A/N - I apologize for the long wait. Life, work, and writer's block got in the way. Fortunately, I managed to finish this chapter before anything extreme happened. I have a question to pose to all of you. I am considering raising the rating to an 'M' specifically for the next chapter. How do you feel about that? I would love input! Also, the next chapter, or if another follows, will be the last.
Chapter 23
He was not there the next morning when she awoke. Nestled beneath the thick, dark sheets of his bed, Christine woke up with the sun in her eyes. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and glanced around in confusion. Erik's room had once been as dark as a tomb. She noticed the heavy drapes that usually blocked out the light from the tall, ornate windows were now cast aside to reveal the glorious sun of a summer's morning.
Christine pulled her legs from beneath the sheets slowly, still feeling the slight ache from being bedridden for nearly a week. Her strength felt renewed and she felt like she might actually make it beyond the door today. To my wedding. A flutter in her heart lifted her spirits. She threw back the blankets and bolted out of bed. Where is he? Where is Erik?
She glanced around with a worried expression upon her features. A soft knock sounded at the door. Hesitating for a moment, Christine proceeded to answer the call.
"Yes, come in," she called out.
The door opened slowly and revealed Madame Giry's tall, elegant frame. She peered in and saw the young woman standing awkwardly in the room, her hands fidgeting for a moment with the folds of her dressing gown as her dark curls hung in a disarray about her shoulders.
"Madame Giry," she said, sounding surprised in the least.
The older woman slipped inside and closed the door behind her. She walked slowly towards Christine and paused before her before a small smile gripped her normally firm mouth.
"I am so glad to see you well again, my dear," she said. "We were all very worried."
"I feel much better," Christine replied quietly.
They shot awkward glances at one another before Giry finally spoke.
"Erik has told me that you are to be married today," she said flatly.
Christine blushed slightly, bowing her head in embarrassment. She spoke with the softest of voices. "Yes, that's right."
"I was worried," Antoinette began, moving a step closer, "when he brought you up here and refused to let me come see you. I know much about him, and there is much that I don't know. I worried for your safety. . .you know the rages that can consume him."
"I know," Christine replied.
"You love him," Antoinette said after a pause, "I can see it in your eyes."
"I do," Christine replied softly, her eyes moving up to meet Madame Giry.
"Do you want to marry him?" she asked.
"Yes," Christine replied, fidgeting again out of nervousness. "I cannot imagine being parted from him ever again. And yet. . ."
"What?"
Christine met her eyes once more. Antoinette noticed the fatigue in the young woman's brown eyes. A blush had risen to her cheeks and she had turned her head away in embarrassment. How strangely proper she looked in this room now. How elegant she looked, as though she truly were the lady of the house.
"What is it?" Giry repeated, taking Christine's hand in her own and forcing her to stand before her.
Christine glanced up at Madame Giry in reservation, biting her lip briefly. "The way he looks at me, the way he speaks to me. . .I know he wants me," she explained candidly, if not nervously, "but what if I disappoint him? I am just barely a woman. I have never. . ."
Giry's grip tightened reassuringly on hers and a coy smile seemed to tug at her otherwise firm lips. "My dear, I've tried to bring you up the best I've been able since your father died. I can give you no better assurance then to say that Erik will not be disappointed with you, and that you should regard yourself more then just a mere servant. When I first heard you sing with your father, I knew that there was more potential in you. Your life has been guided by an invisible hand. Perhaps we have not seen it before, but you were meant to journey this path, to end up here."
Madame Giry crossed over to one of the large windows and gazed out with unfocused eyes. "Erik is a man that has loved no one. Save one person. . .you. I have seen a change in him. A change brought on by you. There is good in him. I was not sure of it many years ago. Oh yes," Giry said, noticing the darkening of the young woman's eyes, "I saw the deaths that had coincidently occurred in his wake. I knew much of his time in Persia, when he worked as the court assassin. I knew of his terrible anger, and I persisted to never provoke it. But I have not seen that side of him for many years. I believe it has been replaced. . .by love. He loves you so strongly, that it has tempered his darkness."
"Why does it fill me with such fear to love him?" Christine asked softly.
Giry turned her head from the window and smiled faintly. "You know very little of men. But you will find that love can overpower fear. Do not be afraid to love him, Christine. In turn, do not be afraid to let him love you."
Christine turned away for a moment and wrestled with the anxiety in her heart. This afternoon, she would walk down the aisle that was laid before her. She would meet him at the end. She would proclaim vows of love for a man that she loved too deeply for words. The thought that her angel would always be with her warmed her frightened heart.
