Christine sat at the edge of her bed, staring at the toile de jouy walls. Her legs kicked a nervous rhythm beneath her.
The ceremony had been an odd thing. Just the two of them in the Madeleine, reciting vows to each other before the priest, their audience stone saints and stained glass figures.
Then they had returned here. He had kissed the back of her hand, and asked if she was exhausted from the day and wished to go to bed.
Perhaps she had misunderstood this, because she said yes, thinking it best to get the thing over with. He had to be hinting to that, right? But he had not knocked at her door, nor had she heard a peep out of him for almost half an hour now.
She swept her braid across her shoulder and began spinning it in her hands. She ought to go speak with him.
She reached for her wrapper, then faltered. It was a very odd thing to realize that she needn't abide by modesty anymore. She could go into the drawing room in only a chemise, if she wished. He was her husband.
It would take some getting used to. She slipped on her wrapper and crept out into the drawing room.
He was sitting in his armchair by the fire, drinking a glass of wine, in his crimson dressing gown.
He lifted his head as she entered.
"Do you need something, my dear?" he asked.
"Well, I-" she swallowed. "Are you not joining me, then?"
He did not react for a moment. Then his hollow features stretched even more taut in a bitter chuckle.
"No, my dear, no," he replied. "Do you think I would subject you to such a thing? To wake up with this face on the bed beside you? Why, you may faint away with terror!"
"I'm not talking about sleeping, Erik," she continued, chest heaving.
Her tongue went dry, and she shut her eyes a moment. Her fists relaxed against her skirts.
"I am your wife," she said, with far greater strength than she felt. "And I will not deny you any aspect of that, if you wish it."
"That is a lovely sentiment, my dear, and I thank you for your willingness to sacrifice yourself for the man before you… but I have no interest in making love to someone who sees it as a duty. It is not your duty in any way." He averted his eyes a moment, then added, "You need not even touch me at all, if it would make you happy. I require only your company."
She went over and knelt before him on the carpet. He inhaled sharply in surprise.
"Christine?" he breathed.
"Do you wish to touch me?" she breathed.
His knuckles were white on the sides of the armchair.
"It matters not," he replied.
"Please, tell me, do you wish it?"
He bowed his head and folded up into himself.
"Only if you wish me to," he replied. "Only if it would make you happy."
She took one of his hands in hers and pressed it to her cheek. He gasped, and so did she! How cold his palm was- cold and trembling!
"Come to bed with me, Erik," she said. Her heart was beating at a frantic pace. Could he hear it?
He stood up immediately and turned away from her. He shook his head.
"No," he pleaded. "You cannot want that."
"We needn't do more than sleep beside each other. That is all… I-I don't want to be alone. I do love you, Erik. I do."
He crumpled up into himself, shaking with muffled tears. She rose from the floor and reached to brush his shoulder, but he jerked away from her touch, and refused to turn around.
"Will you not even look at me?" she asked. "Please, at least sit with me a while. I don't want to be alone. That's all… and I know you don't want to, either."
He shook his head. She reached for his shoulder again and tried to turn him around, but he did not budge.
"Go to bed," he told her. "You need not pity your dear Erik… You have made me the happiest man on earth today. Nothing will change that… Go to bed, my dear one."
Her lip quivered.
"Will you not even kiss me goodnight?" she asked.
His muscles relaxed, and he stood more firmly upright. A shuddering breath rocked through him.
"Yes, of course," he breathed. "Just give me a moment."
She cocked her head. "Is something wrong? Are you all right?"
"Yes, my dear, perfectly, I… forgive me, I'm a bit… well…"
"A bit what? Would you turn around?"
She reached again for his shoulder, and this time it must have caught him off guard, because she was able to tug him around to face her.
His face had drained of blood, and his hands were clenched in front of his pants.
She was hit by her own stupidity. She turned away from him as he did the same.
"Oh," she breathed.
Her whole body shook. She had proof now that he truly desired her, and there was something almost thrilling to it, and equally terrifying.
She could not say whether it was out of curiosity, stupidity, or simple pity that she made her decision She had been afraid of him taking control, but now she saw how ridiculous that was. He was at her mercy.
She would have her wedding night.
"Forgive me, Christine," he whimpered.
"No," she replied. "There is nothing to forgive… Will you admit that you desire me?"
"You are a beautiful woman, my dear, no man can deny that. Certainly not I… But men are beasts, my dear, you need not sully yourself with them."
