Chapter Nineteen - Before This Night Ends

Christine caught her breath as she felt Erik's hand brushing so lightly against her skin. The neckline of the rose gown was deeply cut and he let his fingers slowly trail a little lower until they met the lace trim of the bodice.

He moved away from her then and she heard the soft swish of heavy fabric, the familiar sound of his cape as he donned it.

"Come with me," he said in a low voice as he took her hand.

She followed him in total darkness, trusting him again.

He said little to her as he led her through passages and up flights of steps.

At first, he held her hand loosely, only enough to guide her. But as they went on, he moved closer, his body grazing hers from time to time in the narrower corridors and at the turnings of the stairs. And his hold on her hand tightened.

Once, it seemed Christine heard him softly say her name in a voice so hushed that it was lost amid the sound of their footsteps.

At last, he stopped and she heard a door swinging open. He drew her through it and, ever so slowly, he untied the silk blindfold.

She recognized the little room high above the ballet dormitories, the dreary haven where she had spend the past couple of nights.

Now she knew where Erik had been when he left he alone in the lair below.

Lit candles illuminated the room. The velvet coverlet was spread over the bed. Two chairs faced the bed, one on each side. A covered tray lay on the bed. On the small table, there was a vase of crimson roses.

"No doubt it's nothing compared to the fine dining rooms you and your husband are acquainted with, but I hope this will do for now."

"Erik, no…it's lovely," she said, smiling up at him as she took a seat by the make-shift table. Another rose lay on the bed before her chair.

He shrugged, letting the cape slide from his shoulders and tossing it aside. He came to stand over her.

"Before this night ends, Madame, I will have the truth from you," he said, gently stroking her hair.

It was a simple meal, obtained from the Opera commissary, Christine suspected. Just some bread, whisper thin slices of ham and cheese, some wine.

When they had finished the supper, Erik reached over to the end-table and produced a white dish of tiny little tarts filled with apricots and almonds.

Christine's eyes lit up like a delighted child's at the sight of those tarts. She had not had them since she left the Opera House and they had been a favorite since she was a little girl.

"Oh, Erik," she said between nibbles, "how did you know…"

"You forget, Christine, how many years I have watched you," he replied, breaking one of the tarts in half, "I know you."

Yes, I watched you for so long, even after I sent you into the arms of that damned fop.

She let her eyes meet his for the first time since he had removed the blindfold. Suddenly, she found his gaze too compelling, too beautiful and she tried to look away.

He would not let her. He laid his palm against her cheek and, leaning forward, he kissed her.

She could feel the friction of the tiny, buttery crumbs between their lips as she tasted him, reaching up to cover his hand with her own.

Yes, I will have the truth from you, Christine…but not yet. Oh no, not yet.

"Erik, Erik," she whispered against the corner of his mouth, "Erik, don't push me away this time."

He drew his hand away and stood up.

Then, he grabbed the edge of the velvet comforter and, with one swift pull, send the tray, the plates, and what was left of their meal crashing to the floor.

Circling the room with his eyes still on her, he extinguished the candles until only one remained lit.

Then he returned to her, catching her wrist and pulling her from her chair.

He let one hand rest on her waist, the other tangled itself in her hair.

"No, Christine, not this time. Christine, my Christine."