She has always loved opening galas. At heart, Christine is just a happy, friendly little girl, and both the fantastical extravagance and the sociality of such parties appeal deeply to her. This was the second such gala we had attended in Rome, opening for the new production of Carmen; Christine had spent every afternoon for the past two weeks rehearsing the lead role, while yet playing Juliet in the final productions of Romeo et Juliet in the evenings. Keeping lines straight has never been a problem for Christine, but I knew she was grateful to only have to remember one set of verses from now until the rehearsals for the next opera started.
Truth be told, so was I; I loved my wife in the sweet role of Juliet, but she had rocked the very foundations of my soul tonight as the passionate Carmen. It had been all I could do not to ambush her in her dressing room after the performance, and the teasing smile she had given me when she leaned around her door just before closing it had told me she knew exactly what I was thinking.
I lingered in the shadows, as always; I was quite content to watch the bright jewel of my Angel as she circled among the opera guests, though the glances she threw me thoroughly communicated her displeasure at my absence from her side. I would go to her in a few moments; for now, I needed to watch her, to set her free from my arms and know she would willingly return. It was wrong of me, to still need to play such games with her from time to time, but I cannot deny what I am and have been. I have become an angel for her, for the most part, but there is still a devil lurking in my heart.
I like to think that she understands.
Gazing uninterestedly across the crowded ballroom, I glanced back to my wife and had to restrain a snort of disgust. Signore Valtova was with her; he was a portly gentleman who gave generously to the arts so that he would have an excuse to be the interfering gossip he was by nature. He was harmless enough, but I did not envy Christine having to entertain him for long. Though, knowing my beloved's sweet nature, she probably thought him to be just a kind-hearted old man with an inquisitive disposition.
Perhaps he was. I have noticed that if one combines my cynicism and Christine's naiveté, the result is a startlingly accurate portrayal of a person's character.
ChristineOh, that man! The desire in his eyes before I ducked into my dressing room had almost overwhelmed me, but for all his presence at the gala I might very well be wed to a ghost. He had done this at the opening night for Romeo et Juliet, too; in fact, while I knew that he spent a great deal of his time at La Fenice, watching me rehearse—and he attended every performance—I would not be surprised if none of the other performers or staff had even seen my mysterious husband. I turned around a little, picking him out among the other shadows along the wall, and gave him a hard glare; I couldn't be certain, but I would swear he smirked at me.
Huffing—just a little, and under my breath—I turned back to the gentleman who had just accosted me. Signore Valtova was an old and wealthy patron of the opera house, and he had a fondness for gossip that matched an old woman's. However, I myself was a private fan of the most harmless forms of gossip—one does not grow up in a ballet dormitory without a certain taste for the exchanging of stories—and so we got on splendidly.
"Mademoiselle, may I ask you a rather impertinent question?" The Signore smiled at me, his rough warm voice inviting conspiracy.
I laughed. "Why, of course, Signore—but you must call me Madame, lest my husband become jealous."
He raised one eyebrow at this. "I had heard the rumors that you were married, but have never met your husband." A hearty chuckle enveloped my ears. "Bit shy, is he? A man would have to be, with a diva for a wife."
"A bit," I agreed lightly. "But you said you had a question for me?"
"Ah, yes. I attend nearly every performance, as you know, Madame, and I have noticed something strange." I was silent, and he took this as a sign to continue. "Every night, just before the final bow, you look to the exact same place in the audience—the exact same place, every time!—and your lips move as though you were saying something. But when I spoke to your fellow performers about it, they told me they had never heard you say anything at all!"
I smiled. Oh, true, he was digging for information—but this was information I adored admitting to. "Oh, Signore, it is a simple thing indeed. I am telling my husband I love him. I need only whisper the words, but he knows what it means when I look to where he sits and say what no one else can hear."
"He must attend often, then."
"Every night," I answered softly.
