Here is the second part of Chapter 7…hope you like it….. Chapter 8 will be up sometime this weekend.
Many roses and thank-yous to Dreamer, Midasgirl, Ash, Lavender, Soldier of Darkness, Black Hunter, Serene, Becky, Paula, Erin, Kates, and L'Ange de Folie for your reviews! It really makes my day to come home and find them in my email! @}~--'--,--'--,----
And yes, everyone, the website is posted here at last, at the end of Part 2! Please drop me a note to let me know what you think of the site and the other version…. I will post the other chapters to my website at the same time I post them here on fanfiction.net. A couple of you will notice I have added links on my favorite phan phiction sites to your webpages or to your fanfiction.net pages. I mean this as a sincere compliment to your writing abilities, and hope no one is offended. If I've inadvertently left you out, or if you do not wish to be "advertised"—many apologies, and let me know. I'll keep updating!
Oh, yes, of course. The Usual Disclaimer. The story, characters, most of the settings, the French language, weddings, Beauvais, the song "The Music of the Night," and the city of Paris are not mine, and I receive no profit from this little endeavor. I only get the enjoyment of reading the reviews, and the thrill of correcting my errors…
--Riene
Promises Part II
And so they were married on a glorious spring morning in the salon of the de Chagny country estate. Christine walked down the staircase on Raoul's arm, wearing the dress and the long veil Erik had brought for her so long ago, and carrying a bouquet of dark red roses, so dark a red they seemed black against the ivory silk. Raoul slowly brought her to the side of the silent man standing at the foot of the stairs. Erik's eyes were filled with an incredulous joy, a joy so powerful he thought his heart might very well burst with the intensity of it. Raoul stopped before him, bowing slightly from the waist, and released Christine's hand. She stepped lightly forward and Erik extended his hand to her.
For a moment he stood, silently absorbing her with his eyes, memorizing every line of her face. "I love you, Christine," he whispered, "more than life, I love you. I never thought this day would truly ever come to pass."
Christine placed her arm in the crook of his elbow and gazed up into his eyes, a joy that mirrored his own shining there. The sun streaming through the oriel windows gave a luminous quality to her skin, and the ivory dress seemed to glow. "Erik, I love you so very much. Are you ready?" she asked softly.
He tightened his long fingers around her own, and the two of them turned together and entered the salon.
Meg and Adele Giry, Raoul de Chagny, and the priest were the only witnesses as Christine and Erik pledged their vows. His reverent "I do. I will always do so," brought tears to Meg's eyes, but it was Christine's sweet, trusting response that caused those tears to slip unheeded down her cheeks. Raoul offered her his spotless crisp handkerchief and she took it, leaving her small hand in his. The couple exchanged rings, and it seemed an eternity as Erik lifted the gossamer veil to gently, lovingly kiss his bride.
Though Raoul had offered the smaller house on the grounds of the estate, both Christine and Erik had gently refused, claiming they only wanted to return to their underground home for this, their first night of marriage, and Raoul could hardly deny them. Meg and Adele Giry were asked to stay the night as guests at the de Chagny estate and would return to Paris tomorrow.
They entered through the Rue Scribe gate once more, but maneuvered through the hallways until they arrived at Christine's dressing room and were quickly through the pivoting mirror. Here the passages were somewhat wider, decreasing the chance that Christine would soil the exquisite ivory silk wedding dress she had worn back from the de Chagny estate in Beauvais. She looped the train over one lace-covered arm and placed her other hand in Erik's. The two walked slowly down the corridors in mutual silence, feeling the magic of their journey enfolding them in an ethereal mist of daydream.
Erik untied the beloved gondola boat and reverently handed her into it. Somehow before their departure he had arranged to clean the small craft and line it with rich heavy velvet cushions. Christine sank onto them, turning to watch her tall husband effortlessly pole them across, singing softly to her of his immense love.
At the other side of the lake, Erik lifted his wife into his powerful arms and carried her gracefully across the jetty and up the path to his, no, their home. Christine rested her head on his broad chest, enjoying the feel of his heartbeat under her cheek, her heart so full of love and gratitude that this day had finally become possible that there was no room for further thought. Erik carried her across the threshold into the foyer and gently lowered her feet to the ground. He stood looking at her, his face awed, and raised her left hand to his lips. "My wife," he breathed.