"I want to do this."
"No, no, I will not… I cannot, to you. I would damn myself.
"We are married, Erik, I am yours and you are mine. By definition, it is right for us to… There is nothing you could do to hurt me. And besides, am I honestly to go without knowing? You expect to have a blushing virgin bride your whole life? Little more than a child?"
He turned around. His hands fell to his sides, and she couldn't help but glance down. There was a distinct shadow there- but only because she knew to look. Otherwise no one would notice.
Her eyes flicked up into his. They were filled with a mixture of surprise and awe.
"Are you drunk?" he asked.
She laughed nervously, "No."
"Ah… well…"
She reached out to take his hands, and found them, for once, warm.
"Please come to bed with me," she asked.
He made no reply, but followed her into her bedroom. They both sat down on the edge of the bed, and she began fiddling with her braid again.
"I suppose I should undress," she said.
His eyes widened. He swallowed- she saw his throat bob.
"If you wish," he breathed.
She stood up from the bed and untied the sash of her wrapper. He knotted his hands together again, to cover his own desire as best he could.
Her stomach was churning. She had to avert her eyes as the wrapper slid to the floor. Next were the buttons on her dressing gown. She started on them, undoing each but holding the two sides together as she did so.
The last button undone, she exhaled sharply through her teeth, and let the nightgown fall to the floor to join the wrapper. She was left shivering in her thin chemise, and finally looked back to Erik.
"You needn't do more," he breathed. "If you wish."
"Will you undress, too?"
"My body is not beautiful like yours, my love. I will spare you as much as I can."
"I want to see you, too, no matter what you look like… You're my husband."
He averted his eyes.
"You would not like what you see," he told her. "I can promise it."
"That's not the point. The point is that we both see each other… No secrets."
She sat back down beside him, then reached out to the sash of his dressing gown. He put his hand out to stop hers.
A tear slipped from his dark sockets. He reached out to cup her cheek in his palm. She smiled gently and leaned into his touch, shutting her eyes a moment.
He moved forward, as if to kiss her, but faltered. His hand was shaking against her cheek.
"I love you, Christine," he breathed. "I love you so much…"
She pressed her lips to his, closing the gap. He went stiff, unmoving as she kissed him, trying to pull him out of his shock.
His lips were thin and unmoving. She tasted his tears as they flowed to the corners of his mouth.
Then he leaned forward and tried to kiss her back, but either from shame or inexperience, he pulled back from her. Their eyes met.
He trailed kisses from her forehead to her cheek, stopping at her jaw. She could still taste his tears in her mouth.
"Do you want to turn out the lights?" she asked. "Before you undress?"
"You wished to see me… I cannot deny you anything, my love, even a request such as that… after what you have done…"
He brought her hand to the sash of his crimson dressing gown, embroidered with paisleys, and she pulled it loose. He shook it from his bony shoulders until he was only in his shirtsleeves.
He was so dreadfully thin. She would change that, of course. He would not refuse her meals.
His chest heaved with rattling breaths. She smiled faintly as she placed her hand atop his buttons, at the hollow place between his ribs. He gave a nod, and she started undoing them, one-by-one.
He put his hands on hers, stopping her. She looked up into his eyes.
"My skin has only known cruelty," he said. "And it is warped with it."
He undid the shirt with his own trembling hands, revealing his emaciated torso. His stomach went in sharply beneath his ribcage, of which she could make out each bone. But she saw nothing of cruelty.
Then she reached about him to pull him closer, and gasped in shock. His back was covered in raised marks- she could feel them beneath her palms.
He pushed her away and rose, keeping his back turned away from her gaze.
"Forgive me," he pleaded, reaching for the shirt. "Let me put it back on. You shouldn't have to touch such an awful thing."
She put her hand down on the shirt. He tugged, and she held it tightly down against the quilted bedsheets.
"I was surprised is all," she replied. "Please, Erik… may I see?"
He chuckled. "Is it curiosity, then? All of this? Do you wish to gawk, my love?"
"No… I want to look upon my husband. All of him."
He released the shirt and sighed. But he turned round, presenting his back to her.
It was covered in scars- slashes like a whip, then long, deep cuts across his shoulder blades and sides. All were risen and ghostly white against his parchment-skin.
"Satisfied?" he asked, with a hint of bitterness.
"Would you come back to me?"
He nodded and returned to her side. She reached her hand to ghost across his shoulder blade, and he shuddered into her touch. She traced one of the long scars with her fingertip.
