Whoah there! A new chapter? What have I been doing all this time? Hibernating like a bear (and working on other projects). But I couldn't leave this love story there, although this will be the final chapter. Time to tie up some loose ends and get that final dose of E/C fluff.
The conversation between Erik and Christine at the beginning of this chapter is referencing a conversation they had in chapter 17, in case you want to re-read.
It's been great writing this story. I've really enjoyed it. And I'd like to thank everyone who has read it. If you enjoyed it please do let me know, but even if you don't, I'm glad I've entertained you all for a little while.
Sometimes he still dreamed of the music room in Paris. Less frequently as the years went on, and each time it tweaked at his heart a little less. What he found he could remember more vividly was the fresh smell of the wooden cabin in Sweden; such a small building in the middle of nowhere, unassuming and forgettable to those travelling past and yet, it had been his whole world.
After Erik returned from Paris, they had stayed there for two more weeks - there was no more rush, after all, and nothing more to fear. Erik had spent those days wandering about the rooms unsure of what to do with himself, while Nadir tutted and complained he was getting under everyone's feet. Erik had grumbled half-heartedly, with a fraction of his former ferocity, until Christine distracted him with an offer of food, or company, or books. Sometimes her mere presence was enough to diffuse tension. Her patience seemed to have no end when it came to Erik and his bouts of bad temper, which even Nadir had to admit, were becoming less frequent.
A week and a half before their stay was up, on a soft and gentle afternoon, Christine had put her book down decidedly and eyed Erik with a guarded expression. He too put down what he had been working on, a small magic trick, and waited for her to say whatever it was that was on her mind.
"It's been over three weeks, Erik," she said softly with a smile. He nodded, knowing exactly what she was referring to.
"And?" he asked warmly.
"And I'm still here."
"Hm."
"You know what that means?" she said knowingly, her chin raised slightly in a haughty manner.
He nodded but didn't answer, a smile tugging at his lip.
"It means you owe me an apology."
"I do," he said, feigning thoughtfulness. "How should I do it? What would please you? Shall I get down on my knees?"
She laughed at the suggestion. "None of that," she admonished him half-seriously.
"But I would get down on my knees if you asked me too," Erik said, now deadly serious.
Her smile faltered at his words; she still wondered if Erik had merely transferred his fanaticism from Stratera to her. Originally, the idea had made her nervous; she didn't want to be worshipped, but she knew with certainty that she would never ask of him the things Stratera had. The more she thought about it though, the more she realised it didn't really matter. Unlike Stratera, she loved Erik and she had made a solemn promise to herself that she would never insult his devotion as that man had.
Her smile returned as her dark thoughts lifted. "Not both knees," she said softly, biting her lip. "Maybe just one…"
He didn't miss her meaning, despite how quietly she had added the last part. He stood up and left the room quickly. Christine frowned, wondering whether she had said the right thing.
He returned after a moment and knelt before her, grasping her hand.
"Oh, no! I didn't really mean it!" she said quickly before he could say anything causing him to frown in confusion. "The knees, I mean!" She quickly clarified.
Her hands gripped his shoulders and she tried to pull him up to sit beside her. He did as she commanded.
"I want us to be equal," she explained, rubbing the hand entwined with hers to reassure him still of her affections. It worked and his eyes became less dark. "You wouldn't like it if I knelt down before you."
His lips quirked, and she realised the double meaning too late with a perfect blush. She continued on regardless; "I wouldn't want you to ask me…that just because I mentioned it. You should only ask me if you want to."
He nodded, understanding what she was saying. "Still, I believe I have something of yours."
He unfurled his other hand; inside, shining brightly against his palm, was the ring he once given her and then taken away. Her happy expression faded as she remembered their last discussion on the subject.
Erik kissed her forehead. "You are thinking of what I said - I called our marriage a sham."
She nodded, ignoring an uncomfortable swelling in her throat.
"I misspoke. What I should have said was that the ceremony was a sham." She turned her face to look up into his sparkling eyes. There was no denying the emotion within them as they bored into hers. "What exists between us now, I am certain is real. It is fortuitous that we learnt to live with each other, but even more so that we learnt to love each other." He frowned, and then shook his head, "I could never have imagined or dreamed it."
She stared at the ring. "Maybe it isn't luck. Maybe it is something else." she whispered.
