Chapter 25 – Their Pretend
It was out; those words had both sealed her world in the grasp of Erik's hands and in so many ways, Christine felt lighter than she had in months. Lighter when she had told Raoul she loved him, lighter than when she and him had kissed in front of his winter cabin's fire. As light as she once was as a child, faithful in knowledge of the Angel, who had found the soft place of her Papa's love.
And Erik…What to say about Erik? Still an enigma at every turn, he had all but vanished after her confession and their impromptu hug. Hug – it seemed like a deliriously simple word for something that had felt much more than a connection of two bodies holding each other. No. It had been like a chasm that she had finally leapt from, had been running towards all along and at that last moment had sprung off it, instead of allowing the momentum to make her fall into hell.
Christine realised that the difference between a fall and a jump was that a jump was a choice. A leap of faith – a more apt expression than ever. It had been a relief to see him once more at their little table that morning. Twice he had been absent, yet this was the third he sat there, a book in his hands and a silver laptop open where his plate would have been.
"Good morning, Erik," she chirped, finding a stack of pancakes drizzled in sugar and lemon juice waiting for her and unable to stop the grin spreading across her face.
Man, I love the food here. I know Heather made nice ones, but these are just something else.
Erik was unusually silent as she sat down, pulled her chair forward and draped a napkin across her lap.
He was still staring at her, frozen in time like a broken clock.
"Are you ok?" she peered at him.
"You said 'Good morning, Erik'," he finally murmured, wonderment filling the air.
It was like…It was like he had never been greeted before.
Christine sucked in a sharp breath, trying to find peace with the knowledge it had taken several decades for a man to ever be greeted civilly – his reaction said as much. I know he hasn't had many 'firsts' for things, but not to this extent.
I feel so awful. Why has it taken this long? Why has he been so secluded all his life?
He never talks much about himself. The man that helped Erik rescue the girls, who was he in Erik's life? Was it just a man that passed through and left a bare indention? Clarice said they had both left Iran, to reunite the girls with their families. If they went to France, was Erik's prior place in Paris his old home, then? The one he refused to show her? Was Erik's compatriot still in France as well? Or was he lost? Perhaps he could have been another person who had seen Erik's goodness too? If so, then why weren't they here now?
Argh! Too many questions. Never enough answers. Not back when she had first met Erik and not now, a few weeks off a year. It didn't feel possible to look at the man before her and realise that nearly a year had passed. She knew so much more about him and yet it seemed like it would take a lifetime to ever fully uncover the man that Erik was.
How many years would it take to know the Erik who came to be?
Christine smiled softly, "And I'll say it again tomorrow. And the day after that,"
His head tilted, eyes travelling over her form contemplatively, "Yes. Yes you will,"
There was a silence of her cutting up her pancakes and the turn of Erik's page in his book.
"Erik?" Christine swallowed down her fear, setting down her cutlery with a clang.
"Yes?"
"Why did you choose me?"
She resumed eating, as Erik mulled over an answer.
"You first caught my eye within the restaurant that I owned back in those accursed States. You stood out from your peers," Erik began, his voice softening as the memory came back to him, "Radiant; a rose among common weeds. A voice that spoke with kindness and told a story of death,"
Death?
His fingers curled, then flexed, "I was entranced with such dead beauty, as you would hum those tunes with lifeless repetition," he marvelled, as his eyes set upon her with steely knowledge, "You would not let yourself escape music, even while you mourned the absence of your muse,"
My father – that's who he means.
Erik let out a cold chuckle that sent a shudder down her spine, "It was fascinating to me. How could such beauty be marred by life? Or rather – lack of life," his fingers trailed down the leather of the book's cover, "No, it was not just abstract fascination, Christine. As much as I wish it were so. I had an investment, even though my words were callous and my actions cruel, oftentimes, I had it in mind that if I were able to fix something so crushed, that I would feel something in this dead heart of mine,"
That if he was able to 'fix' me, he'd no longer be numb.