"I have no scars like these," she breathed.
"You need not touch them," he all but whimpered.
"May I kiss them, then?"
He made a choked sound, as if the wind had gone out of his lungs. His forehead raised in a question, but he turned so that her back was facing her.
She traced his scars with her lips, peppering each with kisses. He began to shudder and sob, whispering words of love in between gasps for breath. His back folded over until he was practically hugging his knees.
"Do you still doubt my love?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Never… never…"
"Are you all right?"
He chuckled through his tears. "I have never been so well… We need not continue. What you have given me… I would be content to die now."
"Do you not want to continue?"
He lifted his head and sighed, turning to face her. His eyes were soft in their dark sockets.
"My darling," he said in his angel's voice, "I would see this to the end, but you have already borne too much of me."
"Too much? I haven't even seen all of you, nor you me."
"I am content… if you are tired… Are you doing this all for me, my darling one, or, perhaps, you truly are curious? Even more, you wish…? I understand you might have heard a good deal from the ballerinas, enough to understand the act, and… Is this for you too, then? It is not pity?"
"Not pity," she replied. "Love."
"And will you accept my love, my dear?"
She smiled. "Yes."
"Lie back, then."
Her brow furrowed, but she did so, falling back upon the mattress. She let out a nervous laugh.
"Will you kiss me, too?" she asked.
"If you wish."
He curled up next to her hip, sitting upright. He glanced at the edge of her chemise as his tongue darted out to wet his lips.
"Do you want me to undress?" she managed out. Her legs had started to quake upon the sheets.
"No, no, my dear, not yet… I fear I do not have practice, but I know enough, I should think, to make you happy..."
It was as if he were speaking to himself, aloud. She tried to settle her legs, and the pool of nerves at the pit of her stomach.
"Are you cold?" he asked.
"No, only… only nervous… A-are we doing it now, then?"
"No, my dear, not yet… This first, for you, then, if you still wish it, we can… continue."
He was still just staring down at her helplessly. She curled her toes for a moment, and almost opened her mouth to ask him what on earth he was going to do, but then he reached his hand under her chemise. She inhaled sharply and her cheeks burned.
He jerked his hand away. His eyes went wide and he bowed his head.
"Forgive me," he pleaded, "I thought-"
"No, Erik, that was fine, I only… It surprised me is all… and is it really… well…" She folded her lips. "Decent?"
"Anything you want, my love, is good and decent."
She took a deep breath. Then she put her hand on his and guided him back beneath her chemise, to the heart of her, where she burned.
He slid his palm over the little curls between her legs. Her eyes widened as he continued on, down further, to cup her sex. Her legs shuddered.
They gasped in unison as his fingertips brushed across the crux of her. She stared up at the ceiling, still wondering if this truly was decent.
She had, of course, done this herself, on occasion, though not often and not without shame. The sensation of him, though, at her most intimate space, was something altogether different.
When she glanced to him, she saw his brow was puckered in concentration, as if he was studying her. Her heart thudded against her ribcage.
She let her own hand slide down onto the quilted sheets. He looked up at her, again questioning, again concerned, but upon seeing the little smile playing across her lips, he returned to his study.
She inhaled sharply as he brushed across that tender spot at the heart of her. Heat pooled in her lower belly, warm and welcome. Her toes curled as something began a gentle, pleasant tug, building as he moved his fingertips. His eyes were fixated on her expression, watching for her reaction.
Then he brushed a single fingertip over her entrance. The taut strings in her abdomen vibrated, as if pulled across by a bow. She let out an odd, certainly undignified sound, then laughed nervously at herself.
"My little Christine," he crooned.
He continued this until her whole body was a warm, beating thing, as if her heart had swelled to fill even the tips of her fingers. Then the tension, that had built until she knew it was about to snap, shuddered in one last note, as she made another terribly undignified noise.
Her body shuddered, and a pool of warm heat settled in her stomach. Electricity went to the tips of her fingers and toes, and she smiled as her body fell slack and sated.
He rose from the bed. She reached for him, still dizzy, as he went to the door.
"Erik, where are you going?" she pleaded.
He stopped and turned back.
"We need not continue," he said. "You are satisfied, yes?"
"But that wasn't… Do you not wish to join me after all?"
"You know the answer, my heart- but there is no need to subject you now that you are satisfied."
"But I am not. I want to be with you, too… Please."
