rest, there was only the sensations of his hands skimming her body, his mouth feasting upon her and her own hands and mouth upon him. He'd surprised her, at first taking control of their lovemaking but then later relinquishing all control to her. She'd never been with a man who seemed more concerned with her pleasure than with his own.
She slipped from the rumpled bed, pulled on the nightgown her maid had left draped across the bench at the foot of the bed, and retrieved her robe, wrapping the silk tightly around herself. Turning back to the bed she looked at Erik, realizing she'd almost never seen him still. He was always in motion around her.
His ruined side was turned into the pillow and the view brought tears to her eyes. For the first time she saw the man he should have been. In profile, he was nearly flawless. She wondered if the small bump marring the almost perfect line of his nose was natural or if it was the result of a cruel fist. Long dark lashes rested on perfect skin pulled lightly over a strong cheekbone. The firm line of his jaw was smooth and she wondered at his lack of facial hair. Perhaps it was a small gift from the gods that he wasn't forced to face his reflection every day in order to shave.
Her eyes ran down the rest of his body, tracing the sleek sculpted muscles under his skin. Her cheek remembered the downy feel of the soft hair scattered across his chest. The sheet stopped her appraising eyes from moving further downward as she followed the thin line of hair trailing down from his navel.
He was everything she'd ever dreamed of in a handsome lover, with one exception. And she realized that that exception meant nothing to her. He was perfect just as he was. She saw that now, and she hoped to spend the rest of her life making him see it, too.
The clock on the nightstand read just five-thirty and she decided to let him sleep as long as possible. Her maid wasn't due until nine and that should still give them time together for breakfast or for whatever else he wished to do. That thought put a smile on her face as she walked from the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.
The remains of their dinner still sat on the table and she called down to the concierge to have it removed and ordered a light breakfast for the two of them to come at eight. Her eyes swept the room, alighting on her handbag open on the entry table and the small envelope inside. Lillian's last note. Christine had forgotten about it, wanting to read it privately after receiving it at his office.
Taking the envelope in hand, she moved to a chair by the window to read by the morning light. She was surprised to find the note only contained two lines.
.
It's up to you now, Christine.
You must love him enough for both of us.
.
Christine folded the note carefully, holding it against her heart and letting silent tears fall once more for Lillian. "You understood us both so much better than we understood ourselves. Thank you, my dear friend. You will be missed. And I promise, I will do ask you ask."
"Christine?"
She looked up, surprised to see Erik standing in the bedroom doorway. He'd dressed and held his waistcoat over his arm as he buttoned up his shirt. He'd replaced his mask and hairpiece and a part of her wished he hadn't. She didn't care if he was covered or not. "Erik. I didn't hear you."
"Is everything all right?" He saw her crying and was afraid he'd done something to hurt her again.
"Fine," she said, slipping Lillian's note into the pocket of her robe and wiping at her running eyes and nose with her fingertips. "Not much of a lady am I?" She laughed as he handed her his handkerchief and finished drying her face.
"You're the perfect lady."
"Even dripping like a fountain?"
His eyes twinkled as he knelt in front of her, taking the cloth and dabbing at the few remaining damp spots on her cheek. "Especially dripping like a fountain." He thought back a moment and a small smile curved his lips. "The very first time I saw you, you were crying."
"When?"
"You were in the ballet room. I think the rehearsal had just ended as I was passing by behind the mirrors." He saw her nod as she remembered his penchant for hidden passageways and two-way mirrors. "The group was leaving and one of the girls, I can't remember who, turned and said something about your wretched turn-out and knobby knees. Then she laughed and ran through the door. You looked at your legs in the mirror and the tears started to fall."
"I do remember. It was that horrible little snipe, Jammes. She never had a kind word to say to anyone unless Madame Giry was in the room. Then sugar wouldn't melt in her mouth." Christine's eyes widened. "And I remember later, she ran screaming from her room because there was a frog in her bed." She grabbed Erik's shirtfront, pulling him close. "That was you. You put the frog in her bed."