His golden eyes shuttered, "And who would have thought this beast would?" he scoffed, before sobering, a dark look glimmering in his eyes, "Though it drilled deep beneath my skin like an infection, it felt anything but,"
In a flash Erik rose, an anxious energy swirling around like a cloak of fear, "Damnit, I did not choose you, Christine. This – this," he gestured to his chest, fingers splayed towards the middle, slightly to his left, "This beating, very alive heart, did. I had very little choice in the matter. Do not ask me how, or why, but with one look, one mere moment of hearing such a voice, of living in your presence, I knew that I could not let you go," his eyes pinned her to the seat, unrelenting, "No matter if I deluded myself into thinking it was a distraction," his sneer faded, posture sinking as he slowly found his way back to reality, those pleading eyes turned to her, "And every moment, I do not delude myself you will ever return a mere measure of my affection, nary a fraction. I resign myself, knowing that you will hate me, hate Erik, just as everyone else on this planet has done," And that was his panting she heard, breath rattling behind his mask, eyes furious, hands trembling, as she sat there, an unnamed emotion building in her heart.
"But Christine," he hissed, "Hope is one of the most dangerous forces upon this earth," a fist looked ready to knock the table over, "Hope. Hope and knowledge that I cannot let you into the hands of another. Not when I cannot believe that your soul sings for him, as yours does for me," Erik breathed, voice curling, fluttering, "I am a selfish man – yes. I do not deny that. Despite it all, I might hope for a day where you may bestow your affection upon this loathsome creature, because when you stare at me with such intent, I like to pride myself that no other will have that same pleasure. Not even your boy," he spat the last words, anger curving in his wretched agony.
Christine winced, feeling the jealousy, the hurt that clouded Erik. What could she say? She didn't mean for him to hurt – hadn't realised one question would have unravelled him like this. Despair curled inside. She hadn't meant for him to be brought to this, but it wasn't her fault he loved her.
Deep down, there was a warmth for him. A warmth, and a sympathy. A man who hadn't loved before. Who didn't know how. Who thought he would never receive the same. How could she be indifferent to that!
"I don't hate you," Christine murmured, "And I am beginning to understand you. I –" she paused, "I enjoy your company. I think you can be kind and make the right choices when given the chance to,"
Tucking her chair in, she left the table and stood before him, "I'm ok with being your friend, Erik. I want to help you be happy and – and friends can do that, together,"
"Do you promise, Christine?" he raised his hand, bringing it up to her face and gently, like the brush of a butterfly's wing, traced the curve of her cheek to her chin. Eye lashes fluttering and leaning into his touch was all too easy, because it was so tentative, his voice asked for so little…Phantom sensations and cool caresses – his musical touch, leading me further astray from the life I had imagined.
"Yes, yes, of course," the words slipped from her mind without filter or factoring the significance of a promise to him, the light in his eyes seemed more precious to keep alive in those very moments.
What am I doing? What am I doing!
Taking in a shuddering breath, Christine stepped back, hating being aware of the glint of displeasure in Erik's eyes.
I am meant to be engaged. If it weren't for Raoul, then –
Then what?
Horrified, yet desperately not wanting to think about it, Christine begged, "So what are we doing today? We have only two days left before we're going back home,"
Christine felt the mood warm as she said 'home'. She had never seen England as her home, in that large manor, but saying as such pleased him. It was worth it for the light in his eyes.
"I may have a few ideas," his lips curled into a thin smile, "Prepare to leave, my dear and we shall depart. You will enjoy today, of that I am sure,"
As usual, Christine was kept in the dark about their destination until they arrived. However, the flurry of excitement built, as they drew nearer the famous landmark in Paris they had not yet visited. Constantly staring out of her window, marvelling at how close they were becoming, the tower loomed above with its massive proportions.
