Chapter Nine: Forever With Each Breathing
A week later, Christine hummed to herself as she made her way through the streets and returned to the Opera house. All she could hope for was that one person in particular did not notice she had missed practice today. Meg, of course, had been her only confidant in this mission, securing the interview, and promising to make the excuse for Christine to Monsieur Reyer just before rehearsal. Now, if only he had worked through the whole afternoon, he need never know until she was ready to tell him.
The steps of the Palais Garnier loomed ahead of her, and she skipped up them with joy today. The sun was shining along the Paris streets, though even if the weather had been foul, she doubted it would dampen her spirits on this day. Spring was in the very air of the city as flowers bloomed in flowerpots poised in the windows of the many houses she had passed.
Rehearsal was still in session as she entered the auditorium. Monsieur Reyer was working with the chorus for the new production of Aida they would be performing that evening.
Christine began to hum the Terra, Addio from the final scene of Aida while she walked to her dressing room to hang up her cloak. The second she walked in, she could feel him standing behind the mirror, could almost feel the anger pulsating. As her back was turned to the mirror, she shook her head. This would not do. Would not do at all. As she turned back, she gazed at the mirror, wondering if he would show himself, or if he would even speak to her, but then, as suddenly as she'd felt the electricity from behind the mirror which she always felt at his presence, it disappeared. He had turned away and run back down into the labyrinth without as much as a word.
Her lips pursed for a moment in consternation, but then the remembered words from the interview that afternoon came floating back through her mind, and she smiled once more. He would forgive her, of that she was certain. With that thought in mind, she exited the room once more, and headed for the auditorium.
"S'intrecci il loto al lauro sul crin dei vincitori; nembo gentil di fiori stenda sull'armi un vel."
Christine frowned, her ear picking out missed chords and notes from the chorus, and then Reyer's objections.
"I'm giving you all ten minutes, and then I expect you back, and I expect it right!" Reyer shouted as the chorus dispersed. He then turned on the stage, and caught full sight of Christine. "Ah, and our little diva returns," he sneered slightly. "You should have been here at our appointed time, Madame Laramie, for I don't have the time to work with you now. I've got a chorus to straighten out before the gala tonight. If people ask for refunds tonight, I am sure that Messieurs Firmin and Andre would be more than happy to take it out of your pay."
Christine ducked her head at the rebuke. Reyer had never quite gotten over his dislike for her, and she never stood up to him the way Carlotta used to.
"I do trust, though, that you are ready for tonight?"
"Yes, Monsieur Reyer, I have been practicing evenings."
Reyer rolled his eyes. He had met Erik on one occasion, and could not understand how a man who claimed to be an inventor and an architect could possibly understand the least bit about music, no matter how naturally melodic the man's voice was. He watched the young woman's face, however, and for the first time, saw the confidence that was normally missing there. His own face softened then. "Perhaps, before the chorus returns, you would like to run through the Terra, Addio?"
"Yes, Monsieur, I warmed up on the way here" Christine answered. Reyer sat down at the piano, and played the opening, as well as sang Radames' recitative.
"Tu in questa tomba?"
"Presago il core della tua condanna, in questa tomba che per te si apriva io penetrai furtive, E quilontana da ogni umano sguardo, nelle tue braccia desiair morire."
"Morir! Si pura e bella! Morir per me d'amore degli anni tuoi nel fiore fuggir la vita! T'aveva il cielo per l'amor creata, ed io t'uccido per averti amata! No, non morrai! Troppo io t'amai! Troppo sei bella!"
Vedi? Di morte l'angelo radiante a noi si appressa ne adduce a eterni guardii sorva i suoi vanni d'or. Su noi giĆ il ciel dischuidersi. Ivi ogni affanno cessa, ivi comincia l'estasi. D'un immortale amor."
As Christine released the last note, the chorus members began to drift back in. Reyer, hearing this, closed the lid on the piano and turned to Christine.
"Now, if you can sing tonight as well as you just did here, we shall have no problems."