He took her hand and gently placed the band on her finger. It felt like it had always fit her.
Christine had been very emphatic that she didn't want another ceremony or even another ring. He'd offered to buy her diamonds, rent a castle, give her the most perfect day imaginable, baffled that she was happy with that cold February day in the Invalides. She'd said no to everything, telling him that as far as she was concerned, they were still married and that she would only wear the ring he had first given her, with one exception; he must wear one too. A few weeks later she presented him with one; a white gold band. She nibbed her lip with uncertainty as he stared at it, his expression unreadable.
"If you don't like it," she began, a slight quiver in her voice, "I can find another-"
She was silenced as he swiftly picked up the ring and put it on. He flexed his hand, marvelling at the feeling of the band snug against his skin and everything that it represented. He turned to her and smiled as broadly as his face would allow, before kissing her so soundly that she could be in no doubt as to whether he was pleased.
If Nadir had thought Erik very attentive to Christine before, he was sorely mistaken in just how devoted his former master could be. It made him acutely aware of just how much the couple needed time alone together. Although Christine regularly tried to involve him in their activities, he could not escape the feeling of being a third wheel, nor Erik's dirty looks at the thought of sharing her attention. Regardless of how much the idea of leaving them created a painful ache within Nadir, the digestion of the newspapers and headlines filled him with a far greater need. One day he finally mustered the courage to tell them of his plans; he was returning to France.
"You're mad!" Erik told him bluntly.
"Hypocrite!" responded Nadir. Erik practically growled.
"Are you sure it will be safe?" Christine asked gently, taking Nadir's hand in her own and Erik's scowl intensified. "I couldn't bear it anything happened to you."
He sighed, ignoring Erik's agitation. "They need doctors now more than ever. Soon it will be winter and things will get worse. I want to help people, if I can. I stayed because I wanted to make sure you were both well –" he stopped as he finally grew tired with Erik's pacing, "oh stop grumbling, you great beast, you are worse than a bear stung by a bee!"
Erik stopped his movements, but was clearly still furious, "Fine, go back to Paris and get yourself into trouble. We don't want you here anyway!"
Christine shrieked in horror, "Erik!"
Erik faltered for a second, a genuine glint of fear in his eye like a small child who knows they have gone too far, before he swept back to his room, his crescendo ending with the slam of his door.
"He's just upset he's losing you," she said after a moment, "First Marie and now you too."
"He shan't be upset for long, he has found something much more valuable to replace us, Shereen," Nadir replied, giving her a hand a soft peck.
"I'm sorry he said that. I'll miss you terribly," she said with a slight sniff.
"This is not goodbye, Christine," Nadir said knowingly, "This is merely a new chapter for all of us."
Christine eventually convinced Erik to apologise for his angry words. She could tell he was hurt by Nadir leaving, but by the end of their stay, she knew he understood his reasons. The two men said goodbye on good terms; even Erik had to admit that he owed his life to this man, and that no matter what happened, he could only wish Nadir all the fortune happiness in the world. The feeling was mutual.
After Nadir had left them, and their stay in the cabin was done, Erik and Christine left the north of Sweden and travelled through Scandinavia, learning more about each other and the countries as they went. It also allowed Christine to get a lot more driving experience and she was ready to pass her test in a few weeks. They would stay in hotels and small cottages, each booked under Christine's new name. Erik too had been granted a whole new identity, but it seemed old habits died hard and he preferred not to have his presence known by anyone.
Eventually they settled in the south of Sweden. Erik found a small house in the countryside, hidden amongst the trees and where Christine could easily go into town. With Erik's help, she went back to finish her studies, enrolling in a school in Uppsala.
She also continued to write, even with her school work, she found she couldn't stop. She began speaking to other women who had been inside Stratera's nightmare. Soon she was collecting their stories. Every time she interviewed someone, they had a tale to tell more heart-breaking, compelling and, at times, uplifting than the next. It was a testament to resilience in the face of dire circumstances. She began writing them all down and publishing them digitally. Erik had helped her set up the blog, with her identity and location hidden; he even suggested a pseudonym. Although when she had first come to him with the idea, she could tell he was nervous.
"You want to do what?" he has asked, his brow furrowed.
"These women deserve to have their stories heard," she said with confidence. "I want to tell them."