The dark eyes of the old gentleman before me softened. "Then you must love each other very much indeed." We were quiet for a moment, but he continued thoughtfully, "I would like to meet this husband of yours, Madame; surely he would not allow you to attend a gala unescorted?"
I froze, but suddenly a familiar arm was wrapped quite publicly around my waist—sometimes Erik's nerve astonishes even me—and his solid frame was at my side. "A pleasure, Signore," he said smoothly, offering his gloved hand to the dumbfounded patron. It was a trick indeed to appear unnoticed in the midst of a crowded gala, but then, Erik was Erik, after all.
"Indeed," Signore Valtova murmured, lightly shaking my husband's hand. Another silence descended, and again the Signore seemed to feel it was his duty to break it. "I say, aren't you two from up in Paris, originally?"
No one else would have noticed the slightest change in Erik's demeanor, but to me he was suddenly stiff and wary. "Yes, we are," he answered, his voice carefully neutral.
"I wouldn't wonder, then, at you knowing the Vicomte? He's a boy traveling from France in the company of his brother; apparently the elder wanted to show the younger Europe, though of course they've both seen all of it before. A very lovely pair, the two of them; no family rivalries there, I can assure you! Perfect gentlemen, though I hear that Comte Philippe is something of a rogue with the ladies." Here he gave us a broad wink, but neither Erik nor I took any real notice. It couldn't be, could it? I would be delighted to see my childhood friend again, but I knew my husband's reaction to Raoul being here might be . . . less than positive.
"Did you happen to catch their name?" I asked innocently, my hand discreetly finding Erik's at my waist and squeezing it in reassurance.
Signore Valtova frowned as he concentrated. "Now what was it . . . Chamy something or other . . ."
"de Chagny?" Erik responded coolly.
"That's it!" The Signore snapped his fingers. "Come, you must be introduced."
"No need," a light voice replied from the side. "We are already quite well acquainted." We turned to see Raoul de Chagny looking at us with an expression of amused delight. "And may I say that it's wonderful to see you again?"
"Alive, you mean," Erik retorted. I leaned close to him, smiling sweetly; in reality, my elbow was sharply digging into his side.
Raoul faltered, just a little, then he answered softly, "I did not say that. It is good to see you both." He held out his hand to Erik, and hesitantly my husband shook it. The formality of the men past, I smiled and disengaged my arm from Erik's to hold both my hands out to my old friend.
"It is good for us to see you too, Raoul," I told him sincerely, giving him a happy grin. "Both of us."
"Then you have met Monsieur and Madame Daae," Signore Valtova exclaimed. "Delightful! Well, I must leave you young people to your chitchat, then. Enjoy the rest of the gala, won't you?" He took off in the direction of another patron, and we all murmured polite goodbyes to his back. Once the Signore was out of earshot, our little threesome quieted.
"You have married, then," Raoul stated, glancing between us, his gaze lingering on my wedding band.
I nodded; Erik's reply was a short, "Yes." I knew he was making an effort to restrain his tongue, and to my surprise he continued, with something that passed for a smile, "I don't suppose you've found a young lady to steal away yourself, have you?"
The utter absurdity of Erik asking Raoul about his love life made me choke, but I was further surprised when he blushingly answered, "I have found such a young woman. She is the daughter of a count herself, and very good to me. I love her," Raoul explained softly, turning to me with the faintest of questions in his eyes.
"Then I am glad for you," I responded. I truly was; as odd as it felt to know a man I had once considered a suitor had fallen in love with someone else, I had realized long ago that all I ever felt for Raoul was the love of a dear sister and friend. I was thankful that he had moved on, that he had found someone else to bestow his affection upon; someone whose mind and heart would not always belong to another man. "Tell me, my friend, is she very beautiful?" I teased, and Raoul's blush deepened.
"She is stunning," he admitted with a sheepish smile.