He bowed his head, but turned back from the door. His trousers were still pointed and taut about his groin.
She swallowed.
He flicked off the lights. She blinked in the dark, chest heaving.
The bed shifted as he sat down. She reached out to find him, in the dark, and brought him into a kiss. He again broke from her lips to trace across her cheekbone, then down to the corner of her mouth, the edge of her jaw, lower and lower.
She rested her hand against the nape of his neck as he continued his kisses, down her neck, until he met her collarbone.
"Will you kiss me everywhere?" she asked.
"Please," he replied.
She helped him lift off her chemise, and he continued tracing down her body with warm kisses. His body shook as he grazed her breast, but he continued, stopping just before her little thatch of curls.
"My love," he breathed, voice strained. "Are you ready now? May I?"
"Yes," she replied.
He guided her onto her back and slid himself between her legs. She turned her head to the side, letting her thighs relax. Her whole body was open, bare, and she trembled at the knowledge of what was to come.
"Will it hurt?" she suddenly asked.
"No, my love, I will not hurt you…"
He shifted forward once, twice, then she gasped as she felt him at her entrance, felt but did not see.
His body was shaking. She reached to put her hands on his shoulder blades, trying to steady herself.
He let out what seemed like a whimper as he shifted his hips to press himself into her. She tried to steady her breathing.
There was suddenly a sharp pain, fierce and biting. She bit down on her tongue to keep him from knowing, as she thought perhaps it would pass. The ballet girls always said it hurt the first time…
The pain became a dull throb as he continued pressing, sliding further and further inside. She felt stretched, open, and quite suddenly uncomfortable. It was such an odd sensation, and when combined with the throbbing ache within her, she nearly whimpered.
He stopped moving. He let out a little gasp, then his chest rumbled with a groan.
"Does it hurt?" he pleaded, chest heaving with labored breaths.
"It's a bit… odd," she replied with a nervous laugh, hoping he didn't see through the lie. "Quite odd… but it doesn't hurt."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then shifted his hips back. He slid roughly against the sore part of her, then he pushed back within. She clung to him harder.
He let out little choked sounds, like sobs, as he rocked his hips, settling on a steady rhythm.
"Christine," he whimpered.
There was a sensation that gathered inside her, but nothing like before. It was pleasant, yes, and quickly negated the residual pain, but she wondered why her body was not responding as his was.
She wrapped her arms about him and tugged him closer to her. His ragged breathing filled her ears.
His pace increased. He clung to her, sobbing, and whispered her name like a prayer, a plea. His hips beat into her once, twice, fast and hard, then they seemed to spasm, and his whole body shuddered.
He slid out of her with a choked cry, then collapsed beside her on the bed.
Her body ached. She turned over on her side, towards him, pressing her legs together. Her thigh found a wet spot on the sheets.
He had not finished within her. She had expected he would not want children, and made this right in her heart, but to assume and to know were entirely different.
She set these thoughts aside. They were for another time, another evening, not tonight.
"Erik?" she whispered.
He let out a choked sob. She sat upright and reached to place her hand on his shoulder. It shook and shuddered as he cried.
"My love, what's wrong?" she asked, stroking back and forth along his shoulder blade. "Was it not… did it… hurt you, or-?"
"No, no," he managed out. "I should not have done this… Why did you permit me? Why?"
"Permit you?"
"Yes- you should have cast your poor Erik out the door before you dared let him touch you! He never should have, the beast, never… oh, God, Christine…"
"Please, come here, come hold me- cry into me, if you wish. But I don't want you to cry. You have done nothing wrong- do you honestly think you did?"
"I am not worthy of touching you," he choked out. "Not worthy of being at your side… I should be at your feet, a dog, a beast, such as I am… not a man…"
She curled up against his back. His raised scars rubbed against her bare skin as she wrapped her arms about his trembling frame.
"Please, won't you turn to me?" she whispered. "You are no dog, Erik, and certainly no beast… Won't you hold me, too? Sing me to sleep?"
"Sing?" he breathed.
She nuzzled her ear against his back.
"Yes," she replied.
He inhaled. She felt his chest expand, then relax.
He finally turned back to her. In the dark, he cupped her cheek in his palm.
"I could never deny you," he said.
She curled up against his chest as he began to sing. He ran his fingertips through her hair, tentative, delicate, until her eyelids grew heavy and fell.
"I love you," she sighed.
He kissed her head, and she smiled.