"There are plenty of other people who can do that. Can't someone else-?"
"Please, Erik." Her eyes looked up at him beseechingly and she pushed out her lower lip just slightly, a small quiver and…his resolve gave way – a handy new trick she had learnt, and one which she promised to only use in absolute emergencies. "I want to tell these stories. Not anyone else."
As well as these 'out of school activities', Christine found that after so many years without books and teaching that she had an appetite for learning that couldn't be slaked. Even after she completed her baccalaureate, she wanted more but was unsure of exactly what.
Erik went about his day to day working on creative pursuits; he designed houses, well, one house in particular, and wrote music. He had purchased himself an upright piano, afraid to invest in a full-sized grand in fear that it might get destroyed again, even though he complained that the upright was irritating and that it didn't give the same depth or nuance. Christine would only sweetly shrug and say everything he played still sounded perfect to her.
One day he was working on a new piece and noticed her slouching around the house listlessly. He tried to concentrate on a phrase that was giving him trouble but couldn't focus with her fidgeting.
"Whatever is the matter with you?" he asked waspishly. She recoiled. "I am sorry," he said quickly, "It is not you I am annoyed with. It is the music…" The last part was said with much trepidation, "you are not unhappy, are you?"
"I'm not sure," she said chewing her lip. Erik's stomach dropped. Even on their worst days when he wanted nothing more than the ground to swallow him whole rather than face his own guilt about the past, he was still aware of how blissfully happy he was – perhaps that was why he felt such remorse in the first place. Christine always knew how to make things better and now she was discontented.
"It is something I have done?" he asked tentatively.
"No," she replied with a small sigh, "I am at a loss with what to do with myself."
Occasionally Erik felt the same. He nodded. "You have finished your studies. You can rest now and enjoy your free time."
"I'm not sure I want to be finished with my studies…" she said softly. "I think – I think I would like to go to University."
Erik's face twitched infinitesimally at the suggestion. Christine had learnt well enough now how to read Erik and to know when he was anxious or displeased. She sensed it now, although the next sentence he uttered betrayed nothing.
"That is what you would like?"
"Yes," she agreed, nodding her head slowly as the thought solidified in her mind. The idea had been in the back of her head for some time. She wanted to study Literature. She wanted to carry on writing.
His shoulders dipped. "You will leave Erik, stay in college rooms alone-?"
She quickly embraced him, putting a stop to the waver in his voice and calming any concerns with a soft kiss to his temple. "I am not leaving you, Erik. I do not need to stay on a campus, I can attend classes during the day and return home to you."
She felt his breathing slow. "Where?" he choked out. The fingers that embraced her waist, clung a little harder onto her.
"I'm not sure."
She pulled back to look at him and stroked the sparse hairs on his head. Realising, not for the first time, that he was acquiescing to what she wanted without even a thought for his own needs and desires. "What would you like?"
"I want you to be happy," he said, his eyes burning. "Erik will follow you wherever you go. He is your s-"
He stopped abruptly. Shadow. He had been about to say the world, but it grew heavy on his tongue and he swallowed it down.
"You, not Erik," she said softly, still stroking his hair. "If you would like to stay in Sweden then we can talk about it. Together."
"I don't care where we are. I can work in almost any place, as long as I am uninterrupted by people staring," he said with emphasis. "Every country is all the same to me. Without you, things are merely grey."
"Are you sure, Erik?" She asked, searching his eyes for any sign that he was saving her feelings. "I couldn't bear it if you were unhappy."
"You do not have to worry about that," he replied matter-of-factly, "Even if you left me, I would not be unhappy. I would merely die."
"Erik!" She cried out at the thought. But he allayed her fears with a sweet kiss, and his hold on her seemed to ease a little.
"Somewhere not too busy," he whispered a reminder against her lips, before hoisting her into his arms and carrying her to the bedroom. "Now let me relieve your boredom."
She spent a good time researching universities throughout Europe, with Erik's input of course, and settled on two located in Britain. She applied to both but her first choice rejected her; Erik had been furious, insisting on giving the admissions department a piece of his mind and Christine had spent a good deal of time distracting herself from her own disappointment by trying to make sure he didn't murder anyone. Luckily for her, her second choice had been a lot more accepting.
