A/N:
Apologies again for the delay, I'll try to update more readily in the future. I promise the next chapter will be forthcoming very soon.
Please enjoy and review!
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Chapter 24: What God Has Joined Together…
Christine paused in surprise as the young brunette, upon catching her gaze, turned and fled from the cathedral.
"Wait!" Christine cried, taking several hurried steps forwards. The milling parishioners cut her off, and she tried to politely force her way through the crowd, but by the time she reached the doors, the girl was gone.
Christine bit her lip in frustration, her curiosity raging. She had been going to Mass at this cathedral for nine years, and never before had she seen the brunette girl.
Who was she?
A hand on her shoulder caused her to turn, and she saw Father Clare's kindly eyes boring into hers.
"Are you alright, my child?"
"That girl, Father, the brunette who…"
"Who looks like you?" Father Clare smiled. "Her name is Giselle."
"Have you ever seen her before?"
The priest shook his head. "Never, Christine." He frowned at her worried expression. "She is probably traveling through the city, and paused to enjoy a respite of worship. It happens often. Do not worry yourself over it."
Christine nodded obediently, but the image of the young brunette's tormented eyes and the obvious fear in them when she had bolted remained in her mind…along with something else.
And as Christine listened with half an ear as Father Clare explained to her details of the evening's ceremony, it came to her in a flash. In the girl's eyes, along with fear, there had been something else.
Recognition.
-
The ivory keys were yellowed with age.
Erik traced his fingers slowly over them, feeling the hollows where his insistent fingers had worn them down. Even in the silence, he could hear new melodies being woven, notes dancing about him, begging to be taken and placed into coherence, to be turned into music.
He could feel years of spent emotion emanating from the keys of the aged instrument. It had borne the brunt of his greatest rages and deepest sorrows, had been the outlet for unslaked lust and unrequited love.
Here, in the worn ebony wood and faded ivory of a musical instrument, lay the paradox of life, that beauty and majesty could be spun from rage, lust, hatred and murderous intent. That Heavenly delights could be woven from the threads of Hellish designs.
That angels could love demons and together ascend to Paradise.
He settled himself at the worn bench and placed his fingers over the hollows in the keys.
One last time.
-
Madame Giry ran her fingers almost reverently over the smooth white silk as she lay Christine's wedding gown on the bed. The delicate silver filigree of the headpiece that was the framework of the frothy white veil had been stripped of its old rose circlet, dried and crumbling, and replaced with fresh new roses.
Blood red and black, at Erik's insistence.
The smooth, haunting melody that was filtering up into the opera house from the catacombs sent chills up Antoinette's spine. It was like Erik, deceptively beautiful and almost gentle on the surface.
But somewhere within the spun glass of the notes was a hidden thread. A thread of notes that could explode suddenly from the instrument, twisted and tortured, filled with rage and pain, a murderously sharp piece of broken glass rattling within the perfect exterior of the soft, beautiful tune.
She had heard it before.
She had seen it before.
She walked from Christine's room, the wedding ensemble prepared for Christine, who, in just a few hours, would stand in her room as Madame Giry helped her to dress.
And, a short time later, would bind herself for all eternity to a man who loved her unconditionally, completely, obsessively.
Dangerously.
-
It was a quarter past four when Antoinette Giry knocked on Christine's door and was met with a muted: "Come in."
The ballet mistress let herself in and shut the door behind her, taking in the girl's appearance with a quick glance.
Christine was already dressed in the lace stockings and silk chemise that were part of her wedding trousseau, was sitting on the edge of the bed, her face pale.
"Am I doing the right thing, Madame Giry?"
Antoinette looked up, surprised.
"You love him, no?"
"Of course I love him. I don't mean am I doing the right thing by marrying him. I don't question that. What I mean is—am I doing the right thing by asking him to join the outside world?"
Madame Giry walked over to Christine and took her face in her hands. "Christine, you asked nothing of him. He made the decision to leave the darkness himself. He told me himself that you never spoke of it to him. He has made this choice. For you, yes, but never fear that he will do anything more than what he wishes. Erik has never been one to acquiesce to others, Christine."
Madame Giry laced up Christine's corset and helped her into the dress, her fingers nimbly doing the laces on the back of the silk gown. She turned Christine to face her and touched the girl's face gently.
"He loves you, Christine. I have no doubt of that. But never expect to understand him, and never ask him to change. Most of all, never try to control him."
Antoinette took a last look at Christine's youthful, hopeful face, remembering her own wedding day.
She had felt like a princess, her whole world centered on one man and one dream. The ballet mistress's eyes misted over slightly as she set the silver circlet twined with roses on Christine's head. She leaned in and kissed the girl's cheek, then dropped the sheer lace of the veil, obscuring Christine's delicate features.
-
Erik thought he would go mad when Christine stepped through the doors of the church, her face hidden by the heavy lace veil. He stood by the altar, dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit, the imperfect side of his face covered by his white half-mask.
He watched her glide down the aisle, her bouquet of red and black roses a splash of dangerous color against the perfect white of her gown.
