CHAPTER 13
As rehearsal dragged on, and Christine was left to linger in the wings waiting for her cue she found herself wishing she had been less adamant in her attendance. It seemed, more than ever, as though Erik's domain was an entirely other world; a world that was becoming (or perhaps returning) to being a place of great comfort to her.
She missed the lapping of the lake combined with the ever-constant music that wafted through Erik's home. She missed Erik. It didn't seem fair-
A loud clapping filled the air, and Christine turned to see Reyer, who looked even more stressed than usual. "Attention, everyone, attention-that means you too, Mademoiselle Giry."
Meg skittered over to the rest of the dancers, murmuring apologies as Reyer gave a belabored sigh.
"Miss Daae," Reyer said. "This concerns you as well, most particularly."
Christine felt her heart leap as Reyer withdrew a familiar libretto from his bag.
"There will be a new addition to the upcoming season," interested and dismayed murmurs filled the room, until Reyer clapped again. Trained from years of rehearsing, everyone fell silent.
"This will be the premiere of both the opera and composer. The roles-taking into account that the production is new, but also the singular circumstances that we find ourselves in..." Reyer tugged at his tie. "The roles have already been cast, and with such meticulous detail and precision that I am sure everything will-"
"Who is this composer you speak of," Carlotta sniffed from the front row.
"Erik Nedan-"
Christine burst into undignified giggles, for the surname Erik had chosen meant 'below' in her native tongue. She managed to regain her composure only after Meg tugged at her sleeve with wide eyes.
"Your teacher?" she hissed, and Christine could only nod. There was no denying it, especially given the next words out of Reyer's mouth.
"He was impressed with Miss Daae and requested that she bring to life his vision. In his note, he referred to her voice as-" he flipped through several pages. "'Like that of an angel's. A burgeoning diva that shattered my soul with its incandescence.'"
Christine felt herself turning bright red. Erik was so reticent in his compliments of her voice in lessons, and to hear that he thought so highly of her-even if she had known it-was a wonderful sensation indeed.
"You are all free to go, rehearsal dismissed. I will not need anyone who isn't in act three after lunch."
In various attitudes, the performers dispersed.
Meg pinched Christine. Hard. "You and me are having lunch," Meg said, like she meant interrogation. Christine nodded, and allowed herself to be pulled in the direction of the nearest exit.
Across the stage, Reyer was trying to placate Carlotta. "Madame, it is the wish of the composer-"
Carlotta's accent became more pronounced as she argued, "Who is this composer who 'as decided to upstage me, the diva-"
"Your role is a good one, Madam-"
Carlotta screeched, "This thing will not 'appen if it cannot 'appen center-stage!" and she stormed off. Reyer did not follow her. Like everyone, he was fully aware that Carlotta loved the stage too much to ever abandon it, and that whatever she said-or screamed-she would be there, on time and ready. After all, before she stormed off, she took her copies of the music.
Meg managed to get them both to the cafe so quickly that Christine was a little dizzy.
"TELL ME EVERYTHING," Meg said, before their coffee had even been poured.
"You first," Christine said, knowing that her own story was far more complicated. "Jean Clarque seemed rather smitten with you."
Meg grinned. "I'm not without my charms-"
"Is that what Jean Clarque told you?"
Meg shrugged. "He barely managed to shove a slightly wilted daisy into my hands and call me pretty. He got less scared after I threw myself into his arms. I think…?"
Christine laughed, thinking of her own foray into romance. "Yes," she said. "That sounds about right."
Their coffee arrived along with the selection of sweets they had ordered. They had been cautioned to never eat heavy meals during rehearsal, but Christine was sure that Erik would not approve of the amount of sugar she was eating now. She couldn't find herself caring, not when the lemon madeline melted on her tongue so delightfully.
"Tell me about Erik, the mysterious E-the teacher fantasy that we all hope to live out-"
"Meg!"
Meg shrugged, unashamed. "Your inability to disagree tells a different story than your feigned horror." She nibbled at a macaron. "So you might as well tell me where you were last night, off the record. Because you definitely weren't home."
"How do you know that?"
"I didn't until you told me, but it's not that hard to piece together. A new opera in which you're the star. Declarations of love-I mean, 'incandescence,' is not a word people use platonically."
