Only passions, great passions, can elevate the soul to great things.
Denis Diderot (1713-1784)
She kissed him. Before Erik could issue his final plea, Marie-Christine brought her left hand to his cheek and drew him closer to her. Her lips covered his, hungry, seeking to devour not only his passion but any pain that would dare escape. The kiss was gentle, and yet there a certain fierceness to it. As her tongue sought entrance, Marie-Christine was pleasantly surprised that Erik allowed her access, parting his lips and deepening the kiss in response. She moaned in the back of her throat.
For Erik and Marie-Christine the world had stopped. He gently brought her back to a standing position, never breaking the kiss. Instead, Erik pulled Marie-Christine even closer to him, his arms encircling her petite waist and drawing him to the strength that emanated from his body. She, in turn brought her hands to his face, pulling him nearer to her. Both were oblivious to the crowd that now stood watching. It wasn't until the reverberating sound of applause that Erik and Marie-Christine finally realized that perhaps they had gone a bit . . . too . . . far.
"Brava! Brava! Bravisima!" could be heard from almost every corner of the ballroom. Turning their attention to the people in the room, Erik and Marie-Christine were surprised to see that apparently everyone else had stopped dancing to watch them instead. They were about to make a hasty exit when Charles Lateur approached.
"My goodness!" he exclaimed. "I must say, I have never seen anything . . ."
"Monsieur Lateur," Marie-Christine stammered, afraid of what was to come next, "I can explain . . . I . . ."
"I was going to say, I have never seen anything so beautiful to accompany such an exquisite piece of music. Your dancing was enchanting to say the least." Charles informed her.
Marie-Christine turned to Erik and oddly enough she saw something she had not seen in quite some time. She saw him smile.
"Well Marie-Christine," Erik began. "Shall we take our leave?"
"I will hear no such thoughts!" Charles exclaimed.
Erik and Marie-Christine seemed to freeze in terror, both squeezing the other's hand tightly, afraid to let go. Sensing their emotions, Charles reassured them. "I meant to say, I would be honored if you would join me for dinner at my table.
"We would be delighted," Marie-Christine replied, although Erik's expression seemed to indicate something else. Perhaps it was apprehension? Nevertheless, both followed Charles Lateur as he led them to his dining room.
Upon entering, Marie-Christine and Erik were greeted with an opulence the likes of which they had not seen in either of their lifetimes. The room was rectangular in shape. Lush, red velvet curtains adorned the windows. They in turn were complimented by gold trim which was intricately patterned into the doorframes as well as the valances. A table, made of the most beautiful rosewood and covered by a cream colored tablecloth was positioned in the center of the room. Each place setting reflected the same exquisiteness evident throughout the room; gold plates, silverware and goblets. Even the glassware was trimmed in gold leaf.
"Beautiful isn't it?" Charles inquired of his two guests.
"I've never seen anything quite like it . . . ." was the only response Marie-Christine could offer. Erik said nothing, instead allowing his hand to rest comfortably around her waist. With a gentle nudge, he guided her forward as Charles led them to their seats. Moving forward, Marie-Christine found that she could not help but stare at the opulence presented before her at this moment in time. It was truly breathtaking. Her thoughts were interrupted by Erik's voice.
"Marie-Christine," he spoke as he held out a chair for her. Sitting down, she found herself lost in thought yet again. However, her momentary reverie was broken as Erik's hands gently caressed her shoulders, his touch stirring feelings within Marie-Christine's body. He was pushing the chair in after she had sat down and yet his hands seemed to rest longer than necessary on her shoulders. Her breathing hitched as Erik leaned forward and whispered in her ear.
"Enjoy . . ." he seemed to growl as he then placed a small but chaste kiss on her cheek, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine.
Looking to her left, Marie-Christine watched as Erik sat down beside her. She thought she was mistaken, but she could have sworn that she actually saw him . . . smirk. He was enjoying toying with her!
Hmph! She mused. Two can play at that game, Erik!
Before Marie-Christine could put her plan into action, the first course of the dinner was placed before her - Le Salade de Jambon cru et Thon à la Sauce Pisteau - Proscuitto and ahi tuna seared with sauce. Taking her utensil, Marie-Christine savored the delicacy placed before her.
"Is it not unusual?" Charles Lateur asked of his guests, but no one answered. Then a voice spoke.
"Do you mean the tuna?" Erik responded. All eyes were now on this masked figure.
"Ah! Then you know it is not from this region." Charles seemed to take delight in presenting his guests with unique acquisitions to his vast estate.