The dilemma was the location. Her second choice was a large city, Edinburgh, but within a short distance was the countryside. They made the decision to travel to the region together for a short holiday before she accepted the offer. They stayed in a small cottage on the other side of the Forth. It was late spring time and yet the weather was foul with dark days full of rain and very little sunshine. Christine felt rather deflated by the conditions, but Erik was delighted; it meant they barely saw another living being the whole time they were there.
"British weather," he mused, "suits me very well."
While the city was busy and bustling, the countryside surrounding it was quiet and sparsely populated. After their stay was over, Erik told her, with some satisfaction, that they could make it work.
They left their little rented house in Sweden for a cottage just south of Edinburgh. It had its problems – low ceilings, a rickety kitchen and a touch of damp – but they made it into a home. Christine would get the train into the city nearly every day to attend her lectures and seminars, each time bringing home new books and ideas.
They were happy. Apart from the few times that Christine noticed Erik acting strangely around her. On more than one occasion, she entered his small office, forgetting to knock, and saw him stuffing papers into his desk draw, or shutting his laptop quickly as if he had been caught in some nefarious act. The first few times she had been able to ignore it, but the third time she couldn't help but confront him.
"What are you hiding?" she'd asked, folding her arms.
"Nothing, my love," had been the calm and nonchalant reply.
"Then show me the laptop."
He blinked. "No. Do not ask me that."
"Erik-"
"It is not bad what Erik – what I am doing – it is not evil. Please do not ask me to show you."
"But you are keeping something from me?" she said, her voice a little hurt.
"Yes. I am allowed my secrets. I promise one day I will tell you. Until then, please trust me."
She sighed and nodded. She did trust him, she had to, and so she asked no more questions about his strange behaviour.
It was in her second year of studying that one weekend, he suggested they take a drive together. It was an unusual request, as Erik liked to stay indoors most times. If Christine ever went out for exercise or to run errands, it was almost always alone. She agreed, of course, travelling through new scenery was always enjoyable and the weather was particularly fair that day.
Erik insisted on driving. She could tell he was anxious about something. She asked gently if he was alright and he gave her an almost manic smile.
"Quite alright, my love," he said with burning eyes.
They travelled north west until Erik stopped the car beside a small copse of trees and asked her if she would join him for a short walk. She agreed with happy surprise. As they moved through the small woodland, she saw a strange building; it could almost be missed if you weren't looking for it, as the walls were partially covered with vegetation, making it blur into the trees.
"Erik, what is this place?" she asked, feeling anticipation build in her.
To her amazement he produced a key and offered it to her. "It is ours," he said proudly. "This is my secret. The one I would not tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise."
Rather than reaching for the key, she took his hand, smiling up at him with amazement and just a tiny bit of relief.
"You built it?" she asked breathlessly.
"I designed it," he corrected, "And contracted a builder. It has taken many months, but it is perfect. For you, it had to be."
He led her around the building, which was still unfurnished, and explained all his decisions, from the plants used as insulation outside of the house, windows that were able to be looked out of, but not through, to his favourite room, hidden beneath ground level - his music room. He had not exactly recreated what he had in Paris, as there was some natural light, and thank goodness, it was no longer boobytrapped, but it felt the same. As she walked in she felt the same reverence for music and Erik got the same excited look in his eyes as when he had first heard her sing.
"So, you like it?" he asked, his voice betraying nothing but his heart hammering.
She kissed him so soundly that she didn't need to give an answer, but she did anyway. "I love it."
They moved in a few weeks later once they had purchased enough furniture. Christine hadn't seen Erik so happy in a long time. He strutted about the rooms, enamoured with what he had achieved. She felt slightly disappointed for him that he would never get the chance to show it off to anyone else. When she raised this point, he shook his head.
"This is our sanctuary," Erik had told her definitively. "It belongs to us, and us alone. We will be safe here."
She could never doubt it.
Christine continued to work on her degree, occasionally still recording stories from France. Her blog, while fairly popular, was not read widely. Until, one day, a journalist approached her via email to ask if she'd consider a regular column in a magazine. When she told Erik about it, he congratulated her heartily, but she couldn't meet his enthusiasm.
"I'm not literate enough," she said, confusion marring her face and feeling entirely undeserving of the offer. "I wanted to share these women's stories, not profit from them."
"You should not feel guilty. We do not need the money. If you don't wish to write it then-"
"But I do want to write it!" she exclaimed, surprising both herself and Erik a little with the ferocity.