Christine smiled at the repetiteur shyly, "Of course, Monsieur."
Reyer smiled in return, before his face hardened once again, "And do contrive to make it to rehearsal at the appointed time."
Christine blushed, though she recognized the rebuke for what it truly was, a way to save his reputation as a tyrant. "Of course, Monsieur Reyer." With a formal little bow, she hurried off the stage.
"Now," Reyer's voice rang out behind her, "if the lot of you thinks that you are ready to try this again . . ."
Christine shook her head sadly as she walked near the ballet salon. She peered her head in momentarily, and saw Madame Giry walking along the side of the room, stopping occasionally to correct the posture or footwork of one of the petit rats.
"Annelle, straighten your back!" Another few feet, "Therese, you need much work on your arms!" She walked on, past Meg, whose stance was perfection for once, and back around the other side of the room. "That's better, Chantal. Keep it up." A few moments passed in silence, before Madame Giry banged her walking stick on the ground. "Twenty minutes!"
The girls broke formation, and made their way giggling out the door. Meg was the last to leave, and before she could head down the hallway, Christine grabbed her elbow. Meg twirled around and found herself face to face with her friend.
"I was wondering if you were back yet!"
"I do believe your mother saw me, or didn't you notice it's not normal break time? Come on," Christine pulled Meg along the corridor, and they found themselves for once not in Christine's dressing room, but in Meg's.
"Should I ask why we're here, when your room is larger?"
"Because I didn't want to take the chance of him being behind the mirror," Christine answered.
Meg rolled her eyes. "So, are you going to tell me how it went?"
"I really oughtn't to, Meg Giry, but since you helped me . . ."
"I'm dying in suspense here, Christine."
Christine's face lit up in a smile, and without another word, Meg was embracing her tightly.
"Oh, is it true?"
"Yes, it's true!"
"Oh Christine! Wait, does Erik know anything at
all?"
"No, that's why I brought you here. Oh Meg, he knows I wasn't at rehearsal today, of that I am sure."
"You've spoken to him since you returned then?"
"No, I haven't had the chance, but he was behind the mirror when I returned. He didn't say a word though, and I can tell he was angry, but . . . oh, it doesn't matter."
"What do you think he will say when you tell him?"
"I'm not fully sure, but I'm sure he'll be as happy as I am."
"Have you talked about it at all?"
A flash of worry clouded over Christine's face, "No, we haven't but still, he is a man after all, and I'm sure he'll be pleased."
"Oh, I do hope so! I know I am."
"Just not a word to him that you know, do you understand, Meg?"
"Of course, I wouldn't dream of it! Christine, you must tell me his reaction after you tell him!"
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She returned to the dressing room with a smile on her face. The performance had gone better than expected. The chorus, at the last minute, managed to get the music right, the dancing went so well that Madame Giry gave the girls the night off, and Christine, of course, triumphed.
The only thing that could mar her happiness was she knew he was not there behind the mirror. He had not come up behind her, either, as had been a recent habit of his. She sighed, ducked behind the dressing screen, and shed her costume, and emerged in her street clothes once more.
The knock on the door startled her, and she went over to answer it.
The young man stood on the other side, his smile askew, and a flower in his hand. "Hello, Christine."
"Raoul, it's been a while," Christine stepped back and allowed her friend entry into the room.
"I've been away for a while, Philippe sent me to Marseilles. You were radiant out there tonight," he smiled, and attempted to hand her the single rose.
"I can't accept it, Raoul. We had this conversation before I married Erik, didn't we?"
"Yes, I know, you are a married woman now. It was merely a gesture of friendship, I assure you."
"I'll be assured of that once I see that you have found love again, mon ami."
"In due time, Christine, I am not rushing things, you know."
"I've noticed. It's been a while now, Raoul, and it's not healthy for you to keep throwing yourself into your work like this."
"I never said it was healthy, and perhaps there is someone in my life."
"Oh? I should be glad to hear that. Why isn't she with you tonight, then?"
"Because . . . she . . . um, well . . ."
"Oh Raoul, out with it!"