"I…"
"...really want to tell my best friend in the world, practically my sister, everything about my romance."
"It's new," Christine said. "He...doesn't trust easily."
"Who does?"
"No, I mean. He's...different. He means a lot to me. I don't want to disappoint him or hurt him-Meg, we've hurt each other so many times in so many ways." she tapped her spoon against her plate, contemplatively. "I like him a lot."
But 'like' seemed insufficient, as did all the words she could try to think of to describe the connection that she and Erik shared. The deep regard and affection that was laced with pain, the double-edged sword of passion. Their duet was a timeless and often tragic one, and Christine wanted everything to work out. More than she had ever wanted anything.
"We kissed," Christine continued. "His opera-he told me he wrote it for me. For us."
"What's it about?"
"Passion, betrayal. Loving something so much that it becomes a part of you, and not knowing where to draw the line between pleasure and being entirely consumed."
Meg's eyes went wide. "So...he seems intense."
"So intense, incredibly so. Sometimes it feels like being burned when he looks at me. And yet he's so careful. So tender-" she buried her head in her hands. "I feel entirely inadequate a lot of the time."
"Well, you're not." Meg said, and she pulled Christine's hands away from her face and held them. "You're one of my favorite people in the entire world, and you are wonderful. Smart, strong, beautiful, and so incredibly talented, Chrissy." The childhood endearment tugged at Christine's heartbeat. "You deserve the world."
"You too, Lady Meggy," she said, and Meg laughed. "You too."
The carrots were cooked to perfection, and stirred into the creamy soup full of the spices Erik had imported from Persia. The bread warmed and crackly, and the oranges arranged artfully on a crystal dish.
Yes, everything was absolutely perfect.
"Erik?"
And not a moment too soon.
"In the dining room," Erik called, and he heard footsteps. Presently, he was greeted with the most beautiful sight in the world. His Christine, barefoot and looking rather careworn after a long day of rehearsals. One of her hands was engaged in removing the pins from her hair. She was so very illuminating to his dark world.
"Allow me," Erik breathed, and she looked at him at last.
"Why are you wearing your mask?" She stood on tiptoe and stripped it from his face. "This is a different one." she said, studying the black domino. It was lined with cream silk. She held it to her face, playfully. It concealed her face, darkened the blue of her eyes.
"Don't," he said, as his gut roiled to imagine his Christine subject to the same cruelties as he had been.
"What's wrong," she asked, discarding the mask.
"I made dinner," he said.
"I saw, it looks wonderful. But are you all right?" In the candlelight, she looked so incredibly delicate, so near. An illusory phantom come to steal his heart and soul-
She approached him, coming closer and closer. He could not stand it, would surely die. Yet, she wrapped her arms around his waist, and laid her head over his beating heart.
"It's good to be here with you," she said, and he could not help but clutch her to him. She acquiesced with a happy sigh. She made no move to pull away, and he loved her for it. When at last, he was ready for them to part, she stayed close, resuming her quest to remove her hairpins.
"Allow me," he said again, and she blushed, but turned so her back was facing his chest. He could see the pale curve of her neck, the tendrils of hair that curled just so along her shoulders.
His fingers trembled at the intimacy of unpinning her hair, and lurid and tender fantasies flooded his mind. He fished out the pins, one by one, relishing in every happy sigh that escaped her lips. When at last her hair fell freely down her back, he could not help but comb his fingers through it. He swept it to one side. He held the weight of it in his hands, and watched the red-laced curls bleed through his fingers.
"If you keep that up, I'll fall asleep," Christine yawned.
What a delightful image that was! How startlingly domestic! To have her fall asleep with his hands in her beautiful hair. She swayed tiredly, and he was reminded that she likely hadn't eaten or rested for hours. He pressed a kiss to one of her curls, and then turned her to face him. She looked up at his unmasked face with a drowsy smile.
"Come, my dearest," he offered her his arm like a gentleman after depositing her hairpins into his pocket.
"Erik," she protested, as he led her to the far end of the table and pulled out her chair.
"You must eat."
"I know," she whispered. "But must we eat so far apart?"