"I? You believe I put the frog in her bed?" His own eyes widened playfully. "I'm stunned that you think I would do such a thing. Yes, there were some frogs who'd found their way to the underground lake, but to think that I'd take one of those poor creatures from its home and deposit it amongst the bedding of that little brat. I'm shocked, Christine. I would never do such a thing." He looked at her with mock dismay. "Besides, everyone knows it was the Opera Ghost who did that. Not me."
She pulled him forward, kissing him soundly. His arms slid around her as he deepened the kiss. Then he pulled back and gestured at her robe. "What's that you slipped into your pocket?"
Her first thought was to dissemble, but she pushed it aside. No more lies and half-truths between them ever again. "It's the last note Lillian left for me."
He stepped back, suddenly serious. "I've yet to read mine."
"Do you wish to be alone? I can go into the other room."
Her depth of understanding surprised him. She might be curious, but she knew the words were meant for him alone and she respected his privacy. "Thank you," he nodded and watched her go, closing the door between them. Then he moved to his jacket and pulled out the envelope. He could feel paper inside, but there was something else contained within.
Slipping the flap open carefully, he pulled out the paper as something came with it, falling into his hand. "Oh." His heart swelled and he felt tears pricking his eyes. In his hand was the faded scrap of green ribbon she'd given him when they were both still children. The ribbon he'd given her when they said their goodbyes on the hilltop overlooking the devastated city. She said she'd return it to him one day. He just never imagined it would be under this circumstance.
With shaking hands he unfolded Lillian's note. He noted it was dated just a few days before she died. His eyes welled and he brushed the tears away as he held the ribbon and read her last words to him.
.
My Dearest Boy,
I have a confession to make.
When we were in the refugee camp that first night after the doctor had treated your injuries, I snuck back into the hospital tent and sat with you. I didn't want you to wake up alone and think I'd gone. So I sat through the night, holding your hand and praying to the God you don't believe in to help you heal.
As you slept, you were dreaming. I know because you were restless and crying and a name slipped through your lips: Christine. Oh Erik, there was such longing and sadness in your voice it broke my heart.
When I first met Christine, I only knew she was a young woman with a wonderful gift. A gift she generously shared with me. Then she told me the story of the Phantom of the Opera and I knew he could only be you.
I promised you a gift and Christine is my last gift to you. Don't turn her away, but open your heart to her. She loves you, Erik. I know this as I know my own name. Take the love she offers and return it with yours. I promise, you'll never regret it.
I love you always,
Girl
.
He sat for a while, holding the note in one hand and the ribbon in the other. He was numb through and through. Lillian's confession and the night he'd just shared with Christine left him torn. He had questions. He needed answers and only one person could give those to him now.
"Christine?" She opened the bedroom door, walked quietly through and sat beside him on the sofa. He said nothing, just handed her the note and waited until she was done reading. "Did you know about me when you came to San Francisco?"
"No." She looked up at him, letting him see the truth in her eyes. "I had no idea. When I met Lillian and told her our story, I was just sharing the words and feelings that had been locked in my heart for so long. I didn't know until I came here and saw you that her lost Boy and my lost Angel were one and the same."
He rose from the sofa, walking to the window to stare unseeing at the morning-light washed cityscape. "I don't know what to think. What to feel." He turned back to her and she could see the emptiness in his eyes. "I don't know who I am anymore." His hand tightened on the ribbon, working the fabric as he clenched and unclenched his fist.
Christine looked at him from her place on the cushions. "Who do you want to be?"
It was the one question he'd never thought to ask. He realized that his whole life had been spent reacting to other people's reactions to him. He thought he had the answer when he built his home under the opera house. He was wrong. Even there circumstances drove him to be the Opera Ghost and then the Phantom. He never wanted to be either of those creatures.
He just wanted to be a man who could live freely and quietly. Who could walk in the daylight among people and not be shunned or disparaged for his appearance. He wanted what everyone other than he seemed to have: a normal life.
He thought he'd found it in San Francisco but then Lillian came back into his life and now Christine. He couldn't escape his past. But maybe that was the point. Maybe instead of running from his past, he should accept it, learn from it, and move forward.