"Okay, so there isn't yet. I'll know when the right one comes along, Christine, and not before."
Christine shook her head, "Raoul, I know you will. Perhaps I pester a bit much, but it is only because I do care."
"I know you do. Would it help to know that I have seen someone a few times in the past few months?"
"It would make me a little easier, yes. Who is she?"
"No one special. Just a friend, I'm afraid, but we did have a few outings before we realized it would not be more."
"Oh? And who was it that called it off?"
"It was a mutual agreement," Raoul answered and winked, "Turns out she had a calling for the convent."
Christine chuckled.
"You're laughing at me!"
"Not at you, Raoul."
"Well . . . can't say I'm not trying. Actually, it's good to see you laughing." Raoul looked down at the hat he held in his hands. "How are things with you and Erik then?"
"Couldn't be better," Christine answered, and as she did, she felt the presence slide into place behind the mirror.
"Good, I'm glad. Christine, I . . ." Raoul looked down at his hat once more, and then lifted his head to look Christine in the eye. "Christine, I was there, in Rouen."
"I suspected as much," Christine sighed.
"I saw . . . when you and he . . . the whole service."
"How did you find out?"
"Let's not get into that, just let me finish, okay? I know that you are in love with him, even though I had suspected it earlier than that, all my doubts were erased that day in the church. I had thought to go there to object, but when you walked down the aisle towards him that day, the look on your face, Christine, you had never looked at me like that, and on that day, I knew you never would. And I've accepted that you are a married woman now. It's why I didn't come back right away, why I allowed Philippe to send me to Marseilles in the first place. I needed to get away from Paris, away from the possibility of seeing you, until I could chase that feeling out of my heart. I just wanted you to know that."
Christine nodded her acceptance, "I think I knew already, Raoul, but thank you anyway."
The door to the dressing room, which had been open about half-way, opened fully as Meg whirled in. "Christine, are you . . . oh."
"Meg, yes, I'm still here, what is it?"
Meg glanced between Raoul and Christine, and then allowed her gaze to settle on Raoul, "Monsieur le Vicomte."
Raoul smiled softly even at the unfamiliar stiffness in Meg's address, "Mademoiselle Giry."
They stared at each other for a moment before Meg broke the penetrating gaze and turned her attention to Christine, "Nothing horribly pressing, I just wanted to let you know, Maman asked if you could meet us for lunch tomorrow."
"Of course I can," Christine smiled. "One o'clock?"
"Yes, that's what time we'll be taking our afternoon break. What time are you due in with Monsieur Reyer?"
"Julian and I are due for a practice with him at nine, and we're supposed to be done at one for him to work with the chorus, so I'll see you then."
"Yes, I'll see you then," Meg echoed as she took one last look at the Vicomte before exiting the room.
Christine, who'd been watching both Raoul and Meg during the brief interlude, had noticed that Raoul had also been watching her friend, was in fact, still staring out the door.
"Raoul?"
Raoul jumped, and turned back to Christine, "Sorry, I was just thinking."
Christine smiled mischievously, but kept her own council. "It's okay; actually, I need to be going soon."
"Oh, yes, of course," Raoul stammered. "I must be going myself. Philippe is likely to be waiting up, as usual." He took Christine's hand in his own briefly, and gave it a small squeeze before letting go. "Au revior, mon ami."
"Au revior, Raoul," Christine echoed as Raoul made his way out the door. Christine sighed as the door closed, and she turned toward the mirror.
"Dare I ask?" came the otherworldly voice from the other side of the pane of glass.
Christine quirked an eyebrow at the question, "Perhaps I should be asking you? Ask what? Raoul coming here? We've had that discussion already, haven't we Erik?"
"I meant why you missed rehearsal today," Erik answered as the mirror opened, and revealed the man standing behind it, dressed in a fashionable black suit and pristine white dress shirt. He had left the cape behind, but the mask was in its usual place.
"Can we talk about it later?" Christine evaded. She didn't want to discuss it here, in the Opera house, rather in the warm comfort of the drawing room of the house upon the lake.