The rest of our conversation was gentle, avoiding any mention of the past or of painful topics, and Raoul and I parted friends, as we always had. But Erik . . . I suggested innocently enough that we leave; the gala had began to wind down anyway, and there was no real reason for us to stay for the entire party . . . in truth, I wanted to get him home where I could draw out his emotions. All the way to our apartment, he was taut and stiff beside me, though I could tell he was trying to keep his mood hidden.
Inwardly, I had to sigh. I had married him, hadn't I? I loved him with my whole heart and whole soul; why did he have to be insecure about our love? Now, after nearly six months of marriage—would he never really trust me?
We were quiet as we entered our home; as soon as my shawl and his cloak were put away, I pulled myself into his arms. Erik did not respond; he just stood quietly, letting me cling to him. I tried to press a frustrated kiss to his lips, but after a moment he pulled away. Lightly kissing my nose, he disentangled himself from my embrace. "It's late, Christine. You should go to bed."
"Won't you come with me?" I asked softly.
The look he gave me was long and flat. "Have you not learned by now, my dear, that you will be much safer and happier in your bed when I have asked you to go to it?"
"Our bed," I corrected, stepping close to him again. Erik shied away from me, just a little, but it was enough; I realized suddenly that I was tired of fighting him. I would not win this battle tonight, and I was exhausted. For once, then, I would simply do as he asked. Sighing, I reached up to gently cup his face in my hand. "Good night, Erik. I love you," I told him softly, then turned and headed for our room.
He was silent behind me, for so long that I was almost out of the room when I heard his quietly strained, "Christine." I almost thought I had imagined it, he spoke so lowly, but I looked over my shoulder anyway. Erik was standing with his hands at his sides, watching me with a helpless expression on the unmasked portion of his face. His eyes were begging me for something, anything, and with a slight smile I held out my hand.
ErikI stared at her for an endless moment, then swiftly crossed the room and took her in my arms. She did not resist, as I half-expected her to; instead Christine melted into me, and I shuddered. "I'm sorry," I whispered, holding her tightly. "I'm sorry." I shouldn't have allowed myself to be jealous of Raoul; there was absolutely no reason for me to be. But seeing him again, there with her, noticing how perfect a couple they would make with her dark beauty and the bright golden brilliance of his handsome features, had sparked an old hurt. Neither one of them was disfigured, or tainted by inner darkness; Raoul's presence had reminded me of how much my Angel gave up in her world of light to join me in the sunlit shadows of our existence.
"I love you forever," Christine murmured back, her face nuzzling into my throat.
I smiled. "My dearest, we have eternity." I captured her mouth in a long, warm kiss. When we finally parted, I let out a deep breath and leaned my head down to rest on her shoulder. "How do you put up with me?" I muttered, holding her tightly.
"Patience," she retorted dryly, her gentle hands running down my back. "Gallons of patience."
Six months ago, she would have simpered, hastening to assure me that I was the easiest man to live with in the world—hah! Lifting my head enough to mock-glare at her, I gave Christine a light, playful growl. "You wouldn't have dared be so impertinent when I was an Angel to you."
"No, I suppose I wouldn't have. You were an angel; ancient, untouchable." Her tone was light, but some of the joviality had left it.
Ancient, was I? That thought worried me a little—did she think me too old for her? We did not often speak of the age difference between us. While such differences between a husband and wife were certainly not unusual for our society, neither could we pretend that Christine was anything but nearly eighteen, and I was in my late thirties.
Which reminded me—"What do you want for your birthday?"
Christine pulled her head back enough to blink at me. "Where did that come from?"
My train of thought had made sense to me. I shrugged. "Answer the question, Christine."
"Surprise me," she retorted with a smile. It faded, however, when she noticed the lingering worry in my eyes—Heaven on Earth, she had to be sick of my insecurities by now. "Erik, what is it?"
'Nothing' would only earn me a glare. I was learning; slowly, perhaps, but I was learning to open up to her all the same. "I was ancient and untouchable," I murmured to her. "And you were a child. So how did we get here?"