"My husband!" she returned, smiling radiantly. She leaned forward, kissing his exposed cheek. Erik's arms rose and wound themselves around her, pulling her tightly to his chest. Christine sighed and melted against him, resting trustingly in his embrace. For several minutes he simply held her, gently rubbing his good cheek against her soft hair. Finally he said, "Christine, the hour is getting late. Are you hungry? You ate so little at the reception."
Considering, she nodded. "Yes. We'd best see what there is to eat. But first, I need to hang up this dress—I couldn't bear to muss it." She stepped away, turning her back. "Would you please take care of the buttons? They're so tiny and I can't reach them all."
For several seconds Erik stood paralyzed, then she felt his long powerful hands descend to her waist and hover there. With agonizing slowness they traveled up to her neck and lit there, trembling. Carefully, he unfastened each tiny pearl button, his hands warm on her skin and lacking their usual deftness. When the last button came undone, he slid his hands under the fragile fabric, around her waist, and bent to gently kiss the nape of her neck. Christine gasped with the shock of his lips on her bare skin. She turned under his hands, her arms rising to pull his face down to meet her lips. Erik was visibly trembling, and he met her kiss with an intensity that surprised them both. His hands explored the warm length of her back, caressing her through the silk chemise, his mouth warm and slow upon hers. Christine slid her arms up the sides of his body, spreading her fingers across his shoulder blades to hold him to her, almost mindless with joy as she learned the taste of his mouth and felt the velvet pressure of his tongue. Finally Erik broke the contact, burying his face in her hair, his breathing harsh in her ears, his strong arms clasping her to him.
Christine felt the heat of his body, and knew he was struggling to maintain his precarious control. "I'm sorry," he grated, "I know you need to eat. I'll leave you in peace." Erik whirled away, walking rapidly to his room, and shut the door. She stared after him in dismay. Surely he doesn't think he has offended or frightened me? she wondered. Christine turned and walked slowly to her old room, lost in thought. It was entirely possible that her beloved husband was afraid; afraid his immense love would somehow frighten her with the intensity of his desire. She shook her head once, decisively. They both needed to eat, then she would do what she could to assure Erik his passion was not alone.
Once inside the Louis-Philippe room, Christine quickly slid the lovely wedding dress off and tenderly hung it in her wardrobe, placing the little white satin slippers below it. She dressed quickly and knelt beside her bed to remove a flat parcel from beneath it. Package in hand, she walked to Erik's door and knocked upon it.
With head in hands, Erik sat on the bench of his ruined pipe organ, mired in self-doubt. How could he go through with this night? Christine was so sweet, so willing to let him touch her. How could he completely reveal himself to her inexperienced gaze? His body was flayed with the marks of old violence that could only repel her, and he feared to show the depth of his ignorance and ineptitude. Erik took a deep breath, forcing his heartbeat to slow. The intense desperation of the desire he felt threatened to completely overtake him at times, yet how could he ask his innocent Christine to submit to his passion? Overwhelmed by a sudden wave of self-loathing, Erik stood and paced the room, clenching and unclenching his fists.
A knock sounded on the door and Christine's warm voice called his name. They were married and he was still closing doors between them. Grimly, Erik straightened and faced the sound. "Come in, my dear," he said quietly.
Christine entered the room bearing a gaily wrapped package and smiling. "I meant to give this to you earlier, Erik. It's a groom gift for you. Open it, I think you'll like it," she said merrily, handing it to him.
Carefully, as if it might explode, Erik carried the box over to the bench and sat staring at it. He looked up her, stricken. "Christine, I do not have a bride gift for you. I did not think…I didn't know," he ended humbly.
Christine sat beside him on the bench and put a loving arm around his waist. "It's all right, Erik," she said softly, laying her head on his shoulder. "You've given me so much these last two years, and I've given you so little in return. I hope I can spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you. Please don't be upset that you don't have a gift for me. It truly doesn't matter."
Accepting her words, he slid the ribbons aside and lifted the cover. Nestled in layers of tissue lay a dressing gown of black cashmere wool. He touched the fabric's softness reverently, tracing the satin lapels and the corded belt. Tiny initials in embroidered script decorated the one pocket, their black silk thread blending with the fabric. Christine clapped her hands.
