Update: I talked to my therapist, and I am feeling much better :)

Enjoy!

Erik

Chapter 63

The Secrets

"Did you know about this?"

I shook my head at my father-in-law's question. But I was looking at Christine. All three of us sat at the dining room table, his eyes on me, mine on her, and hers on the newsletter Gustave had set before us. Her shoulders went in a bit, though her chin remained high. The paper featured a drawing that resembled a certain aristocrat a bit too closely.

"No," I responded. "She neglected to tell me she was drawing this for Leroux." I tried, and failed, to keep the edge from my voice. I liked the drawing, had wanted to laugh as my first instinct. What I didn't like was that she'd chosen not to inform me of her plan.

"This is stupid, Christine," said Gustave, tapping on his temple. His voice was sharp as well, but the way a butter knife was sharp. I wasn't sure that this man had an aggressive or truly angry drop of blood in his entire heart. If he did, he contained it much, much better than I was able to.

At that, Christine actually looked a bit green. I resisted the urge to pull her into my side to kiss her, to comfort her. The sting of this small secret was too much to let me do that.

"I-" started Christine, but her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat.

"What?" pressed her father.

"I wanted to help," she said, "in the only way I know how."

"And you didn't think it a good idea to inform us of this?" I said.

She glanced at me. "I knew you might not like it."

"Either way," I responded lowly, "you realize that this will likely draw even more attention to us - all three of us. This affects everyone here. I would like this drawing leagues more if you'd at least let me be a part of this scheme - at least let me know. For something this big, I wish you would have at least let me know."

Her face reddened as her father scoffed. "I wouldn't like it even if I did know. I don't appreciate this, Christine. Involving us in this...in these politics. I rely on good public opinion to find work. So does your husband. And don't think, Christine, that I don't agree with you in what you are saying. I do. Help quietly, if you must. I have before. I still do from time to time. Offer food to the homeless. Donate money to a charity. Hell, if you're so set in doing something drastic, something big, for the poor, then...I don't know. Take in a street urchin. I'm sure we could find room."

I knew he was only half-serious about the urchin matter, but it reminded me immediately of that moment in my childhood when I'd met him for the first time, not knowing what role he'd one day play in my life. He'd stopped Javert's show, called it and him despicable, and offered to take me away. Perhaps he was capable of anger, then. But good God, even that anger had been kind.

"Why do you stare, Erik?" he said to me. "Do you disagree?"

"I don't disagree." I paused. "Per se."

"Per se." His response was flat.

"I also think that this could be a good thing. It could sway people against de Chagny."

"And what has de Chagny done to wrong us, exactly? All he's done to us is invite us to two parties at his estate."

"It's what he's done to others, Papa." Christine looked a bit more confident now. "Just because it's not us doesn't mean it's not happening."

He sighed. "I know, dear girl, you showed me the articles."

"Then you agree, Papa; you must."

Gustave shook his head and rubbed at his face. "Perhaps, Christine, I might have when I was young like you. It is good to fight for what you believe. But I am growing old. By the day. And I am tired of excitement." He pushed his chair back and stood. "Excuse me. I'd like some tea. Shout if you want some as well."

We watched him leave the dining room for the kitchen. Once I heard the clank of the kettle on the stove, I whispered to Christine, "You told me once - made me swear, in fact - that there would be no more secrets between us. Do you remember?"

"I do," she said. "And I'm sorry. I just...really wanted to do this."

"I would have supported you."

Her shoulders slumped. "Are you angry with me?"

I looked at her, found her watching me, regret like clouds in the blue of her eyes. "Well. I am...not happy, that's certain."

I'd told her about my confession to Vincenzo. I told her that Franklin guessed correctly who I'd been in Persia. I told her everything. I thought we were there now. Yes, I knew this was only a picture in a newsletter - but it was something she'd thought about telling me...and actively chose not to.

"No more secrets. You made me promise. So now I am asking you do the same."

Christine stared at me a while, paling, thinking. Then, she said, "There's one more thing I should tell you." She looked in the direction of the kitchen. "Let's go to the bedroom to talk."

She rose, and I followed. Nerves clenched my insides. What else had she hid from me?

Once in the room, I closed the door and watched as she went red in the face. She sat on the foot of the bed, and I did the same when she patted the space next to her. Her palm went up, hovered in the air between us, so I took it. Her trembling fingers stilled.

"Erik," she whispered into the silence. "I think I am pregnant."

My body seemed to stop working one moment - all of my senses, my heart, my lungs...they all paused. Then, like to make up for it, everything worked twice as hard the next. My hearing, sight, feeling in my fingertips: I was hyper aware of it all. Christine's hand seemed simultaneously close and very far away, like I was feeling it through someone else's body. I could hear nothing but my own breath, my own pulse in my neck and chest.

"How do you know?" I asked, voice nonexistent, nothing but air shaped into words.

"My cycle is late."

"By how long?"

"A month."

I jerked my hand away. She sucked in a breath. "A month? You've been late for a month and you...didn't..."

Tears formed in her eyes, whether from shame or fear I wasn't sure. I hoped that it wasn't fear - that she didn't, deep down, feel afraid of me after all this time. "I didn't know how you'd react."

"What?" I stood. "So then what was the plan, my dear?" She winced at the term of endearment, at the tone I used to speak it. "To wait until it was truly impossible to hide it? Were you going to shrug your shoulders at the delivery and tell me that it slipped your mind to mention it? I was going to find out at what point, Christine?"

"I didn't want to hurt you. I'm scared of hurting you."

A chill entered my stomach. "What does that mean?"

The tears fell. "We don't know what the baby will look like."

"And what does that mean?"

"I will love this baby if it looks like you," she said. "Will you? Or will you resent it, the way you resent your face?"

I grimaced and looked away. My hand rose to grip the bedpost.

I hadn't thought of that.

And I didn't know the answer.

"What if I lose the pregnancy? What if I miscarry? Will you be able to handle that?"

My breath turned shaky at just the thought. I didn't know the answer to that, either.

"I'm sorry, Erik. I just - I didn't know what to do."

I found her eyes again, her tear-stained cheeks. "Hiding it was not the answer."

"I'm sorry."

"No more secrets, Christine."

"No more secrets."

"I mean it." My grip on the post tightened. "I forgive you of this, but...no more."

"No more."

I swallowed and went to my knees before her. She stared down at me with wide eyes. "If," I said, "this child has my face, I will love it nonetheless, because half of its blood is yours."

Sorrow flickered in her gaze, but she nodded.

"And if you miscarry..." I took her hand again, her touch strengthening me against the tide of sickness the thought brought on. "If you lose it, we will find a way through."

"Together," she said.

The nausea died down, and I picked myself up to kiss her forehead. "Together. In all things, together."