Chapter One:  When You Want It The Most

The next morning Christine awoke to find herself on the couch in the house beyond the lake, entwined in Erik's arms.

'It wasn't a dream then,'  she thought.  'He really did ask me to marry him, and I really did say yes.'

Wonderment ran through her at the thought.  For so long, she had been so afraid of him asking, afraid she could never find the courage to say yes.  And yet she had.  No longer a shrinking violet, she now felt like a vibrant sunflower as the love she'd known was there surged through her heart.

They had talked long into the night about how to go about the preparations.  He knew as well as she did that it would be difficult to find a priest to marry them, even if he was not totally honest about his past.  She could still remember when she asked him his last name.

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"Erik, you've never told me your last name."

Erik's head shot up like a start, never having even thought of that one little incongruity.  "I suppose that's because I've never used it."

Christine looked on him with wide eyes.  That had never occurred to her, her own last name was as much a part of her as her first.  But she knew now she was to share Erik's name.  "I know this question is going to sound ridiculous, but, do you remember?"

The sharp intake of breath answered her before he could do so with words.  "No, my mother, we . . . we never discussed it.  The only people who ever came to the house called her only by her given name."

"Do you have a birth certificate?  Baptismal certificate?  I'm fairly sure that both of those are a necessity to getting married."

Erik bowed his head.  "I'm afraid, my dear, that neither of those were celebrated events in my childhood home."

