Author's Note:
Okay, sorry for the delay, my vacation went overtime as we had car trouble and got stranded overnight in Montgomery, Alabama.
I did, however, get a good jump on the next chapter, so I'll have it to you in a next couple of days.
And before all of you start thinking this story has become entirely about Giselle and Raoul, Erik and Christine are in this chapter. :)
Enjoy and review!
Thanks!
-
Chapter 21: My Living Bride
The packages came for Giselle the next afternoon. She closed the door and laid them out on the bed, tearing away the paper hurriedly, like a child at Christmastime.
There was another corset, and several chemises, clean and new, the high-quality linen soft beneath Giselle's fingers. The nightgown was also soft linen, edged with lace. There was a silk robe with lace trimming, and pairs of stockings made from fine lace and cotton, and several pairs of long gloves.
But the dresses were the best of all.
Giselle lingered over each, her eyes shining as she examined the lovely gowns. There were two gowns of watered silk, one dark blue and the other a light pink, both trimmed with frothy white lace. There was also a dark green velvet, like the burgundy velvet that she had worn the night before.
There was a black skirt and a white shirtwaist, as well as two light day-dresses, one yellow and the other white.
Giselle hurriedly changed into the white dress, relishing the feel of the soft material against her skin. She peered into the mirror, fixing her hair this way and that, before finally giving up and letting it fall long and loose down her back. She slipped her feet into the white slippers that had come with the dress, and stepped outside of her room, feeling like a princess.
Raoul was standing there, and a smile lit his face when she appeared.
Giselle felt her skin warm beneath his gaze, and her only salvation was the brutal thought that flitted through her mind.
He sees Christine.
It was only confirmed when the Viscomte kissed the back of her hand and greeted her warmly.
"Good afternoon, Christine."
-
Erik was feeling neglected. Christine had been caught up with Madame Giry and Meg in wedding plans for the last week, and now she had left the opera house entirely to go to a small café for lunch.
She had, admittedly, invited him to go along, but he had refused. He was willing to live in a house, abandon his darkness and solitude and join the living, but taking a repast in a sidewalk café was more than he could handle at the moment.
Perhaps one day…
She had left not five minutes ago, and already he was missing her. At least, when she stood in her room or in Madame Giry's office chattering about flowers and lace and wine, he could ignore the feminine discourse and simply watch her from one of his hidden vantage points.
But now he didn't even have that luxury.
He resorted to looking about her room, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume and looking at some of the items that lay scattered about. She was packing, and most of her belongings had already been boxed up and were stacked in a corner, waiting to be moved to her new home.
Their new home.
Exhilaration filled him. He was to be granted the life of a normal man. How long had he wished for such a thing? How long had he lain awake at night envisioning such things or slept fitfully, dreaming of a home, a wife…children?
Always he had shared that home with one woman—Christine. But never had he dared to truly believe that his dreams might quite literally come true.
Perhaps there was a God after all.
He turned his attentions to her closet, wondering how many dresses of her own she had. He would be certain to make provisions for her, with Madame Giry's assistance. The older woman would know what sort of gowns would be in keeping with the current fashions for Christine's wedding trousseau.
There were only four, a day-dress, an evening gown which seemed quite out of style, even to Erik's limited knowledge, and two skirts and matching shirtwaists. He caught a glimpse of white fabric and pushed the other dresses aside, lifting the pale garment out of the wardrobe.
It was undeniably a wedding gown, and a beautiful one at that. He lay the dress down on the bed, stroking the soft material.
The gown was long-sleeved, with a scooped neck outlined in seed pearls. It was not nearly as elaborate as the gown he had purchased for Christine, but it was lovely nonetheless. There was no embroidery, but seed pearls made beautiful designs of flowers, vines and leaves across the silk skirt, designed to be worn full with a generous amount of petticoats. The bodice had similar designs, but the material was stiffer, and designed to be worn with a tight corset. It was slightly off-shoulder, and the sleeves were tight, coming to just over the wrist with a light frothing of lace. He turned back to the wardrobe and saw a box with a bit of lace peeking out sitting on a shelf.
Feeling a touch ashamed for looking through Christine's belongings, he removed the lid of the box and saw within a circlet of stiff seed pearls wound about with roses long since dried and faded, with a long veil of delicate lace. A small velvet jeweler's box rested beneath it, and he withdrew the box and opened it.
He leapt to a thousand angry conclusions at once when he saw what lay within—a diamond engagement ring and a plain gold band.
He held the box tightly in his hand, cursing to the empty air. Where had Christine gotten such things? Did she have another lover, perhaps? Or did she intend to marry the Viscomte after all? Were these things the trappings for their wedding?
Erik paced the room incessantly, fury building within him as he awaited Christine's return.
-
"I can't imagine that Erik would want a large wedding."
Christine shook her head in response to Madame Giry's comment, taking a bite of her salad. The three women had stopped by a small sidewalk café for lunch after perusing several florists and wine merchants.