She shook a little, burying her face into my shirt. "You're right. I'm too young for you." I stiffened, thinking she considered me elderly, but I should have known her better than that. "You should have loved a more sophisticated woman, Erik, someone who would not always be leagues behind your mind and your life. She would be your equal; she would be more mature—"
Blast it, I was not the only one with fears.
"But she would never, ever be bound to my heart. That privilege is yours alone, my love," I told her softly, gently raising her chin with my hands. "Yours, and no one else's. If you do not believe me to be a foolish old man for loving you . . ."
"Never," Christine whispered, her grip around me strengthening. "Never."
"Then never believe that I consider you to be anything less than perfect. I did not want an equal, Christine, a sophisticate; I needed—still need, will always need—you, because only you are the missing half of me." My lips twisted into a half-smile as I stroked her cheek; she was gazing up at me steadily, her chin resting against my chest and tears standing in her eyes. "I'll make a deal with you for tonight," I murmured. "I'll leave my fears behind if you will." The soft banter was rewarded with a smile.
"Agreed." She leaned up to kiss me, and we were right again.
-Chapter End-
A/N: Huh. I must be in a writing mood. Hope you enjoyed!
grotto1: LOL, 'heart attack by spider'! I love it. Oh, she may be revenged at some time, but that revenge requires deep and serious thought by Chrissy (er, me . . .) and thus will be all the sweeter when it finally comes. Thanks!
DarkMoonLightBright: Heh, don't worry—no more spiders. Thanks so much for reading this; I'm glad you like it!
Allison: Glad you're lovin' it! Don't worry, I will NEVER not finish a story. It isn't in me, not when I keep getting lovely reviews. Thank you for reading!
Onelastchance: Hehe, lol, I'm hoping your computer won't die! That would be awful. But at any rate, here is a lovely semi-long chapter for you. Enjoy!
phantomlovin4ever: Updating for you, Steph! Heh, despite what I said, the writing just keeps coming . . . but I swear updates will be slower after this. I have homework to consider. Thanks much for your comments!
Christine: Thanks! Glad you liked the third/first person thing, though it has now switched. ECness is wonderful, no?
Son Kat: Poetic? Wow, thanks for the compliment! Heh, I wasn't really criticizing Gerik (adoring sigh . . . ) but I do wish that he had gotten to give her lines like that one. Say what one will (I know some don't like him) about Leroux, but he has some absolutely beautiful passages. Here's more for you!
Rose McCann: Yay, another fan of the Leroux passage! I just adore that part of the book. . . . ohh, it's so beautiful. Heh, about the characters; I had fun writing it. Thanks for liking it. Updating for you now!
Pertie: Hey, thanks for the good wishes on school! So far it isn't too hard, but looking forward is overwhelming (gulp . . . professors like to scare students, I think). Heh, there's a teeny bit of heat for you in this chappie, too, but not as much. There will be more later, never fear. And I'm glad to find another person who does not particularly like reading smut! Thanks for reading!
Mominator124: Lol, yep, I had fun with that bit . . . after all, some of his darkness is going to be rubbing off on her; the sharing of their polar personalities can't go one way. Poor guy. Thanks much for your reviews, as always, m'dear. They make my day. I hope that the little conflict bits between them came across okay; they seemed a little disjointed to me, but I couldn't seem to smooth it out. That may just be me nitpicking myself. Here's an update for you!
Angelmuse: Lol, nope, no more tarantulas for you. Erik will protect you from the nasty spiders (wink). At least, all the female spiders will just melt away when they see him, like we do . . . hope you like this chapter, and thanks as always for your lovely reviews! A bientot (hey, I learned something in class today!), m'dear!
agent715: Nicole—thanks bunches! I'm glad you like it so far!
PhantomLover2005: Updating for you now—lol, no more spiders. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing; I really do appreciate all your comments. Merci!
Twinkle22: Thanks! I'm updating for you now, so I hope you like! Yeah, it's nice to see them just enjoy life together for once, isn't it?