"What can Erik do?" he asked a little helplessly wrapping an arm around her. In response she rubbed her cheek against his hand, relaxing into his body. She knew he didn't want to read these stories. They were painful reminders and more proof of the misdemeanours he wished to forget. But writing them fulfilled her, and when Christine wanted something, he could never resist.
Eventually she agreed to write the column and soon the numbers reading her blog tripled. There was even talk of a book. She agreed to continue writing, but only on the proviso that any fee was donated to charity and everything that was published was done so under the pseudonym she used for her writing. Whilst most of the danger was gone, they still had to be careful about venturing into the outside world, and apart from Christine's university lectures and seminars, they had very little interaction with the outside world to mitigate any risk. It wasn't as if they were actively hiding, but Erik still felt paranoid about the chance of repercussions from Stratera. Luckily for them, they both preferred their own company to anyone else's. Erik was right, they had found sanctuary, but it was not in a building, it was in their home.
Six and a half years later
Christine stood perfectly still, arms folded and a charming look of contemplation on her face. Before her was a painting by Titian; The Death of Actaeon.
She frowned at the details, the dark, earthy colours, the blurred quality to the movement, as if it had been painted too quickly; the whole ordeal happening in a rush. She remembered with a strange form of nostalgia borrowing Erik's copy of The Metamorphoses and him taking grim satisfaction in the story. That had been over ten years ago. It seemed like another life.
She was shocked out of her reverie by a sudden crash and an infuriated cry to her right.
Heart in her mouth, Christine turned to see a pile of limbs on the floor which quickly rearranged themselves upright and back into a discombobulated young man, and a small blonde child who promptly, and rather carelessly, apologised before tearing off in another direction.
Christine frowned and gave chase. The small girl moved quickly from painting to painting, giving them swift, critical glances before moving on, dodging adults like they were obstacles in an assault course.
Christine finally caught up with the mischievous imp and, with a forceful hand, turned her towards her.
"Can't I take you anywhere without it ending in a visit to the hospital?" Christine asked exasperatedly. The girl didn't even have the good manners to appear recalcitrant.
Christine supposed it was rather fitting that the heir Stratera had so longed for was a girl. She wasn't even close to Stratera's ideal of feminine perfection; she wasn't shy or retiring, and certainly not elegant. Instead, Daphne hurtled into situations with a force that left her mother reeling with concern and her father in a state of proud amusement. It wasn't that she was clumsy, rather that her relentless enthusiasm about things drove her onwards like a juggernaut, and left nursery staff, teachers and most other adults quaking. It was also how she had gotten the pet name 'Vesuvius'.
Deciding that her daughter had caused enough trouble for one day, and feeling heavily drained of energy, Christine returned with her daughter to their hidden house in the woods.
Daphne entered as she always did, bursting through the front door like a torrent. "Papa?" she screamed, "Papa!"
Christine followed, closing the front door behind her as gently as possible to counteract the headache that was beginning.
Erik appeared from the basement and his daughter ran to him gleefully as if she hadn't seen him in a year. She babbled away at him, describing the visit to the gallery and asking all sorts of questions about the differences between High Renaissance and Mannerism; a subject which a five-year-old should have had absolutely no business knowing about.
"And the gallery is still standing?" he retorted with feigned shock, his warm eyes meeting Christine's for a moment, before turning back to Daphne.
Christine sighed with a mixture of jealousy and pleasure, as Erik stooped to pick up his daughter and kiss her soundly on the forehead, before carrying her away back down to the music room. She wasn't sure if it was jealousy at the fact that Daphne stole Erik's attention away so completely, or the fact that Daphne made it abundantly clear she had a favourite parent.
Daphne's conception had been a shock to them both. It had happened in Christine's final year of university. She had been trying to focus on an essay by Barthes in the Library and had mortifyingly enough ended up throwing up in a nearby paper bin. She came home right away, cheeks still pink from embarrassment and waived away any of Erik's concerns by insisting that she must have caught a bug. When it happened again the next morning, and after Erik had crouched down beside her to push back her hair and gently rubbed the clammy skin between her shoulder blades, he'd suggested the impossible.
"When did you last bleed?" he asked her, a tightness in his voice.