"Are we visiting the Eiffel tower? Please tell me we are visiting the Eiffel tower, Erik,"
A silver-toned chuckle graced the air, and it was like receiving a gift, "Christine, you never cease to awe me with your detective skills. Brava, brava," he gave a slow clap.
Christine turned and was about to stick her tongue out at him, only to gape, "Wait – was that a joke? Did you, the Erik, actually just make a joke?"
His fake lips pursed, face frowning, eyes clouding, "Was it not adequate? I do have the capability to express sarcasm,"
Christine shook her head vehemently, unable to stop the wonder that danced in her heart, "No! I just thought I'd never hear you crack a joke," she smiled, "It was wonderful Erik,"
Nearly three hundred and sixty-five days and he finally made a joke. Wasn't a long time at all.
Moments later, they were dropped a few streets away from the tower. Erik much preferred walking into a crowd and seeing all the space, rather than dumped into a stream of people.
From a tactical point of view, it made sense. Raoul's dad had served in the forces before he had been made CEO of his own father's multinational company. Christine had never seen Pierre much before he died, but she distantly remembered playing a hide and seek with him, Raoul and Phillip on the rare day she was invited around their spacious mansion by the lake.
What had made her remember the occasion so vividly was that hide and seek became 'hide and run'. Pierre had been tall, sandy haired and blue-eyed, not to mention his million-dollar smile that Raoul had said many women 'swooned' at. Christine hadn't doubted it. The main lesson was that through hiding in areas of forest, beaches and grasslands, it had taught her to look at areas and locate the exits; a skill that Christine had been curious enough to keep honed, often as a way to hold onto those precious memories of Raoul when she had missed him. She could practically hear his laughter as he pounced on her when she had hidden behind a bush, only to have realised her lack of routes to escape. Never would she had thought that she would ever use the tactic, especially when trying to understand a man such as Erik.
Had Erik been in the forces too? It was certainly a thought to mull over. Why else would a cultured man such as him be in Iran? Not to mention how he rescued Clarice from that situation, could have he been ordered to target that particular camp of men?
Yet, Erik said he had been a 'bad man' during that time. The vivid sense of darkness that clouded him that couldn't surely have been from a job where he had done good. Christine just knew it. But everyone could get PTSD from something like that, no matter what they did, so why did it feel wrong to picture Erik holding a gun and wearing military camo?
"Christine, why do you frown? Do you wish to visit elsewhere? Are you feeling ill?" Erik's worried voice broke her from her thoughts, and Christine looked to Erik, his blue eyes flickering over her in concern.
"I'm fine, I promise. I was just thinking," Christine explained, diverting off the path and with Erik's acquiescing nod, lead them to a bench for them to perch on.
Their new spot gave Christine a good view of the landmark from its side and she reached inside her little rucksack to retrieve her sketchpad, looking to the stiff-backed man beside her dubiously.
"If you want, I saw a low-key café in the shade over there," she pointed eastwards, "If you don't want to wait out here while I sketch,"
"And leave such a gem unattended?" Erik remarked, "Just waiting to be stolen by thieving hands? No, I do not think so, Christine,"
Shaking her head sadly, she thought, well I tried. If he gets bored, then it's not on me.
"Suit yourself, then. We will be here a while, you know," she intoned, laying her graphite set out beside her and selecting a hard-leaded pencil. Softer shading tones would be needed later, once she took the sketches to complete back in England. Then she could decide to photocopy them to paint, or finish off the sketches in charcoal, graphite, or pastels. She just needed a good sketch.
"I am perfectly content if you are, mon Cherie," Erik murmured, retrieving the leather-bound book she had spied earlier from…Somewhere…And began to read.
It had been an hour and a half before Christine felt Erik become slightly shifty; his fingers had begun playing a tune on his leg, keen ears tuned to every raised voice and laugh from tourists that walked around the tower. The book had been long forgotten in favour of a black rectangular device in his hands that sent a forbidden thrill through her. Erik had a phone!