"How much later?" Erik asked, and she could see the agitated movements of his hands, the movements she knew generally precipitated his worst bouts of anger.
"At home," she murmured, not daring to go near him when he was agitated.
His eyes flashed behind the mask, watching her expression, and knowing that she could sense his anger. He took a deep breath, and calmly unfurled his one hand to reach for her. "Fine," he whispered, and she reached out her own hand to take his as they made their way through the mirror and down to the labyrinth that led to the house beyond the lake.
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They entered the house in silence, and Erik helped Christine remove her cloak as if it were any ordinary day returning home. But the air around them was charged with excitement, and fraught with worry. They continued in silence to the drawing room, where Erik made his way to the fireplace, and stoked the fire within. Finally, after a moment, he turned to face his wife, a curious brow cocked behind the mask.
Christine did her best to keep her own emotions in check. This was not the way she wanted to bring about this particular discussion, but she didn't know how to assuage his anger without telling him. She walked over to his stiff, unbending form, and slowly removed the mask.
Erik watched as she removed the mask, the look of confusion mixed with anxiety and anger still present in his eyes, though he schooled his disfigured features into a more calm look.
Christine sighed, knowing this would not be easy. "Can we sit down?"
"Somehow I get the feeling I would prefer to stand," Erik answered contrarily as he crossed his arms.
"Actually, Erik, I think I would much prefer you sitting for this. Please?"
Erik studied her face for a moment, seeing the worry mixed with anxiety in her eyes. She was nervous, that much was for certain, but why? Her face was a bit paler than it had been in quite some time, and he wondered if she wasn't getting outside often enough. Finally, he sighed, and allowed his worry to take over for his anger, and followed her lead to the divan.
Christine sat down next to Erik on the divan, and she took his hand into hers. She studied his hand for a moment, caressing the long, graceful fingers with her much smaller fingers, and finally after a pause looked up at his expectant face.
"I missed rehearsal today because I had an appointment," she started, and her throat tightened.
Once again, Erik's eyebrow cocked in question, "An appointment?"
"I didn't want to bring it up until I was absolutely sure, Erik," Christine answered.
The other eyebrow joined the first, though he did not speak. Over the past year, he'd gotten used to his jumping to conclusions where she was concerned, and did not feel like looking the fool this evening.
"I . . . well, I hadn't been feeling all that well the past few weeks, and I . . . I didn't want to worry you, so I . . ." she looked up at Erik again, whose face was now fraught with concern.
"Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?"
"I . . ." she glanced down at their joined hands once more, "Erik, you've always been so overprotective of me, and I just didn't want to worry you needlessly, especially since I wasn't sure, so I made an appointment with a doctor."
Erik released her hand, and gently chucked her under the chin with his index finger, guiding her head up so that her eyes met his. As their eyes met, she could see the worry written in his as he said, "Whatever it is, Christine, we'll get through it together."
Christine smiled then as she answered, "Well, I should hope so!"
Erik's eyebrow cocked again, unsure what this new turn of her facial features meant. "Christine, what did the doctor say? How serious is it?"
"Well, it's not anything bad; at least I don't think so."
The silence fell on them once more as she played out the suspense, before Erik growled lowly in his throat, a sure sign that he was becoming frustrated again.
The grin on Christine's face widened, "Erik, you're going to be a father."
Erik sputtered, his face going from disbelief, to shock, to . . . to sheer joy. "A father?"
Christine nodded her head, the grin getting larger as a rather dopey grin formed on Erik's lips as well.
"You're . . . you're really . . . oh Christine!" He stood, and helped her up, then drew her into his arms and twirled her laughing figure around the room several times. Then he set her down with the reverence used for fine china. "Wait, should you, I mean, are you . . ."
"Erik, women have been having babies for centuries, no, for millenniums. I'll be fine."
Erik's lips twisted into a smile, and he pulled her to him once more. "A baby," he whispered in awe as he gazed upon his wife's face. "You and I. A baby."
"I take it that you're pleased then?"
