Nimbly, Christine hopped up the step and blocked his path. "This is not a punishment, Erik. This is a lesson - and you won't learn a thing if you will not listen."
She leaned forward, her eyes on a level with his now that she stood on the step, and kissed him. It was not a passionate embrace, but a sweet, chaste brushing of her lips against his. "Do you love me, Erik?"
"As I love music itself, Christine." The light touch of her lips on his briefly distracted him from the prospect of entering that hated room.
"And music? You admit that you are the equal of any composer working now?"
Erik lowered his brows indignantly. "I admit no such thing! The equal? Never! I am far superior. My work only goes unnoticed because…"
Christine was smiling and nodding, "As I thought. And…the Opera Populaire. It is a little better now then it was when first you came to live in its cellars? With mild suggestions and negotiation, you may have aided in its development?"
She was goading him. Why? "This opera house would have faded into obscurity long ago had I not bent those simpering managers to my will. Christine, these questions are nonsense."
She gently pulled him into the Mirror Room. Immediately, his eyes were assaulted by his reflection. It should have been torment, but everywhere he looked, there also was her image. There were infinite Christines standing beside the infinite Eriks, smiling sweetly. Her fingers were still twined with his; she was leaning very lightly against him, silently offering her support.
When the look of wonder on Erik's face began to lose its novelty, Christine began the lesson. She pressed her hand flat against his back and swallowed her sorrow at the tortures he had endured.
"If I were a fairy queen and I offered to take away all of this - and the memories that accompany it - would you give up the music and go live quietly in a farming village in Nice? You will never sing another note or compose another aria, but you will be the most beloved man in your village."
"I…I don't…" The idea confounded him. Give up Music? She may as well have suggested he give up blinking. "A life without music? No. That I would not do."
"I thought not." Christine watched him gape at her reflections. "Well, let the fairy queen make another offer. A beautiful face, a thick head of hair – I will make you the picture of masculine perfection – and give you wealth and power…but in trade, you must let me go. You will be the darling of every other woman, but you will have to hear me say, 'Forget Erik. I have'."
Pity for the foppish, arrogant boy welled in Erik's heart. Just the thought of Christine dismissing his memory so nonchalantly… "Cruel thing!" he cried, realizing how prettily he had been trapped. His gaze was torn from the mirrors as he turned to regard her in shock. His sweet little ingénue had out-maneuvered the Phantom of the Opera with hardly a thought. She knew precisely what she had done; he could tell by the uncharacteristic smirk on her normally serene face.
"Then you can learn to accept this face," Christine stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, "and reconcile yourself to the injustices of your childhood. You would rather keep your miserable past than be a man to whom the Angel of Music does not speak. You would rather be the ugly genius whom I love than be the beautiful, tepid man my eyes pass over without seeing or caring. And if that is truly your choice, then you must let me love you, Erik. Without your mask, without your cloak, without hiding – just Erik."
"It will take time…" Erik could almost grasp this new concept; he wanted to embrace it, but he had lived in secrecy and self-loathing for so long that it eluded him.
"It always does."
"Will you…stay with me…while I master this sage lesson of yours?" Erik's eyes flitted from reflection to reflection. He was suddenly nervous. The Phantom of the Opera suddenly found that his hands were shaking and his mouth was completely bereft of moisture.
Christine's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Stay…with you? Down here? I shall be missed, especially when next week's performance of Lakme goes up. They haven't another soprano who can sing harmony in The Flower Duet without sounding like a tea kettle whistling."
Erik bit his lip to suppress a smile. It was just like his brilliant Christine to see into the darkest recesses of his soul and then miss the simple implications of such a question. If he was going to do this thing, he might as well do it properly - in a way she'd have no chance to misunderstand. Erik turned to face his beloved and gracefully lowered himself to one knee. He took her hand, which still showed signs of abuse, and held it in his as though it were made of spun glass.
"Christine, you have seen all that I have to give and you have seen the worst of me. I can give you Music and Love… and very little else. Knowing that, and in full view of my wretchedness…"
Understanding began to dawn. Her mouth opened slightly, as though she were trying to find her breath.
"Will you consent to be my wife?"
Christine froze where she stood. His wife? Being the wife of Raoul DeChagny had clear implications: domesticity, quiet, obedience, and a great many dinner parties. What would Erik expect of his wife? Mme Giry was fond of saying that a man never changed; he would behave throughout his married life as he had before the nuptial ceremony. If that were true, she could easily predict what Erik would expect of his wife: music. There would certainly be no dinner parties.
She searched his eyes for some hint of his thoughts and saw hope and fear warring with one another. The longer she delayed, the more ground fear won. Christine smiled at him, just to see hope win a victory.
"I have no dowry, no family…I shall not be content to sit and knit or worry over the particulars of market and pin money. I'll not leave the stage. I'll never be a quiet, obedient wife."
"Oh Christine, I would not want you if that is all you wished to be…"
She interrupted him with, "Just like you, all I can offer is Music and Love."
Erik could stand it no more. He stood and grasped her shoulders gently but firmly. "Please! Will you or won't you?"
"We will be a very musical family," declared Christine, shamelessly throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him thoroughly. She sighed contentedly when he wrapped his powerful arms around her waist and lifted her so that she was no longer balancing on tiptoe. When the kiss finally broke and both participants could breathe properly, she murmured, "Of course I'll marry you," and leaned her head against his chest, comfortably aware of its bareness. She listened to his steady heartbeat until she perceived that his breathing was not so steady.
Christine looked up to see that Erik's eyes were full of tears…and a blissful smile was plastered across his face. He marveled a moment at her liquid blue eyes and innocent face staring up at him: his Christine. The thought was so delicious, he had to say it aloud. "My Christine…" Erik, the Opera Ghost and the Angel of Music, buried his face in Christine's thick curls and laughed like a child.
The Mirror-room had lost its terror. Erik occasionally stole a glance around for the pleasure of seeing the infinite Christines in his arms. The young couple embraced for many minutes until Christine reluctantly broke the spell.
"Erik?"
"Yes, my Angel?" his voice was soft and distant; the sound of a man in a dream.
"I'm not going to run away."
"I know, my dearest. You have promised to marry me and stay with me…"
"You can put me down now." Christine kicked her dangling feet a little to emphasize her point.
Too elated to be embarrassed, Erik gently placed her on her feet. Try as he might, he could not bring himself to let loose her hands or stop immersing himself in her warm gaze. Fortunately, Christine was enjoying his attentions. He was truly and deeply happy for the first time in her memory. She had never heard him laugh for pure joy before. It was a rich, melodious, infectious sound. She hoped she could spend the rest of her life making him laugh.
"Erik, we shall have to find a priest wiling to marry us. And…" she cast a significant glance in his direction, "We shall have to improve upon the house. There really isn't room for two."
Christine looped her arm through her fiancé's and began to lead him from the Mirror-room. She was hungry, and she knew there was some bouillabaisse chilling in the cold-pantry. A thought struck her and she paused before opening the door.
"And, Erik?"
"Yes?"
"I absolutely refuse to sleep in a coffin."