Her mouth formed into a little 'oh' of surprise as she realised it had been seven weeks. She'd been so focused on her studies that she hadn't even noticed.
"But we…we were careful!" She said breathlessly, pushing down another wave of nausea. And they had been. Neither of them had discussed children and although Christine had always imagined one day having a child, she had not considered doing so for many more years in the future. There was still so much she wanted to do. "What are we going to do?"
For once in his life, Erik seemed at a loss for words. He merely pulled her into a tight hug and rocked her gently until the shock had worn off slightly. Finally, he said, "You must go to a doctor. We must make sure you are well."
She felt his anxiety thrum through him.
"We never talked about this before," she said softly. "Is it – would you want-?" She could barely ask the question she was so afraid of the answer.
"I… do not know."
But the moment she saw the scan, Christine did. Any fear or worry that it was too soon melted away the moment she saw the grainy image and heard her baby's strong heartbeat. Erik hadn't accompanied her to the hospital, although it was clear he had wanted to. When she returned she found him in the hallway, pretending he was straightening a picture frame, when it was very clear he had been nervously loitering about the house until she returned.
"Well?" he asked, his eyes manically trying to read her features.
She reached into her bag and withdrew the ultrasound photo. She handed it to him. His fingertips went bone white as he gripped the image before him. When he finally tore his eyes away from it and met hers, both of them were crying. They were happy tears.
She'd known the minute she first read to Daphne that she'd be a genius. The way Daphne's eyes would seek hers out as Christine read to her, like she already could understand what she was saying. Her first word had been 'tantamount' - something Christine couldn't even admit with certainty she knew the definition of, let alone remembered ever using. It was clear from the first that Daphne had a hunger for books and creating things, much like her father did, Christine just hoped she could keep up with the both of them.
A few hours after their return from the gallery, Erik appeared at the doorway; he watched Christine for a moment as she made herself a cup of herbal tea. After ten years of being with Erik, Christine had become acutely aware of his presence. Sometimes he grumbled that he had lost the element of surprise as he could no longer sneak up on her. She'd joke that he was getting old. But even after all their time together, she still adored how her body still tingled when his eyes were on her.
"Is she asleep?" Christine asked him with a small smile.
"She's in bed," he replied with a touch of hopelessness.
"You did your best," she said graciously. She cast a glance at him and noticed how slumped his shoulders were, how tired he looked. All throughout dinner he had seemed a little distracted, even Daphne had picked up on it and had asked even fewer incessant questions than usual.
"Are you alright?" she asked, turning to give him her full attention.
After a moment, he nodded. A few seconds went by and then he shook his head.
"What is it?"
He exhaled. "Goldfinch contacted me today."
Christine nearly dropped the hot mug she was holding. She placed it down gently to prevent any accidents. She had never forgotten those torturous days in Sweden when he had gone back to Paris; she had not expected him to return to her. She could not let it happen again. "What did he want?" she asked with urgency.
Erik moved further into the room, closing the door softly behind him so that small ears wouldn't eavesdrop. He sat down at the kitchen table. "He had some news for me. Something that he thought I should hear…" She waited for him to continue with bated breath. Erik's mouth twisted. "Stratera is dying."
It had been a long time since either of them had mentioned his name. Thankfully, since his sentencing, the former dictator had remained in obscurity, locked up from the world and harmless. They hadn't mentioned the past to Daphne, agreeing that one day, when she was older, they might tell her the full details of their meeting. Occasionally, Daphne would ask questions that neither of them were ready to answer, but for now they could argue away their reclusiveness based on Erik's appearance. They did not want to lie to her but her protection was paramount to both of them. She was such a smart girl, Erik wondered sometimes whether she might have already figured it out.
Christine frowned, watching the slight play of emotions on Erik's face – a face she had come to know so well - but in this case she couldn't tell what he was thinking. "How do you feel about that?"
Erik's eyes lingered on the floor. "I do not know," he said, his voice betraying nothing.
"Did he tell you—?"
"Cancer. Very aggressive. He has weeks left."
"Oh." Christine was at a loss at what to say. As much as she felt sorry that anyone had to die before their time, a small part of her was relieved. There had always been a slight sliver of worry that he would one day escape prison, or have some of his remaining cronies try and find them. She knew Erik would always keep them safe. She often found it strange to compare the loving father that Erik had become with the ghost of his past, nor with the manipulative and terrifying excuse for his own paternal figure. Searching for the right words, she failed to find any that might bring him comfort. "I'm sorry," she added, meekly.