"Pleased? I'm . . ." he trailed off as he lowered his head to join his lips to hers. "Ecstatic."
Christine smiled serenely, and locked her gaze with her husband's. They stood there, both feeling like God in his heaven, before the shock wore off Erik, and the smile that had played on his lips suddenly turned to a grim line as a thought occurred to him.
"Christine," he said softly, the question lingering around the edge of his voice.
Her eyes darkened slightly, wondering why the sudden change in mood. For a moment, she had felt the excitement as it coursed through him. Her reply came out slightly strangled, "Erik, is something wrong?"
"Christine, what if . . . if . . ." his tongue stumbled over the question playing around the edges of his mind.
Christine shook her head, unable to understand.
Erik turned away from her, unable to look in her eyes as he asked the question, "What if this baby . . . if he or she has . . ." unable to finish, his hand gestured to his face.
Her mouth widened in an "O" as she watched the short flight of his hand, her confusion suddenly clearing. Straightening her shoulders, she moved to stand before her husband once more, her hand seeking out his. "Erik, no matter what this child looks like, he or she is the living proof of our love. I love you, regardless of your face, you know that, and I would love this baby because he or she is a precious gift, no matter if our child has your face or my face." Her free hand settled lightly on her abdomen, and his other hand joined hers there as the joy alighted in her eyes once more. "Our child, Erik."
The fear still played around Erik's face as he looked upon his wife, the joy radiating out of her. "But if this child has my face, what . . . what will become of it. I . . . I know that perhaps, some things would be different, that unlike . . . you would still love our child, but what of the rest of the world? The hatred that could rain down because he or she may have the face of a . . ."
"Erik, please! We've been over this before, that a person is so much more
than a face!"
Erik's eyes closed briefly at the sharp sound that came to his wife's voice. Rarely did they argue, but on those few occasions, that was the tone he knew that meant she was getting frustrated, and that an argument could be close at hand.
"Erik, my love, this child, this part of you and of me, whatever it may look like, it has us, and people close to us, who know you for who you are, and do not judge you. Granted, there are a lot of people in this world who are not as . . . enlightened as we are, but with us, Meg, Nadir, Marie, Gerard, Madame Giry, there to show him or her that a face does not make a person . . . the love this child will have . . . oh Erik!"
The hint of a smile began to return to Erik's face as Christine made her point about the people closest to them in their life. "You really think that we have a chance of giving this child a normal life?"
"As close to it as we can."
"I love you."
Christine smiled brightly, "And I you, my love."
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Author's Notes: Look at that, a long chapter! I was so inspired by all the reviews that I just had to post this quickly. Okay, so the secret isn't a secret anymore. Yeah, I know, I was too transparent to drag it out too long.
AngelCeleste85: LOL . . . I review you and get a chapter within a few hours . . . see what happens? Okay, so I had this ready. Writing? Um . . . yeah, I am actually. Hopping back to work m'am! (Hey, if I promise an update sooner on this, can we get an update real soon on "Lachesis"? I'm completely and utterly hooked!)
Krista and Ash: Yup ladies, you were right. I admit to being completely transparent ;)
Mel: Nope, not a month this time, and if the next chapter writes itself . . . not a month next time, though I admit, I've had this one ready since I started, lol! Oh, by the way . . . were you right?
Deirdre: Here Comes The Bride, eh? Don't know about that yet for Meg and Raoul . . . they've not even kissed yet! *Grins wide*
Angelofnight: Were you right?
Aenigmatic: Yes, sooner this time, hope that pleases you! No longer anything being kept from Erik. As for my title . . . a little challenge, first person who can figure out where it came from gets a preview of the next chapter before it gets posted!
Jstarz97: I know I'm a little late, but happy birthday!
Aspen: I don't know about Christine swearing up a storm before all is said and done . . . but then you never know. Boy, am I glad that little scene made such an impact on everyone! LOL!
Everyone else I may have missed: Glad you're enjoying! Review if you can, I love feedback ya know, though the story will still go on muse depending ;-)
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