He looked down at Christine, shrugging helplessly. "I don't know who I want to be—who I am. I thought I did. But now….I don't know. I feel like everything in my past is closing in on me. I'm caught in a maelstrom and I'm terrified of being swept away." He sank down beside her on the soft cushions. "I'm lost. Adrift."
The bleak expression in his eyes made her heart hurt. Once again, Christine knew it was her choice to make. This time, she would make the right choice. Covering his hands with her own, she held on tightly as she locked eyes with him. "I'm here, Erik. Let me be your anchor in this storm. Hold to me and together we'll build a new life." She smiled gently and kissed his cheek. "I don't know what that will look like, but as long as we're together, I don't care.
"You once asked me to save you from your solitude. Now I'm asking you to save me from mine." She saw light come into his eyes again and felt his embrace as he pulled her against himself.
"Christine." The name whispered past his lips.
It was all he said, all he could say. It was enough. She folded against him, shutting her eyes and breathing him in, feeling the rapid beating of his heart pressed against her own. "Yes. Christine. Your Christine. Always and forever yours."
They sat together, holding each other quietly until he felt the storm had truly passed. He saw his path, their path, so clearly now. Lillian was right. He and Christine were meant to be together, and she made it happen. It was her last gift to him and he would forever bless her for it.
. . . .
Erik sat up quickly, reacting to a rap on the suite door. They must have dozed off, holding each other on the soft sofa cushions. He disentangled from Christine and moved to the door, opening it a few inches before even thinking that he shouldn't have been in her room at all.
"Room service." A cheerful waiter, backed up a few inches allowing Erik to see the draped table with covered dishes rolled up beside him. "You ordered breakfast for eight o'clock."
Erik glanced back at the sofa, catching Christine moving into the bedroom and closing the door. Then he opened the suite door widely, gesturing for the waiter to bring in the food. "Thank you." He passed the man a generous tip as the waiter skillfully substituted the fresh dining table for the one containing the remains of their evening meal.
Was that only last night? Erik thought. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
The bedroom door opened again and Christine came out. Walking straight into his arms and wrapping her own around his waist. "Mmmm, that smells so good."
He kissed the top of her head. "What did you order?"
She pulled back, laughing up at him. "I don't remember." Pulling him along to the table, she placed her hand atop a covered dish. "Let's find out, shall we?"
She'd ordered a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, potatoes, toast, fruit, and coffee. They both ate ravenously, slowing only for second cups of coffee which they drank side-by-side on the sofa. Conversation was sparse. They found they hadn't much to say after the revelations of earlier.
Christine sighed heavily, setting her cup down on the low table in front of them. "My maid will be coming soon." She looked at Erik leaning back comfortably against the plush cushions. He was more relaxed than she'd ever seen him. "There's so much I want to say."
"And nothing that needs saying." He spoke softly, reaching to stroke her cheek. "I love you."
"And I love you," she responded, covering his hand with her own. "I don't want to leave."
"I know." He pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. "Your maid will be here in a few minutes and I shouldn't be here when she arrives." He smiled at her. "I won't see you again before you have to leave, will I?"
"No." She couldn't look at him. "I wish I could stay longer. We've wasted so much time."
He stood, pulling her up with him. "I know." Holding her gently against his chest, he kissed the soft curls on top of her head. "But we can't do anything about what's passed. We can only dream and plan for the future. Our future. Together."
She closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and memorizing the feel of his body pressed to hers. "I'm sorry. I don't—"
"Shhh." He stopped her words, smoothing her long fall of hair as he spoke. "It's all right. This time I know it's not forever. You have a contract to fulfill. You worked too long and too hard to achieve all you have." He held her at arm's length, planting a soft kiss on her brow. "And what kind of teacher would I be if I insisted you give it up now when you're at the pinnacle of your career?
"You were born to sing. To take our music out into the world. Your voice has always been the silken thread binding us together. Go. Share that glorious voice with the world. I'll be here when you return." He kissed her gently once more. Then he gathered up his jacket and moved to the door before turning back to her one last time. "Christine," he sang softly, his eyes shining, "I love you." Her answering smile followed him out.