The day had passed quickly. She never stopped to notice the bustle of activity that had occurred around her. Even as she stood in her own room, draped in a long, elaborate white wedding dress so carefully tailored to her shape, her mind was a million miles away. Even as her dark ringlets were piled atop her head, diamond earrings placed on her ears, and the finishing touches of the veil completed, Christine could not pull herself from the dream she had become ensnared in.
She did not see him at all that day. It was traditionally bad luck for the groom to see his bride before the wedding, but she had wished more then anything to see him, to hear his gentle assurances, to feel his warm embrace, and most of all, to listen to the sound of his voice as it lulled her in song. Christine finally glanced down at the lovely dress, remembering the thinness of her body after weeks of illness. But she did not feel so dreadful anymore. The frailness of her body only added to the beauty of the bride.
Her mind wandered again as she was escorted from the halls of the great house, tucked into a carriage with Madame Giry and Meg, and transported to a small chapel. A chapel. Her chapel. Christine's eyes fastened upon the rustic building that had once been her home for months. Memories began to flood back of the peace she had found there. Just as she was about to open her mouth and speak, she saw the jovial face of Sister Catherine, as she emerged from the small church and hurry towards the carriage.
Madame Giry and Meg emerged from the carriage first, allowing the driver room to help Christine down, decked out in all her finery. The nun's hands were clasped together in joy.
"My dear!" she exclaimed. "I thought I would never see you again. It was an unexpected surprise to hear of your upcoming marriage to Count Bellamont."
"As it was to me as well," a small flicker of a smile tugged at Christine's lips as she descended from the carriage.
Catherine embraced her briefly, careful not to crease the lovely dress that adorned the radiant young woman. There was paleness to her features, as though she had suffered through illness recently, but a healthy glow was returning to the cheeks white as snow. Her soft brown eyes, concealed under long lashes, were filled with a strange happiness that Sister Catherine had never seen in her before. No, she thought to herself. Perhaps it is the same look of joy I saw in her eyes when she sang mass. She is no longer the girl I tended to. She is a woman now. What events have transpired since we last parted? What life has she endured after my care?
"Come," the nun said graciously, "your future husband awaits you." The nun placed a lovely bouquet of red roses in her hands and kissed her cheek with affection.
Christine looked up at the doors of the small church. They had seemed so rustic and modest before, but now they seemed to loom before her with the almighty power of God. She felt her heart tremble. Her feet nearly drew back in reluctance, but she felt the gentle hand of Madame Giry upon her arm, and she glanced over to find the woman's expression warm and comforting.
"Come, child," she said softly. "No need to get cold feet. I will lead you to him, as your father should have. But don't cry today, Christine. He is here, watching over you as you make your way down the aisle. He is watching and smiling down upon his beautiful daughter. Did he not tell you of the angel of music?" Giry offered a rare smile, brushing a tear away from the corner of Christine's eye. "He has sent such a creature. He has sent this man."
"My angel," Christine whispered, nearly inaudibly, as she moved forward towards the doors.
The doors parted and she followed Giry's lead through the small foyer and to the inner doors that opened into the chapel. Sister Catherine opened the inner doors, beaming with joy as she beheld the vision that floated towards her. The chapel was quiet, the pews nearly empty, but that did not matter. She preferred it this way. He preferred it this way. At the end of the aisle, with a heavy bible thrown open upon the wooden alter, the priest stood with a solemn expression on his aged face. His gaze softened at the hesitant entrance of the bride.
Giry began to fall back, allowing Christine to lead the way slowly down the aisle, which had been littered with rose petals. Red rose petals. A strangely familiar man sat in a pew to one side, turning his head as she slowly approached. A broad smile fled his lips as he saw the young woman approach. Nadir Khan smiled and inclined his head softly, his jade eyes flashing briefly upon hers before she turned her attention to the other side of the aisle. Meg Giry sat upon the other side, dressed in a pale blue dress, her blond hair adorned with small white flowers and pulled back at the nape of her neck. She offered a sweet smile to her friend as she passed.
Christine's gaze rose again, this time moving ahead to the end of the journey. A man stood at the front, waiting patiently as she slowly made her way to the end of the rose-strewn aisle. Never before had he looked so handsome, so breathtaking in both beauty and strength. Tall and powerful in his stance, Erik was dressed in the finest of suits. His waistcoat was a dark red, matching the color of the roses. A white cravat was neatly pinned at his throat. Adorning his face, as she had become so accustomed to, was a white mask. There in all his glory, stood her phantom, her angel, and her love.
He had been glancing away, lost in thought, a look of concern almost changing his solemn expression, as though thinking his bride would never come. But as he looked up, his eyes filled with such adoration that Christine thought she could no longer move her feet before her. With one look, he could undo her. With one glance of his brilliant green eyes, she could completely succumb to him.
