Christine

I wake up and turn to look at my husband's face, so relaxed in his sleep. I smile remembering the way he swept me up in his arms and carried me to the bed after we'd removed each other's clothing. He laid me down with the utmost gentleness then made love to me with such slow, perfect tenderness my heart nearly burst. I remember how prior to this he broke down sobbing as we kissed.

"Erik," I had pleaded. "Erik. Shh."

He sank to the floor in front of me and I sat down beside him, and pulled him into my arms. I stroked his hair and murmured to him until he managed to gasp out, "I hoped...I dreamed...but I never believed it would actually happen."

He then proceeded to sob out what seemed to be decades of loneliness and bitterness in my arms. It was like a wound had been opened and finally spewed it's poison. When at last it stopped, he looked up at me. "Oh, Christine, I'm so sorry."

"Don't you dare be sorry. I love you, Erik. I...I can only imagine what your life has been."

Others may not consider our marriage legitimate, but to me it was just as real and binding as any marriage conducted by a priest. God only knows how long it might take me to convince Erik to join the world above, if ever. Last night, I knew I couldn't wait that long.

I reach over and stroke his face. He wakes up and smiles at me with perfect contentment. "Good morning, husband."

"Good morning, wife." He gathers me to him and kisses me. We make love again and then lay in each other's arms, satiated and lazy. That is until Erik's stomach gives a particularly loud rumble and I burst into laughter. Erik laughs, too. "I suppose that's our cue to get up."

He begins to rise, but I tug him back down with a pout. "Not just yet."

I try to stroke his chest, but he grabs my hand with a yelp and shudders.

"Erik!" I exclaim in surprised delight. "You're ticklish!"

"I am not!" I laugh and attack his ribs on both sides. He grabs my hands again. "Christine," he growls, his voice low with warning.

I just laugh again and try to wriggle my hands free. "The Opera Ghost is ticklish," I tease. He gives me a stern look, but I ignore it and continue to try and free my hands.

"Alright, if that's the way you want it." He takes both my wrists in one hand and pins them above my head. He then proceeds to attack my neck and ribs, tickling me until I'm squirming and crying tears of laughter.

"Please," I wheeze. "Please, Erik, stop!"

He pauses. "Are you going to be good?"

"Yes! Yes, I promise."

He chuckles and leans down to press a kiss to my forehead before releasing my wrists.

"Come along. What kind of husband would I be if I let my new bride go hungry?"

He stands and wraps his black robe around himself, then goes to the wardrobe and pulls out a plush, light blue robe for me. I slip into it and follow him to a small alcove. He kneels down and takes a length of chain, pulling a box up out of the frigid lake water. He opens it to reveal cheese, eggs, fruit, vegetables, and cooked bits of meat.

"Is this how you preserve your food?" I examine the metal box and note how he's caulked the seams so the water can't get in. The lid has a gasket of cork to keep it from leaking. He nods, choosing food and arranging it on a plate for us. "But, Erik, that's brilliant!"

He shrugs just as he did last night. I knew then as he led me through his home, showing me all his experiments and creations just how extraordinarily clever he must be. What could he have done in this world if not for his face. My heart aches at the thought.

As we sit on the settee and eat, the image of him swinging that black cloak off himself by the boat the first time he brought me here comes back to me. I remember how he looked that night. Tall, broad shouldered, and exuding an air of power and mystery. He was impeccably dressed and his long, black cloak swirled around him so gracefully. He looked every inch a dark god.

"You knew exactly what you were doing with that clothing the night you took me, didn't you?"

He looks up from his food and smirks. "Of course I did. I wanted you eating out of the palm of my hand."

"Oh, I was. There will never be a more striking combination than the sound of your voice and the way you looked in those clothes that night."

"Except perhaps the sound of your voice and the way you looked in your lack of clothes."

I fake outrage and throw a bit of cheese at him. He bats it away with a laugh. I simply love the sound of his laugh. Knowing that he probably only started to laugh very recently leads me to want to make him do it all the time.

"Well, what would you like to do today, my dear?"

"Oh, I can think of one or two things." I smile invitingly at him.

He suddenly turns serious. "Aren't you sore though, my darling? I could make love to you all day, but I don't want to hurt you."

I blush. I'm glad Erik is so straightforward with me, but sometimes it's a little disconcerting. "Well, yes, but not so much that…" I trail off awkwardly.

His expression is a bit too understanding for my liking. He sits the empty plate on the floor and tugs me onto his lap, nuzzling my neck. "Tonight, Christine. We'll wait till tonight."

I pout, but he's resolute. "None of that now, my dear. I said tonight, and that's exactly what I mean."

I lay my head on his shoulder trying to content myself with being held. He begins singing to me softly. It's in a language I don't recognize, but the melody is sweet and tender. Before long I feel my eyes growing heavy and drift off to sleep.