"You found them!" she crowed, delighted. "I bought the jacket, but added your monogram myself. I wasn't sure you'd see them against the other material."
Erik touched the gown again. "Thank you," he said shakily. "No one has given me a gift in years, not since I was a small boy."
Refusing to let this be a sad occasion, Christine stood, pulling him up with her. "Put it on!" she commanded. "I can't wait to see how it looks on you!" She stepped behind him, helping him remove his formal gray jacket. Erik unfolded the dressing gown and gravely handed it to Christine, who held it as though assisting an emperor. "Your robe, my lord," she intoned solemnly, blue eyes sparkling. He slid his arms into the luxurious fabric and overlapped the sides. Christine tied the corded belt with a flourish and stepped back admiringly.
"You look marvelous. How does it feel?"
Erik tilted his head to the side, considering. "Very comfortable and quite warm. Now, shall we go eat?" He extended a hand to Christine and the two of them walked out of the room toward the kitchen.
They ate a simple meal together at the polished dining table, then moved to the library music room. Erik had grown increasingly quiet throughout the evening meal, and Christine felt her own nervous flutter tightening inside. She touched the beloved piano gently. "Erik?" Christine called softly, "would you sing to me tonight?"
He turned from the newly lit fire and silently seated himself at the piano, unable to think of anything he could play. Sensing his unease, Christine said quietly, "I remember the first time you brought me down here, Erik. I was so nervous. There was a song you'd written, the one you called your 'night music'. Do you remember?"
Erik nodded, his heart hammering.
"Would you play it again for me?"
She sat beside him on the bench as his graceful, elegant hands bore down upon the black and white keys, and he sang for her as he had before, in his unearthly beautiful, deep, expressive voice.
"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation,
Darkness stirs, and wakes imagination.
Silently the senses abandon their defenses
Helpless to resist the songs I write
For I compose the music of the night.
Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor;
Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender.
Turn your face away from the garish light of day
Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light
And listen to the music of the night.
Close your eyes and surrender to you darkest dreams!
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before!
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar
And you'll live as you've never lived before.
Softly, deftly, music shall caress you.
Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you.
Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind
In this darkness which you know you cannot fight,
The darkness of the music of the night.
Let mind start journey through a strange new world;
Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before.
Let your soul take you where you long to be!
Only then can you belong to me.
Floating, falling, sweet intoxication.
Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation.
Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in
To the power of the music that I write,
The power of the music of the night.
You alone can make my song take flight,
Help me make the music of the night."
As the last of the chords echoed away Christine sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "Erik, I'm tired. Let's go to bed," she whispered.
"Damn it, Christine, do you know what you are asking me?" he said in agony.
"I want you to love me, Erik. I want to be close to you, to be with you the way a husband and wife are close,' she said with a trembling voice.
He turned away, averting his head in pain, and opted for the truth, praying she would understand. "Christine, I've traveled Europe and the East. I can write music. I'm a good architect and skilled builder. I'm even a passable electrician and a tolerable poet. But I have no idea how to love you, and I'm so afraid of hurting you," he whispered.
Hearing his distress, Christine leaned her cheek against his warm, broad back and twined her arms about his taut waist. "I don't know how either, Erik, but you have never hurt me, and I don't think you would hurt me now." She laughed softly. "We'll just have to learn together."
Erik turned and grasped her hands, looking deeply into Christine's blue eyes. "My love, are you sure?"
She could only nod in mingled apprehension and shy yearning. Erik rose soundlessly and gathered her into his arms, holding her close, then lifted her easily, cradling her against his chest. Christine clasped her hands around his neck as he carried her to the Louis-Philippe bedroom, his adoring eyes never leaving her face.
He lowered her gently to the carpeting inside her bedroom and knelt to stir up the fire. Christine walked to her dressing table and began to remove the pins that held her long hair in place, dropping them with tiny metallic chimes on the satiny wood of the table. Erik came to stand behind her chair, and when the last comb and pin was removed, took the silver hairbrush from her hand and began to gently brush out her dark curls. Christine shivered at the accidental touch of his hands against her face and neck as he smoothed her long hair, then carefully swept it aside to kiss her neck. Erik's hands touched her shoulders, her face, her throat with tentative, delicate caresses, leaving a trail of incandescent cool fire across her collarbone and along the delicate bones of her face. Christine drew a deep breath of anticipation, feeling her skin come alive with a longing she could put no name to.