"Yes, from the taste that is unusual, but still quite palatable, I would definitely say that this fish is from another region, perhaps outside of France altogether?" Erik was finding himself actually enjoying Charles' company. At first he was somewhat irritated that the man had dared to attain his work . . . his Don Juan Triumphant but now was not the time to ask.
"It's from . . . the west," was all that Charles would offer.
"It's quite delicious" and with those words Erik turned his attention back to Marie-Christine. Stealing a glance in her direction, Erik watched as she seemed to place all of her attention with the dish presented before her. There was no one with whom she could speak and so the only company Marie-Christine had was the plate placed before her.
"Allow me," Erik interjected as he took the small utensil from her hand. Erik then took a small portion of the tuna and brought it up to Marie-Christine's mouth. She couldn't believe what he was doing. He was actually going to feed her in front of everyone! Shock soon passed as Marie-Christine took the morsel into her mouth. Its taste was made all the more intoxicating by Erik's gesture.
"You have a little bit of food . . ." he noticed as he took a napkin to wipe away the small smidgen of tuna that rested at the corner of her mouth. His touch once again sent Marie-Christine's heart a fluttering.
"I . . . uh . . . thank you," she replied, a small sigh escaping her lips.
"You're quite welcome." Erik replied. He enjoyed the effect he was having upon her at the moment.
Their attention was diverted from each other as the next course arrived. It was La Fricassée d'Escargots et Ris de Veau à la Bourguignonne – Escargot in sauce with creamed veal on a baked wonton shell. Erik could not help but noticed the shell and its unusual texture.
"The shell is something I have never seen before," Erik commented as he waited for Charles' response.
"I see you are a man of many talents Monsieur . . ." Charles began.
"Erik" was the reply.
"Erik it is then. Yes, you are quite right. This shell was made from a recipe I purchased from the Orient. I find its taste to be a combination of sweetness but with a slight . . ."
"Panache" Erik offered.
"Yes. I think that describes it." Charles replied and then continued to visit with his other guests. Erik turned his attention back to the meal. Soon the next course arrive – Le Filet de Saumon fumée a la Maconnaise - Fragrant, fruity smoked salmon filet. The scent of the salmon slowly permeated throughout the room, drawing those who chose to partake of the aroma further into the culinary delights being offered before them this evening.
Erik watched as Marie-Christine took each morsel of the salmon and brought it to her lips, drawing the delicacy inward. It was as if she were lavishing her meal with . . .
"Would you like a taste?" Marie-Christine interrupted as she held forth a small piece of the salmon. Erik took the challenge and the opportunity. He grasped Marie-Christine's right hand with his left and took her offering, allowing his lips to draw the morsel inward, his eyes focused on Marie-Christine, piercing, penetrating, seeing into her inner soul . . . and more.
"Oh!" Marie-Christine found herself almost falling from her chair, but Erik caught her with his other hand. In the process though, her napkin fell from her lap.
"Allow me my dear," Erik replied as he leaned down to retrieve her napkin.
Marie-Christine assumed it would only be a second and yet . . . she felt . . . a hand! It gently caressed her right ankle and slowly made its way up the length of her calf. Then . . . it was gone. At that moment, Erik's head emerged from beneath the table.
"I do apologize. It seems you had your foot quite near the napkin, but fortunately you moved it." A slight smile emerged from beneath the mask Erik continued to wear.
"Thank you Erik . . . you're . . . too kind," was the only reply she could offer at the moment.
Damn him! Why does he torment so? Does he not realize what I am feeling? And then, much became apparent to Marie-Christine. Erik did know what he was doing. Much to Marie-Christine's surprise, he was actually flirting with her! Even though most proper women would be enraged at such behavior, Marie-Christine found that she was becoming more and more . . . awakened.
The next dish to arrive in Charles' dinner was – Le Carre d'Agneau à la Bordelaise - Robust lamb chops in a wine sauce. Although still quite hungry, considering Erik had distracted her during the previous dish, Marie-Christine was determined to have her "cake" and "beat" him too! Leaning towards Erik, Marie-Christine whispered softly.
"May I have a taste?'
"Do you not have your own?" Erik countered; apparently delighted she had decided to join in this verbal tête-à-tête, a slight smile beginning to emerge from the corner of his mouth.
"But I find yours to much more appetizing," Marie-Christine answered, wanting to see how close Erik would allow her to approach.
"By all means then, do try mine if you find it that much more appealing." Erik held forth a small portion of the lamb for Marie-Christine to taste. As she leaned closer, her hand slipped and found itself resting on Erik's thigh; his strong muscular thigh. As Marie-Christine took the lamb into her mouth, she felt her hand slip further down Erik's thigh, more towards the inside until . . .