He focused on those roses, remembering the amusing quirk of Madame Giry's eyebrows when he insisted on such untraditional colors, instead of the pure, virginal white that she had suggested, mixed with the chastely loving light red rose.
The waves of pure white silk and frothy lace cascading over her slender body and delicate face were a testament to the innocent angel who had stolen his heart and soul, the ethereal being who had blushed in maidenly surprise when his hands had touched her, despite the barrier of silken dressing gown and corset, the sweet voice that had sung not for a man of flesh and blood but a unseen teacher that she had naively believed to be an angel.
The red and black roses that contrasted so sharply told a different story. They spoke of passion and of fire, of a night on the stage when all was velvety tones and flaming desire, when lust had hung thick and heavy in the air, winding tendrils of desire languorously about them.
Combined, the red and the black and the white, the innocence and the passion, the chastity and the desire, the angelic and the demonic, the still waters and the blazing fire, the body and the soul, the light and the darkness, the maiden and the seduction.
Combined, the angel from Heaven and the angel in Hell.
Combined, he and his Christine.
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Madame Giry, very untraditionally, was the one who walked Christine down the aisle. Normally, her father should have done the honors, but he was dead, and there was no other man in the world that Christine wished to give her away.
Madame Giry, the woman who had been like a mother to she and Erik both, seemed the logical choice.
And so, the cathedral empty save for Madame Giry, Meg, Andre and Firmin, Christine walked down the aisle to stand beside Erik, the last man that any inhabitant of France would have expected to see a bridegroom.
Father Clare cleared his throat, and the couple turned their attention to him.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here tonight in the presence of God and man to witness the joining of these two, Christine Daae and Erik Couturier, in the bonds of holy matrimony."
He looked at Erik. "Erik Couturier, will you take Christine Daae here present, for your lawful wife according to the rite of our Holy Mother, the Catholic Church?"
Erik's voice was steady as he answered.
"I will."
"Christine Daae, will you take Erik Couturier here present, for your lawful husband, according to the rite of our Holy Mother, the Catholic Church."
"I will."
Her voice trembled when she said it.
Father Clare smiled. "Now repeat after me. I, Erik Couturier."
"I, Erik Couturier."
Erik saw the tears begin to rise in Madame Giry's eyes as she heard her maiden name fall from his lips so easily.
"Take thee, Christine Daae…"
"Take thee, Christine Daae…"
"For my wife..."
"For my wife…"
To be mine and mine alone…
"To have and to hold…"
One love, one lifetime…
"From this day forward…"
Anywhere you go, let me go too…
"For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.
Christine, that's all I ask of you.
"I, Christine Daae…"
Do you see me, father? Me…and your Angel of Music.
"Take thee, Erik Couturier…"
We are angels, both of us.
"For my husband…"
Do you see me, mother? Did you feel this way on your wedding day?
"To have and to hold…"
Nervous, at the same time intensely happy? Was my father all the world to you?
"From this day forward…"
Are you proud of me, mother? How I wish you were here. You and Father both…
"For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."
Her thoughts and eyes turned to Erik.
Will you ever come to believe that with all your heart? Will you ever trust in my love beyond all doubt?
A brilliant ruby ring found its way onto her left ring finger, followed by a diamond wedding band.
Till death do us part, Erik.
"With this ring I thee wed and pledge to thee my troth, Christine Daae…"
She found her wits and slid a similar golden band onto his left finger.
"With this ring, I thee wed, and pledge to thee my troth, Erik Couturier…"
One love, one lifetime…
It was only then that she saw that the diamond band was her mother's wedding ring, and tears rose high and hot in her eyes.
Father Clare's voice rang joyously in their ears as he lifted his hands and made the sign of the Cross over them.
"What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. I pronounce thee husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."
Erik's strong musician's hands lifted the heavy lace of her veil and he took in her features for a moment, pale with the overwhelming newness of it all, her amber eyes wide and wondrous…and full of love.
For him.
He took her face in his hand and bent his mouth to hers, filling her every sense, his lips moving slowly against hers, tongue close enough for seduction but far enough for propriety, a promise of the night to come.
They parted at last, and they turned to the congratulations of the managers, Madame Giry and Meg.
It was an hour before they left the church.
-
The promise of evening hung heavy and cool in the air as the hired carriage pulled up in front of the modest white house that Erik had purchased.
He lifted Christine from the carriage and carried her over the threshold, her light form nestled in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder.
He set her down once they were inside the door and took her face in his hands again, kissing her hotly and thoroughly, his tongue sliding slowly between her lips and filling her mouth, causing her to arch her back and moan softly.
He swept her up in his arms again, feeling with satisfaction the new heat of her skin, and mounted the flight of stairs to the bedroom, her soft sounds of anticipation in his ears, his own blood thundering in his veins.
This was not their first night together, but they had spent only two other nights like this.
It would not have mattered whether this was their first or their twentieth, Erik intended that this night would be different from all others.
This, their wedding night.
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A/N:
Warning: The next chapter will be the wedding night scene, and definitely rated R. The reason that I have separated them is so that those who wish to read it may, while those who do not can skip it without missing anything. It will not be smut, but definitely a hot and steamy scene.
It should be up soon.