She stood then, coming willingly toward him across the soft ivory carpet, offering her body to his embrace. Erik caressed her as through she were as fragile as glass and insubstantial as smoke. Christine reached up and softly lifted the mask away, placing it gently on the dressing table and stood on tiptoe to touch her lips to his forehead, his scarred cheek, and then his mouth. His shaking hands began to undo the unfamiliar fastenings of her dress, sliding the sleeves and bodice down her arms, and releasing the ties of her petticoats until she stood before him only in her chemise. Blushing, Christine stepped gracefully from the pool of garments and raised her own hands to the cord of his dressing gown, untying it and pushing the robe back from his shoulders. He stood as if frozen, his eyes glittering, and black with both fear and desire as she removed his waistcoat and slowly unbuttoned his stiff white shirt, sliding her hands along his ribs and pressing her lips against the pale skin of his bared chest. Erik quickly freed his arms from the pinioning fabric.
He twisted, reaching to the candles and rapidly extinguished their wavering golden light, but not before Christine saw the lines of old scars that intersected each other across his broad muscular chest and back. She stepped closer to him, her hands gently tracing the marks of pain and degradation. He flinched and her eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, my love, what happened?"
Erik ground his teeth together with humiliation. "Many years ago, I was assaulted by men who saw me only as a monster, a freak of nature. They beat me until I passed out from the pain. When I awoke I found myself chained inside a cage. I was forced to perform in front of jeering crowds. If I refused, they used the whip or a club until I was more….cooperative."
"Oh, my God, Erik," she whispered, horrified, "I'm so very sorry. I never knew."
Erik looked away, unable to bear the grief in her face. "It doesn't matter now. It was over a long time ago," he said almost inaudibly.
But Christine read the truth in his eyes and pressed her body close to his, kissing him once again, deliberately tracing the worst of the wounds with her lips, hoping somehow the love that she felt would bring him absolution and healing.
He felt a swell of emotion so deep for her acceptance of his hateful body that he thought his heart would surely burst. Erik shut his tear-dampened eyes and dipped his head, trailing his lips up the smooth column of her throat, seeking her warm, responsive mouth, then turned her away from him, untying the remaining ribbons of her silk chemise and drawing it down over her ivory shoulders, kissing the bare flesh revealed. Impatiently, Christine stepped out of it and let it fall, looking up to find he had stripped away the last of his own clothing. They looked at each other for an endless eternity of seconds, each shy and daunted by the searing passage of the other's gaze. Christine stepped toward him shyly, fitting her body against him, learning for the first time the pleasure of another's warm flesh against her own. Erik's arms tightened around her, craving the smooth softness of her scented skin against his enflamed body, inhaling her scent.
"You are so beautiful," he whispered. "The feel of you against me… How can I ever show you what you mean to me?"
In response, she raised her face to his again, tasting the edges of his lips and mouth, caressing his scarred face, kissing him until his arms had gone tight and his breathing ragged. His stormy eyes told her better than any words that he was nearing the end of his self-imposed control, then Erik swept her into his arms and gently laid her down on the bed, lowering himself beside her. His long elegant hands caressed her body, becoming more sure of himself, listening to her gasps and sighs as he found new sensitive areas. Christine drew him down to her, kissing him passionately while his hands continued to worship her body, learning, fondling, and arousing her more with every passing second.
Afterward, they clung together for several moments, coming down from that whirling plane of sensation, then Erik carefully lowered himself to her side, gathering her against his warm body. Christine nestled against him, pillowing her head on his shoulder, awed at their intimacy and feeling suddenly shy. Erik caught her hand in his own and clasped it to his chest.
"I did hurt you, after all," he mourned, his dark eyes distressed.
Christine freed her hand and placed loving fingertips against his lips. "I think it's normal for a woman's first time. The next time won't be so bad."
He stared at her in wonderment. "The next time?"