"He hasn't said very much regarding it, but I know that he won't want a great deal of people there. I haven't any family to attend, but we will want you there, of course, and Meg, and perhaps Andre and Firmin."
Madame Giry glanced up at Christine. "What about Raoul?" she asked quietly, already anticipating what the answer would be.
A shadow seemed to fall over Christine's face, and she did not even notice how Meg looked up sharply at the mention of the Viscomte's name.
"I would like nothing more than for him to be at my wedding, but Erik would not have it. I haven't even broached the subject with him—it would do nothing but cause trouble. Raoul has been one of my dearest friends since childhood, and I never dreamed that it would ever end, but in order to secure Erik's happiness I must cut all ties with him."
Madame Giry nodded. "Is that what you want, Christine?"
Christine looked up, surprised at the gentle tone of Madame Giry's voice. It was as though the harsh discourse of a week ago had never taken place.
Christine was sorely tempted to ask Madame Giry what she would do if it wasn't, but she quelled her curiosity and only nodded her head. "It is."
Meg sighed, and Christine looked curiously at the blonde, but pushed the issue no further.
-
Christine returned to the opera house in the late afternoon, her spirits considerably lightened by her outing. She entered her room to find Erik sitting at the dresser, a jeweler's box clutched in his hand and an angry scowl on his face.
"Why, Erik, whatever is the matter?" she asked, her brow lining with concern.
She noticed the wedding dress spread out behind him and the box containing the veil atop it. A flash of annoyance that he should go through her things assailed her, but she pushed it aside. It was just like Erik that he should be so curious. But the expression on his face was not one of curiosity, and it frightened her.
His first words were so loud and angry that she leapt backwards, pressing herself against the closed door in fright.
"What is the meaning of this?" He held out the box in a shaking hand, the two rings within glinting in the lamplight, and gestured to the dress and the veil with the other hand. "Trappings for your marriage to the Viscomte, no doubt? Did you think to play me for the fool, Christine?" He took a step towards her and Christine shrank back, her mind spinning madly.
"Erik…" she tried, but he was not to be argued with.
"When is he coming for you, Christine?" he asked, his voice low and feral as he approached her. "Tell me, Christine, I should like to be there when your precious Viscomte comes to rescue you once again." He closed his fist about the box and stopped in front of Christine, his face mere inches from hers. "I should like to tell him…" Erik ran his fingers through her hair and grasped the back of her neck, pulling her mouth close to his. "I should like to tell him what happened after he left."
"Erik, please stop…" Christine begged, putting her hands out to push him away. "Let me explain."
"Explain?" Erik laughed and let go of her. "Yes, my dear, you shall explain. Explain to me why you have taken the trouble of seducing a monster when you could have had perfection without even blinking an eye."
Christine gaped at him.
Erik shrugged gracefully and took a seat once more. "Go ahead, dear Christine. Explain."
Christine waited only a second. Anger began to bubble up inside of her at the sudden threat to her idyllic world. "If you would only have asked rather than presuming that you have infinite knowledge of everyone's personal lives, I would have told you that the items which have gotten you into such a fine temper have nothing to do with either you or Raoul!"
Erik had been ready with another fiery retort, but he paused and reconsidered. "Really? Pray, do go on." He kept the low, sarcastic tone, but some of the temper had left. Inwardly, he was relieved. The anger on Christine's face was far preferable to him than the stark fear that had been there a moment ago, fear which had quickly cooled his heated fury.
"Really." Christine crossed to the bed and touched the dress. Her voice grew quiet and sad. "This was my mother's wedding dress and veil, Erik. The rings in that box are hers and my fathers."
Erik's expression grew grave and apologetic all at once. "I apologize, Christine." He walked to where she stood and took her hand. "I allowed my temper to get the better of me, as I have so many times before. It is a grave fault of mine." He looked down at Christine. "I am trying."
"I know." Christine ran her hand over the silk of the gown once more. "I had thought to one day wear it to my own wedding. But I suppose it will be saved for my daughter now."
Erik frowned. "Why not wear it to our wedding, Christine? It is a lovely gown, and surely Madame Giry can help you alter it if need be."
Christine looked up at him, surprised. "I thought that you would want me to wear the gown that you had designed for me, Erik."
Erik closed his eyes for a moment.
What an angel this woman is.
He drew Christine into his arms, and offered a whispered prayer of gratitude when she did not draw away. "Wear the gown, Christine, if you wish. That gown that I purchased for you will need a great deal of repair before it is in the condition to be worn, and while I will gladly have it seen to, if you want to wear your mother's gown, Christine, do so."
Christine looked up at him, her eyes shining. "Do you mean that, Erik? You won't be hurt?"
Erik shook his head. "What does it matter to me what you wear, Christine? All that will matter to me on our wedding day is that you love me, and that you will be mine, my living bride. Do you want to wear your mother's dress?"
Christine nodded.
"Then wear it, Christine."