Never had he seen something so beautiful. Never had he dreamt that God would allow him such an angel. But here she was, floating softly down the aisle, wearing the dress that he had so lovingly chosen for her. The white gown skimmed the floor in billowing folds of silk. It fled behind her in a long, delicate train trimmed with silver and gold embroidery. Upon the bodice, which so complemented her trim waist and modest bust, the embroidery continued its delicate path in a design akin to leaves and stems of ivy. Her chocolate curls were piled loosely atop her head and a soft, sheer veil was drawn over her features, heightening the illusion of an angel. The red roses that adorned her bouquet only enhanced the redness of her soft lips.
It felt like an eternity as they studied one another, but Christine finally drew up alongside the man that would soon be her husband. She had neglected to notice Madame Giry draw away and take a seat beside her daughter, clasping her hands in expectancy. Christine glanced up at Erik, finding that his eyes had locked onto hers. She could not break her gaze from him. His eyes, so intense, so unavoidable, seemed to draw her in. She could barely concentrate on the words of the priest as the wedding proceeded. Her mind returned to the present only when she heard Erik say 'I do' in that heavenly voice. She heard the vows directed towards her, heard the vows to comfort and love him all the days of her life, and as she looked up at him again in her usual shy manner, the words fell from her lips without hesitation.
She saw his eyes flicker with emotion and before she could react, his lips descended upon her own, drawing her mouth into a passionate kiss. Christine felt her body tremble, her legs grow weak, but he gently drew an arm about her waist.
"I love you," he whispered as he nestled his head beside her ear.
Her fingers tightened on the sleeve of his suit jacket. "I love you," she replied, just as softly.
She could not remember the events as they drove back from the chapel. It was as though she had descended into dream. Surely this could not be real. She was not Erik's wife! She was not the newly named Countess Bellamont! But every time she glanced over at her new husband, felt his hand tighten around her own slender hand, she knew that it could not be a dream. He was real.
They arrived at the estate by supper time. Already, a large feast had been prepared for the small wedding party. The conversation was cheerful, the laughter a welcome sound, and Christine took pleasure in seeing the people she loved together.
Later that evening, after Nadir had departed and Madame Giry and Meg had retreated to their rooms, Christine found herself suddenly alone. She glanced around, looking for Erik, but somewhere during the course of the conversation, he had slipped out. She was sitting in the parlor beside a warm fire, having forgotten the fact that she was alone, and of the hour.
Why is he not with me? This is our wedding night. Have I offended him somehow? She rose abruptly, sweeping her hands down the rich burgundy dress she had worn since returning to the estate. She walked slowly down the corridor, finding her own room still open and inviting as she stopped in the doorway. Do I remain here? I am so naïve! I know nothing. But why do I feel frightened all of a sudden? Why does my body quake inwardly? Oh, dear Lord, I do not know what to do! She made to prepare for bed. Perhaps he is busy tonight. I will sleep in my own bed. Christine changed from her dress into a simple nightgown and drew her thin robe overtop, feeling a draught in the room.
The sound of music, very faint due to the size of the house, began to drift into her hearing. Christine felt her limbs stir, her body comply, and she moved again towards the door. She hesitated as she left the room, glancing down the hall and towards the staircase from where the music was issuing. Her bare feet moved soundlessly upon the floor. She scaled the staircase quietly and found herself in the familiar darkened wing on the second floor.
The music wove its way through the turns in the corridor. Christine skirted her way through the hall, careful to not disturb any of the many valuables so carefully displayed on tables of hung from the walls. Only the soft glow of candelabras, affixed to the walls evenly along the hallway, lit her path. The warm, orange glow swept across her pale features and warmed the depths of her soft brown eyes.
He is playing the music of his opera. I know that song. How could I possible forget the music that haunts my dreams? Is he not aware of what it does to me? She continued on, with widened eyes, grasping along the wall as she made her way towards the door to the music room. A light shone from beneath the closed door. She hesitated again before placing her small hands on the handle and quietly opening the solid wooden door.
There he was, his back turned to her as he sat hunched over the keyboard of his piano, thrusting out the notes with a strange ferocity. But as he moved into the gentler melodies, his body seemed to sway with such grace and tenderness. The music felt like the gentle touch of a lover.
Dare I disturb him in such a state, she pondered. I am his wife now. Should I not go to him? Again her heart faltered, but she moved soundlessly into the room. He was moving into the violent swell of the opera's climax. The rhythm of the music was intoxicating, and she suddenly felt her eyes begin to flutter, as though her mind was forcing her into a state of suspended bliss. The music had once been terrifying to her. She had been completely unaware of its intentions, of its power. But now. . .now, she understood. She felt the desire coursing through her body. So powerful were the notes, the melody, she nearly sank to the floor. Her hand caught his shoulder as her legs buckled and he stopped playing, swirling around abruptly and seizing her arms before she fell.