"I am not," he replied, biting his malformed lip. "He has been asking for me. He is, apparently, repentant in his old age."
Christine's face contorted in confusion. "But I thought he—"
"That he thought I was dead? That was what he was told. Apparently, he never believed it," Erik said bitterly, "I will always be a phantom to him."
Christine frowned. Could it be that the old man had finally found some contrition, or was this all an elaborate hoax to get Erik out of hiding? "What…what are you going to do?"
Erik once again did not look at her. "I do not know," he repeated.
Christine steeled herself. "You can't go there. What if it is a trap?"
Erik was quiet for a long moment before answering; "I would explore all the variables."
Worry tightened its hold around her. "Erik! How can you even consider it?" Christine pressed him. "Do you really think he wouldn't want revenge?"
"I have considered it," he said calmly, but there was now an edge to his voice. "You're right - he may still hold a vendetta against me."
"But it is not just you that you have to think about," Christine said, matching his tone, "What about Daphne?"
"I would never let anything happen to either of you, you know that. You are my world." He uttered these words so emphatically that Christine felt ashamed of herself.
"Erik…" Her voice became more soothing as she tried to reason with him, "I know this must have thrown up a lot of feelings for you…" he laughed mirthlessly, a small glint of his former self showing through. She didn't like it. "I'm not going to tell you what to do. I trust you to do what is best. Just think about it, please? Don't rush into anything?"
"It is all I have been able to think about for most of the day…" Erik said, softening. His eyes became more thoughtful. "He did mean something to me once. And now he is dying."
"That doesn't mean he deserves your pity…or your forgiveness."
Erik turned to look at her. "You once told me that every person deserves to be forgiven."
"I can make exceptions." Aging had toughened her it seemed, as much as it had mellowed him.
"I am not sure I can ever forgive him. Still, the urge to show him how I have changed is very great. I want to prove to him that I am not the monster he tried to make me. Is that so very wrong?"
Her heart clenched as she looked at him, his honey eyes were full of uncertainty. She took his face in her hands and stroked his cheek. "You don't need to prove anything to him. You don't need to prove yourself to anyone."
To her relief, his arms wrapped around her waist and she allowed herself to be manoeuvred into his lap. She rested her head against his shoulder and breathed a sigh of contentment. "I love you." His voice was almost musical.
She buried her face into his neck and breathed in his scent. It calmed her. "I love you. So much," she replied, and pressed a kiss behind his ear.
Erik did think about it. But by the time he had made his decision, it was too late.
"Charles Stratera, the dictator who brought horror to France for several decades died this morning while still incarcerated…" The rest of the broadcaster's speech blurred out in her ears. Relief filled her, followed by guilt for the joy she felt at hearing the news. Christine could never wish ill on anyone, but sometimes, just sometimes, she felt like making a concession.
Daphne had already been dropped off at school so they were alone in the house. Christine found Erik in the kitchen, his fingers gripped the pages of the newspaper tightly as his eyes roamed over the words on the page.
She walked over to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. His face twisted into a grimace, he let the newspaper fall to the table and he grasped her hand very tightly.
"Do you…do you regret not visiting him?" she asked, her voice thin.
"No," he replied with force, "You are right. If he was vengeful, it would have been too dangerous. If he wanted forgiveness, well…perhaps you are right…he did not deserve it."
She felt a pang of shame for her lack of mercy. Perhaps she had grown less forgiving over the years. Perhaps because she had given Erik all her compassion, she was had none left for anyone else.
She pressed a kiss to his forehead, overwhelmed with pride at how much he had changed over the years. She didn't know if he would ever truly be at ease with the world, or learn to be trusting of mankind, but she could never expect him to be after his past. What she did know with certainty was that she would never change him, this man who had saved her, this man who had saved the whole country. For him, her love was unconditional; the way his father's should have been. The way his love was for her and Daphne.
"If you had seen him at the end," she whispered, her voice laced with compassion, "what would you have said to him?"
Erik was quiet for a long moment. His hand gripped hers even tighter. Then he looked up at her and smiled. "I would have told him that he did not win."
"No," she said, wiping a tear from her eye, "No, he didn't win."