"Marie-Christine" Charles Lateur called out.
"WHAT?" she exclaimed as she pulled her hand back but not before she bumped it rather harshly against the dining table. She stifled a small cry from the throbbing her hand now felt as a result of her culinary "misadventure." Those around her could not help but smile at the young couple who were clearly "smitten" with one another.
"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation." He apologized.
"No . . . that's quite alright," she stammered as she tried to pull her hand away from Erik. "My hand slipped and. . ."
"You'll have to forgive my Marie-Christine," Erik began. "She sometimes stumbles when she least expects and I find myself playing the part of her . . . nursemaid." Marie-Christine was about to offer a retort when Erik took his hand to hers and placed a gentle kiss upon it. She felt that it was a kiss and so much more . . . of other things to come.
"Well then," Charles began. "You are indeed fortunate to have such a gentleman at your side."
Marie-Christine looked at Erik. His turned his attention back to the meal. She paused for a moment, wondering if she should offer a small retort or perhaps a comment with a touch of biting sarcasm. For the moment, she decided silence was best.
All good things in due time Erik . . . in due time, she mused.
The next course to arrive was simple - Salade Verte - Green salad. Little conversation passed between Marie-Christine and Erik but that did stop the other from stealing a glance when one thought the other was not looking. A burning fire was building within each of them and soon if was not quenched, the consequences would be something neither one would care to remember.
Before serving the dessert, it was time for the cheese course. Tonight's offering was rather elegant and yet quite simple – brie, camembert and goat cheese. Marie-Christine waited patiently, expecting that Erik would inquire as to her choice, but instead he placed a small portion of each of the cheeses offered onto his plate. Standing, he extended his hand towards her.
"Shall we?" he asked. Marie-Christine was not sure what he was thinking. It was not usual for a guest to leave before the dessert was served. Erik, though, was not a usual guest.
"By all means, I shall follow where you desire," she answered.
Erik and Marie-Christine took their leave as the other guests continued to speak with one another; their topics ranging from the dinner of the night to politics and other discussions on interest. No one noticed the young couple as they made to their way to a small courtyard located to the left of the dining room.
Stepping out into the courtyard, the first thing to affect Marie-Christine was night air. Although not extremely cold, the chill was nevertheless felt. Seeing her reaction, Erik guided Marie-Christine to a small bench and then left for a moment. Returning only a minute later, he held in his hand a small shawl, that although it was not very thick, it did help to take away some of the chill she felt.
"Better?" he asked as he carefully draped the article around her shoulders. Marie-Christine nodded, unable to speak for the moment. She could not decide if it was the warmth of the shawl or the touch of Erik's hands that now took away some of the chill she felt earlier.
"Much. Did you forget the cheese?" she asked, wondering where he had left the plate.
"No. I decided that if we were to miss the remaining portion of the meal, then it would not be a good idea to partake of the cheese without something to wash away the aftertaste," he explained.
"Oh," Marie-Christine smiled, doing her best to stifle a small giggle.
Erik returned her smile as he took a seat beside her. For the better part of the evening, the two of them talked. Marie-Christine told stories of growing up, the tricks she and her sister used to play on the town children and the happy moments she remembered.
"I wish I could remember my happy times," Erik bowed his head, pushing back the hurt that threatened to return.
"Erik, the happy times are what you make of them. Do you want me to help you remember?" she presented.
Erik thought of her offer, not sure of what he should do. Marie-Christine broke his momentary reverie as he felt her hand on his unmasked cheek.
"Close your eyes," she beckoned. Erik hesitated. "Please?" she implored. Sighing, he acceded to her wish. Suddenly, visions came to Erik. At first he could not quite make them out clearly and then . . . he realized what Marie-Christine was doing. She was helping him to remember . . . to remember the good times. At first he thought they were with Christine, but that image faded quickly. Then, ever so slowly, one constant image returned over and over. She was like a guardian angel, protecting not only his physical but emotional well being too.
"You . . ." Erik then realized where his happiest moments lie. They were with Marie-Christine.
"Is that what you see?" she questioned, her hand still touching his cheek.
"You've been there for me; you've not allowed me to wallow in my self-pity. I tried to turn you away and yet you've never left me. Why?" Erik's eyes sought an answer. The question remained as to whether Marie-Christine could reply.
"Erik . . ." she began, a small lump rising in her throat. "I . . ."