He appraised with new eyes the length of the table, the distance between them. He must have been insane when he purchased it! They were so far apart that he would not be able to reach her.
"Rest," he instructed, picking up all of the platters and baskets.
"Erik, you needn't-"
"We'll dine in the kitchen," he said resolutely. "It's warmer in there and I wouldn't want you to take ill-"
"I'm fine, Erik," she called after him.
He returned almost as quickly as he left. "But you could be excellent, and that is why we are changing the venue-"
"Ange," she said gently after he returned for the final time. He fell on his knees before her, and kissed her palm.
"Indulge a foolish man," he pleaded. "The kitchen is so much warmer."
Christine smiled, and traced his cheekbones with her thumb. "Of course, Erik."
She kissed his forehead shyly, and he almost wept. He felt for the first time that the world was in a perpetual climb towards being better. Especially when his Christine tilted his chin up, and kissed him on the mouth. She tasted like salvation.
If someone had attempted to tell Christine that she would sit across from the opera ghost and share a meal, she would have laughed. Granted, there was nothing humorous about the perfection of the meal that Erik had prepared for her.
Erik spent more time looking at her than he did eating, but she didn't mind once she'd ascertained that he was in fact eating. The champagne had sent a pleasant sort of humming in her blood, the room seemed almost as golden as Erik's eyes.
"Reyer announced your opera today," Christine said as Erik refilled their glasses for the second or third time. The champagne made her cheeks flush, but it was deliciously sweet. Erik raised his eyebrow, and how she loved to be able to fully see the minuteness of the expression. "The whole company was in a state of excitement and shock."
"Oh?"
"Do I really light up your soul with incandescence?"
"Of course, Christine. How could you not?" Her eyes fluttered shut at the way his magnificent voice curled around the syllables of her name.
"I like that," she said. "I like when you do that with your voice. I can feel it in my chest."
She liked looking at him quite a lot. She liked the way his clothes fit and the way his hair was combed back. She wanted to mess him up, rumple his perfection. Wanted to-
"Perhaps," Erik said, with flustered amusement. "We should switch to tea after this glass."
"Perhaps," Christine said, quite against her better judgement. "Perhaps we should go into the music room and you should play for me, and I can finally stop pretending that I don't stare at your hands." She covered her mouth, aghast. "That was a secret!"
"I won't tell," Erik teased. "I give you full liberty to stare at me as much as you like, though there isn't much to please the gaze."
Christine shook her head in blatant disagreement. "There is," she said. "You're very handsome."
"Christine, I don't-"
"You don't get to tell me you aren't because you are." she met his eyes, and a stunning sort of clarity washed over her. "You are the most beautiful man I've ever seen." She stumbled to her feet and approached him, bracing her hands on his shoulders. "I'm not a liar."
"No," Erik agreed.
"I like your face. I like you."
"And I you, sweet Christine. Come, I'll play for you." he swept her into his arms and carried her to the music room. He deposited her on the couch, and drowsily she watched as he played. Music filled the chamber, echoed through her heart. She could feel it in her bones, her blood.
"Erik," she called, after an indeterminate amount of time. "Thank you for dinner, can I stay here tonight?"
"My home belongs to you, Christine," Erik said, and he continued to play. Something sad and sweet, but so hopeful that her heart ached with it.
When she woke, it was to the feeling of Erik's hand on her brow.
"I made you some tea," he said. "I thought you might like some before moving to your chamber."
"Thank you," Christine whispered, feeling a bit foolish, but much more cognizant than she had previously. "What time is it?"
"You've only slept for an hour."
"The music was beautiful, ange. What's it for?"
"You," Erik said. "As all my music has been since the moment I heard your voice."
Christine blushed, sitting up at last. She patted the space beside her on the chaise, and Erik sat beside her.
"Will you have some?"
Erik gestured to the bench of the organ, where his cup sat.
"Sit with me?"
Erik smiled, and retrieved his tea.
They sipped their tea in silence. It was a light blend, something citrus and soothing. Erik had stirred in just the right amount of honey. Christine leaned into him, relaxing her weight on his shoulder.
"Is this okay?" she asked, even as he set aside his tea to stroke her hair.
"Everything about this moment-this day-is absolute perfection."