Christine's eyes clouded with sadness for the life she knew he must have lead as a child.  She reached out and took his hand once more in her own,  "We will find some way around it, I'm sure.  There has to be some way."

~~~~~

And she'd meant it.  Of course, there were other things she didn't dare discuss with him, mostly how to break the news to Raoul that she was to marry Erik.  She knew he would take it hard, for he truly believed himself in love with her, and she with him.  And it had taken Christine some time to realize the difference between the two.  To realize there was a difference between loving and being in love.  And Erik, in his limited experience with that emotion, would likely not understand the difference.

She also knew that marrying Erik, and being true to herself, meant she would have to cut all ties with her childhood friend.  Surely there was no way that Erik could understand any type of relationship between her and Raoul.

And she needed to give Raoul back his ring.

"I don't mind if you feel you have to hide it for now,"  he said.  "You and I have kept secrets since we were ten years old."

She hadn't the strength to deny Raoul then, not when he was his most persuasive and charming.  But now, now that she admitted to Erik that she loved him, now that she'd agreed to marry him, she could not in good conscience keep that ring.

'But enough of that for now,'  Christine thought as she drew herself closer to him.  'When I go back up today for rehearsal will be soon enough to worry about facing him.  Right now, just enjoy being with Erik.'

She tried to close her eyes and just enjoy the sensation, but as soon as her lids fluttered closed, she felt his body tense beside her.  And heard his almost unbelieving whisper,  "Christine."

She smiled at the reverence with which he said her name, and replied,  "Good morning."  And then she maneuvered slightly to face him.  "Did you sleep well?"

She saw the smile play across his lips, the smile she had so rarely seen before the previous night.  "Likely better than I ever have."

"I'm glad,"  Christine whispered, and as she did, Erik grasped her hand and brought it to his lips.

"Tu es mon couer,"  he whispered.

"Je t'adore, mon ange,"  Christine replied in kind.

"The company has practice today?"

"Yes."

"At what time?"

"We start at one today,"  Christine answered.

Erik glanced over to the clock on the mantelpiece, the one reminder that there was a world above that ran on time.  "You should start getting ready then, mon cherie.  We both slept much later than normal."

Christine nodded, and they both slowly yet reluctantly rose from the comfort of each other's arms.

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She arrived in her dressing room an hour early for rehearsal, part of her hoping that Raoul would stop by as he had during that week they had played at being a happy couple, part dreading the possibility of having to face him this soon.

She'd been careful to retrieve the ring from where it had snagged on the wedding dress, the dress she'd worn the night before Erik proposed to her.  When she'd started to change this morning and discovered the chain around her neck had disappeared, she'd been half frantic, not wanting Erik to know of her short lived disloyalty.

The days since Raoul gave her that ring, days filled at first with silence as she recovered from her cold, and then the trip to the Bois . . . the meeting with Raoul there.  Perhaps he had already given up.  It may very well be she had to seek him out.

"Christine!"  the tiny voice of Meg Giry called from outside the open dressing room door.  "We'd heard you were ill!"

"It was nothing, merely a cold,"  Christine assured her.

"Your Vicomte has been dragging around here for most of the past week looking for you,"  Meg announced.

Christine's head snapped quickly to face Meg.  "Most?"

"Yes, he did not appear yesterday, we'd thought perhaps he'd found you."

"Oh,"  Christine sighed, somewhat relieved yet disappointed.

"So he didn't find you then.  Christine, where were you?"

Christine moved as if she were going to speak, but decided at the last moment to hold her piece.  Raoul had the right to hear from her that she was going to marry another.  There was no reason he should have to learn from the gossip of the corps de ballet.

"Christine?"  Meg asked once more, and then paused to study her friend's face.  "Your eyes are alight in a way I haven't seen them in a long time, yet you're holding back from me?  Why?"

"Oh Meg, when it is time to tell all, you will be the first here to know, I promise you!"

"Yet you can not confide in me now?"

"Not yet, Meg, not yet.  There is one person who I have to speak to first, then, I promise, I will explain to you."

Meg smiled gently,  "I suppose that will have to do, won't it?"

Both girls started when they heard a knock at the door, and Meg spun to face it as the door opened and Madame Giry entered.

"Meg Giry, I do believe you are a dancer, are you not?"

"Yes, Maman."

"Rehearsal for dancers starts at noon.  You're late!"

"Yes Maman,"  Meg placated as she ran out the door.  She paused, and peeped her head back in,  "You know where to find me when it's time, Christine!"

Christine nodded her assurance as the little dancer disappeared into the shadows.

The dance matron turned her attention to Christine,  "This is for you."  She took a letter out of her pocket and handed it to Christine, and then turned and left the room.

Christine opened the note, and read it twice as the meaning sunk in.

Christine,

I know for sure now that you will likely never return to read this, yet I still feel compelled to write.  Partly to apologize and beg your forgiveness, partly because I pray that in doing so that I can restore even a semblance of peace to my shattered soul.

Tonight I saw you on the Bois, and I know it was Erik who accompanied you.  I'm sure you were completely repulsed by the behavior of my companions, as I was as well.  And tonight I had a visitor, your Erik, and I'm afraid I acted dishonorably.  He obviously meant me no harm, or I no doubt would not be here yet to tell you this, but in my misplaced sense of honor, I feel I did a rather idiotic thing.  I shot at him, and I would not doubt that one of my bullets grazed him as he walked away.

I've spent several hours since he disappeared trying to make sense of my own actions, his, and yours as well.  I am not a gentleman as I used to believe myself to be.  Tonight I reduced myself down to his level by shooting at his back.  I can no longer consider myself worthy of your love, if you ever did love me at all.  When we last spoke, you could not be certain of your feelings for Erik.  Perhaps it is merely that the love you have for him is love of the most exquisite kind, the kind we rarely admit to ourselves.  And I've come to terms with the fact that whatever it is you feel for me, it could never hold a candle to the flame that is between you and Erik.

Part of me still prays I am mistaken.  But I highly doubt I am.  I suppose all that is left for me to do is hope that every once in a while, you will think of me and remember the childhood friendship we shared.  And that one day you'll forgive me.

With all my love,

 Raoul

'He knew,'  Christine thought as a single tear made it's way down her face.  'He knew what I could not admit even to myself.'

She brushed away the tear that had shed itself in pity.  Raoul had never asked for pity, and she was loathe to give him such a confusing emotion.  Perhaps, this letter, this blessing, was what she had been waiting for.  Yet part of her still felt that he deserved to hear it from her.

She quickly reached into the drawer of her dressing table and produced the stationary she kept inside, and rather hastily wrote two notes.  One to Erik, and one to Raoul.  The one to Erik she left on the dressing table where he was sure to spot it when he returned for her tonight, she knew she could always make her way back through the Rue Scribe entrance if the Opera was locked when she returned.  But she did not want Erik waiting for her without an explanation.  She could only hope that he would understand.

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