Chapter Twenty-two
He leaned on his elbow and looked down at the woman sleeping beside him.
Her dark blonde hair was spread out, covering the pillow and her upper body. The bruise that had discolored her cheek after the fall through the trapdoor was fading fast, her skin was still rosy from the night…
He could see her brother's features in her own. Yet, somehow, he found it so easy to forget that this woman was a de Chagny by birth, that she shared the same blood as the Vicomte…with Christine's husband.
For the first time since his childhood, when some poor old priest tried in vain to teach him right from wrong, he found himself praying.
Don't let her leave me…don't let someone take this woman from me…let her stay with me forever.
He wanted to see her smile, for her to open her eyes and smile at him.
Instead, he kissed her damp forehead and, settling back down on the bed, gently gathered her in his arms.
In the morning, she awakened alone. She rose and found her valise lying on the floor next to the bed.
Slipping into her nightgown, she went down the steps and saw no sign of Erik.
Of course, he must leave the opera house every now and then…
The stone was cool and smooth beneath her bare feet as she went up to the alcove where the pipe organ loomed. A portfolio lay closed on the rack and she flipped it open, seeing pages and pages of a musical score written in a heavy, almost violent hand.
On the work table, she found more portfolios…filled with sketches and paintings. Some were costume and set designs, others were curious architectural pieces…but most were portraits of Christine Daae.
Looking at those pictures, she could not stop herself from remembering the anguish in his voice when she told him of Raoul's marriage to the soprano.
He still loves her…don't ever forget that.
For a moment, she felt guilty looking through his things…would he be angry if he found her there, rifling idly through his memories?
Before she could set down the pictures, she felt his gloved hand on her shoulder.
He saw what she was holding, but he said nothing. He reached around her and took the heavy folder from her. Laying it down on the table, he turned her to face him.
"Where were you, Erik," she asked him, standing on tiptoe to kiss him and press her cheek against his mask.
"Surely you didn't miss me," he said, smiling as he ran his hand along the length of her torso until it rested against the small of her back.
"Of course I did!"
"I had some business to see to," he said, laughing softly at her, "you look so beautiful this morning."
"And you, Erik..."
"No, Helene. Don't say it again."
Later, she curled up on the sofa and watched him as he worked.
He was seated at the organ, testing a bit of a melody before reaching for a pen and scrawling something on the page in front of him.
From time to time, Erik would glance back at her…as if he could not quite believe that she was really there with him, wrapped in the dark velvet of his robe.
There was a closeness in the silence between them, as strangely intimate as the lovemaking of the previous night.
I've never surrendered like that before…I let myself go so completely…why is it different with him?
"Erik, will you play that for me?"
"Sometime," he said, setting the music aside and rising.
Coming down to her, he held out his hands to her.
"It's late, Helene," he said, "and I'm afraid you did get much sleep last night."
As she let him draw her to her feet, she blushed. And she realized that he was blushing, too.
"Please, Erik, take off that mask," she said, tracing her hand along its smooth edge.
"No, Helene, I won't make you look at me. I won't torture you like that."
Before she could protest, he laid one finger against her lips to hush her.
"Helene, why are you here with me? What do you want from me?"
Oh, Erik…I want everything from you…
"What do you want from me," he repeated, his voice oddly plaintive.
"I want what we have at this moment, Erik…this closeness…this…oh, I don't what to call it…"
He was silent for a moment and she thought she saw a tear shining in the shadow of his mask.
"There are certain things, Helene," he finally said so quietly that his voice was almost obscured by the constant lap of water on stone, "that I can never give you. Don't ask for what I cannot offer."
She heard both regret and warning in his low words. She understood what he meant…that no matter happened between them, his heart still belonged to her brother's wife.
"Come to bed, Erik," she said, unable to answer, to promise that she would be content.
He did not make love to her and she was glad of it, for she was indeed very tired. He only held her close and she heard him whisper against her neck as she drifted into sleep.
"My sweetness."