Those eyes of fearsome green, they seem so dark right now, she thought. Where is the endearing gaze of my angel? He was clutching her arms, holding her at a distance with a look of surprise, but also of understanding. They burned.
"My love?" he said, his voice so compelling, so alluring.
"I did not know where you were," she cried out softly, not knowing where the emotion sprang from, but feeling it wash over her.
"Do not cry, mon ange," he whispered, brushing a tear from her eye, "I will never leave you alone. Forgive me."
Christine's eyes drifted to the piano for a brief moment before returning to his. "Why do play that piece?"
His grip seemed to tighten for the briefest of moments before he rose up from his chair and seemed to tower before her. How she quaked! I have frightened my poor angel again. If only she knew of the passion that surges through this carcass before her! It is almost unbearable. But I will not force her to endure it. I will not force myself upon my young bride.
Christine looked up at him, her eyes suddenly fixing so poignantly upon his as though she could not bear to look away. Her chest was rising and falling, her cheeks flushed, and her pulse racing.
"I play for you," he said evenly and lowly. "I wrote it. . .for you."
"But there is so much passion in it, so much anger, but something else as well," she said, her voice drifting off on the last word.
His gaze dropped to her lips momentarily.
"Christine," he began, "I realize what this night means. But I do not expect you to come to me unless you wish it. We married so quickly. I will not hold you to the ways of marriage."
"Your music," she responded, ignoring his words and wetting her lips, "is like nothing I have ever heard before." Her voice had drawn so quiet now, as though she feared someone else would hear the words that were about to fall from her lips. "It frightened me once. A part of me still fears it. But I feel as though I will drown in it. I cannot fight it any longer. There is something dark about it. Something that reminds me of you."
Erik looked away for a moment, but when he returned his gaze, it was heated beyond comparison.
"When you used to play, and when you play now, I feel as though I am surrendering to you. I hear your voice in my mind and I-I feel your touch upon my skin. I want nothing else. Nothing else will do," she admitted quietly. Her eyes drew up to his again. "My soul cries for you! My. . .body. . .aches for you!"
She stood before him, her liquid eyes wavering as they remained fixed upon his.
"Tell me what to do," she cried out in earnest. "Teach me! You once taught me to sing. Teach my heart now. I-I'm afraid. Take me. . .teach me."
She felt his finger beneath her chin, finding that her gaze had slipped from his during the course of her plea, and felt him lift her head. Christine was afraid of what she would find in his eyes, but her fears were unfounded. There was only love in his eyes, only tenderness, albeit the naked desire that he could never quite hide, even with his cool façade. His other hand drifted to cup her face as his finger traced a gentle path along her jaw. She released an unsteady breath through her parted lips.
"Close your eyes," he said.
She looked up at him in alarm for a moment.
"Trust me," he said softly, "close your eyes."
Darkness surrounded her. She could only hear the richness of his voice now. He circled her, his touch suddenly fleeing her face. She felt suddenly alone and her head turned to follow his movements sightlessly.
"Erik!" she called out.
"Hush my love," he said gently. A breeze stirred behind her and she could feel his presence, though he did not touch her.
She suddenly felt his hands on her arms. Christine jerked at the touch, remembering the effect he had on her. His touch was gentle, and he urged her forward. She stumbled forward and allowed him to guide her until she found herself seated on the piano bench. Erik moved to sit beside her and suddenly his hands were upon the keys, playing not the crashing and rhythmic scores of Don Juan Triumphant, but a more gentle, stirring, and heartbreaking melody. With eyes still tightly shut, she found herself prompted by the music and felt her body sway gently. The sound so exquisite and so harmonious, she did not realize what it lacked until he blended his voice with the notes.
Have I ever heard something so glorious before? Have I ever heard a voice like his before? I feel as though I will die when it ceases. And when it is raised in song, I cannot pull my mind from its power. I cannot resist. I surrender when he sings. I surrender my mind, my heart, and my body. I am his. I will always be his.
While he sang his song, his mind turned with the words she uttered only moments before. Take me. . .teach me! She wanted him to teach her of love? The idea was almost preposterous. He had never been loved before, nor had he loved anyone except her. He was the last person she should have turned to. But his role as her maestro and her teacher had prompted him to take the lead. If they must both learn, he would be the one to move forward. I must have my angel completely. There is nothing for us but destruction if we do not join. We were broken from the start. Only when we are one can we truly find peace. I cannot resist her any longer. I cannot stifle my feelings and hide them within my soul, for it is full. My body aches for hers. My soul longs to entwine itself with hers.