"Oh THERE you two are!" A voice called out. It was Charles Lateur, holding a small plate in hand.
"Monsieur Lateur," Marie-Christine began.
« Charles, » he insisted. "Well I can see, you missed the fine cheeses that were served this evening."
"Charles, I can explain," Marie-Christine answered.
"There is no need my dear. I know exactly why you are here." He affirmed.
Both Erik and Marie-Christine froze once more, unsure of what statement Charles would make next.
"What would be our reason for attendance this evening?" Erik dared. If needed, he felt he could run away and perhaps take Marie-Christine with him. He shook his head, quickly dismissing the thought. He could not condemn Marie-Christine to such a life and yet at the same time, Erik began to realize one thing . . . he was beginning to think of life with someone and that someone seemed to return the feelings he had . . . didn't she?
"Well it's quite obvious to me, you're going to announce your engagement sometime soon I would gather," Charles proclaimed.
Marie-Christine suddenly began to choke. Erik did his best, gently tapping her on the back, hoping to dislodge whatever was causing her such distress. Charles ran off and quickly returned with a small glass of water.
"Here drink this," he instructed as he handed her the glass.
Marie-Christine took the container in hand and drank from it. Soon her coughing stopped and she seemed calm. Both Charles and Erik watched, seeking any further signs of trouble. They saw none. Charles then turned his attention back to the small plate he had laid nearby.
"I'm glad you're better now. Although, I know you missed our fine cheeses, I thought you would want to taste the dessert we had for the evening." Charles extended the plate forth.
"What are these?" Marie-Christine asked, her earlier pain replaced by curiosity of the dish in front of her at the moment.
"They are truffles my dear. Have you not tried them before?" he asked.
"No, I'm afraid I've led a somewhat sheltered life." Marie-Christine bowed her head slightly.
"Well then, I shall leave them for you and Monsieur Erik. Enjoy the evening and . . . each other," and with a small smirk now adorning his face, Charles Lateur took his leave.
Marie-Christine turned back to Erik, who now held the plate in hand. She watched as he brought one to his lips and took a small bite. She could not help but be intrigued and intoxicated at the same time by what she saw. Marie-Christine found herself licking her lips in response.
"I take it you would like taste?" Erik asked, correction teased. Marie-Christine could do no more than nod and so Erik brought the truffle to her lips, allowing her to draw it inward. She also drew a bit of Erik's fingers as well.
"Mmm…delicious," she murmured, a slight moan escaping her lips in the process.
"And you do like the truffles as well my dear? I find that the pralines give it certain . . ." Erik couldn't seem to find the word needed to finish his thought.
"Panache," Marie-Christine offered.
"Panache indeed," and before Marie-Christine could utter another word, she soon found her lips covered by Erik's. The kiss had something she'd not felt before. There was love, caring, and . . . above all . . . this kiss held passion. Erik brought his hand to Marie-Christine's back and pulled her in closer to him. He deepened the kiss, his tongue demanding entrance, wanting to partake in all of the sweetness she possessed.
"Erik . . ." she moaned, the heat burning ever brighter within her body.
"Yes . . ." he whispered as she continued to taste the powdered chocolate from the truffles on her lips.
"We . . . should go . . . I cannot . . ." she couldn't finish her words, but Erik fully understood. He rose from the bench and within a short period of time, they bid Charles a good evening and soon were back in the comforts of the carriage that and brought them to their wondrous and almost magical evening.
Inside the carriage, Marie-Christine still felt the fire that burned within her body and now it had fully reached her soul. She turned to Erik and took his face in both hands, pulling his mask away.
"Marie-Christine," he protested, but to no avail.
"Erik, I love you . . . I want to love all of you . . ." she whispered in his ear. Her tongue darted out tracing along the outer edge of his jaw line. He groaned in response.
"You do not know what you ask . . ." he reminded her, but she was not listening.
"I know exactly what I want . . . I want . . . you," she spoke softly.
Erik finally could take no more. He turned and pulled Marie-Christine onto his lap, his hands beginning to fumble with the laces of her bodice. Marie-Christine in turn, placed her hand to his scared face and closed her eyes. Erik thought nothing of it as he continued to free her chemise from his confinement.
Next, he felt something. It was a warm sensation. At first, Erik did not realize what was happening. Then he looked at Marie-Christine . . . more specifically her cheek.
A scar was beginning to form.
"NO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" he cried out, but it was too late. She collapsed forward into his arms, her breathing faint and growing weaker at the moment. Erik knew she had done and now she had paid the price. He held her, not sure of what to do. Finally, he did the only thing he could do.
He cried.