Christine snuggled closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. "The next time, my love. Perhaps then I'll get to wear that gorgeous nightgown Meg and I spent days shopping for." She smiled privately, imagining his reaction when he would first see her wearing it.
Erik reached down and drew the covers over them both. "You mustn't become chilled," he murmured, but then hesitated. "Christine, am I to stay here with you tonight, in your room?"
"Of course," she answered, puzzled. "I've wanted for so long to wake up lying next to you. Why do you ask?"
He lay back against the smooth linen sheets, frowning at the ceiling. "Habit, I suppose. I do not want to ever take you or your wishes for granted."
Christine propped herself up on one elbow, dark curls sliding across her bare shoulder and turned his face toward her own. "Erik," she said gently, "I'm told that's one of the blissful things about being married, that you can take the other for granted, somewhat. You don't have to worry whether I'll be there, or if I'll want you near. The answer is yes, yes, and always yes."
Accepting this, he opened his arms to her again, cradling her soft body next to him, unable to believe his fortune. "I do love you so much," Erik said quietly.
She curled against him. "I know. And I love you too."
Erik smiled. "I know." He extinguished the remaining candle and they slept.
Christine awoke first in the morning, somewhat surprised to find her husband still abed. She lay in the warm comfort of his embrace, feeling his gentle exhalations on her bare shoulder. Erik's face was peaceful in sleep; relaxed and unguarded for the first time she could remember. She raised a hand and lovingly brushed his dark hair back from his eyes. Carefully, she rolled away from him and lit one of the candles on her bedside table.
The unmarred side of his face was turned toward her and Christine wondered if he had deliberately chosen to place her on this side of him. She gently traced the line of an old scar with her fingertip. He had been hurt so often in the past, and he was no longer young. Sudden tears threatened to overwhelm her with a fiercely protective need to keep her husband safe from the world.
"What are you thinking?" came his deep worried voice from the pillow beside her.
Christine blinked back tears. "How much I love you."
Erik frowned, not understanding. "And that makes you sad?" Cautiously, he pulled her close and she wound her arms tightly around his body. Erik smoothed back her hair and tipped her chin up to meet his eyes.
Wordlessly, Christine held his face in her hands, kissing him softly to allay her fears. Erik's hands moved gently over her back, stroking her trembling shoulders. "It's silly, I know," she whispered, "but I'm so frightened of losing you."
He took her hands and covered them with his own. "I'm not going anywhere, my love, except perhaps in the kitchen to make us some tea and breakfast," he said lightly.
"Not for a few more minutes, I hope," Christine said, snuggling against him, realizing this might be a painful topic.
Erik tucked the sheet and blanket firmly around her bare shoulders. "How do you feel this morning?" he asked solicitously.
She frowned, concentrating inward. "A little sore, but that's all. It truly was worth the pain, Erik." Idly, she kissed his lower jaw, her small hand tracing patterns on his chest.
Thinking about their first night together, Erik felt the need growing in him again. "Christine," he whispered, uncertain how to ask.
Blushing, her hand stroked the hard muscles of his broad chest under the bedcovers and Erik tensed. Someday, my love, you will not panic when I touch you, she thought. Erik leaned up on one elbow, bending over to brush his lips against her own. Christine's loose dark curls spilled down around her bare shoulders and he gazed lovingly at her, desiring her more with each passing minute.
This time, there was no pain.
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I'd kiss you, if I dared
I want to, but I'm scared.
I should have known,
I've been alone too long.
My lips are much too still
My arms have lost their skill
My charm has flown
I've been alone too long.
It's been years since I have
Whispered a foolish love word
And I'd be afraid I'd
Sing you a faded song.
But if you smile and then
Say "Darling, try again,"
I'll know you've known
I've been alone too long.
Alone Too Long
D. Fields and A. Schwartz, 1954
(Author's End Note)—An "enhanced" version of this chapter is available, but is not posted here due to the necessary rating level. If you are over legal age, you will find Erik and Christine's story posted on my website . I'm not sure if you can see the address here, due to the nature of the fanfiction upload protocols, but if you'll click on my name at the top of the story, it will take you to my directory listing, and will give you the website address there as well.
Do stop by and sign my guest book! Don't forget to read the next chapter posted here, however!
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