Well of course he did, dummy. Why else would he give you a phone of your own if he didn't have one? It's too hard for me to peek over, he's shielding the screen from me.
Christine knew she needed at least another hour to even make a feasible sketch, at least one that she could feel somewhat pleased with. However, she felt the guilt ease when she saw a nearby shop with newspapers lined outside.
"Erik, I know you like reading the newspaper – but since you didn't have time this morning for it – and I still have a while before I can finish, I can see there's a shop over there where you could buy one, if you're bored?"
He raised his head and she noticed that he had a perfect side profile with his 'face' on, "You believe me bored?" he was smiling, but she couldn't tell if it was genuine.
She shrugged, "You get impatient easily in crowds and you like reading the newspaper, I thought it might make you feel less self-conscious," she gazed at the horizon, "Whenever I read in the morning before school started, I used to bring in the biggest book I could find so that no one had to look at me when they passed by me in the hallway,"
"A shielding device," Erik mused.
"I guess, yeah," she mumbled.
He was silent for another moment and when Christine had given up waiting for a definite answer to her proposal, he looked up from his phone, asking carefully, "If I were to purchase a newspaper, Christine, do you suppose that you would wait for me here?"
A flush of relief ran through her, there was a detectable layer to his words hidden beneath the surface. He wasn't threatening her! He was actually just…'checking' with her that she wouldn't run away.
He's finally trusting me. She almost felt honoured. Another step towards – towards – something good between them. And it felt amazing. A bubbling pit of excitement buried deep, bursting forth. There was potential. As if she had found a valuable metal in a mine suddenly worth saving.
She nodded, aware not to be too eager as not to arouse his suspicions and replied in the same tone, "I'll stay here, draw and not leave the bench," she raised her eyes to him in a casual manner.
The tense air around Erik deflated, "Good, I am pleased to hear it," he seemed like he was about to say something however he decided against it, swallowing away the words. Rising abruptly, not meeting her eyes as he stood, he gave her one last glance.
It was a heart-breaking plead.
Don't.
Clarice's mouthed word to her appeared in her mind and abruptly, Christine understood what the maid had meant.
Don't break him.
With a tiny almost-imperceptible nod, Christine watched as Erik turned, his smooth gait forced as he headed towards the stand. He did not look back at her, yet Christine felt his eyes even so.
The breeze that the day had brought whispered against his face, the layer of 'skin' that covered his own that made him able to walk among the living, rather than hide among the crypts of the dead as a fellow comrade. A peculiar sensation, indeed, for a so called 'living corpse' to masquerade as one of the living, having the unnerving stares of the tourists pass, glance back and move onwards as an attempt of civility.
It was with much effort he stopped his lip curling in a sneer.
Even if one mimicked perfection, the mundane creatures around him sensed his dangerous aura, many shuffling away as he passed, wary of the predator that stalked in their midst. Perhaps the ghastly being known as 'God' laughed above, marking his passage with glee, as Erik's stature and black-clad figure browsed the newspapers, eyes scanning across the outrageous titles and discarding the more non-sensical claims.
Was Erik ever going to be able to live as another? A doting wife, who would ease the suspicious stares, beam up at him, incandescent with loveliness that made all males around grind their teeth in envy, unable to understand what damnably lucky man he was, to have Christine all to himself. To call his own – though Christine would likely bristle at the implication. Call him 'old fashioned', he would never give up the dream of having Christine in his arms, place a delicate and oh so sweet kiss on her forehead and whisper softly, 'My Christine'. And perhaps, for her to inch closer and whisper between shared breaths, 'My Erik'.
Gritting his teeth, he fought down the odd swell of his heart, unable to stop how it clenched like a vice at the picture of Christine in white. Careful digits selected the least offending article and brought it inside to the shop clerk, of whom was doing his best not to cower under his gaze.
You should fear my true colours, boy. Many times these eyes have been the last thing a man sees before their meeting with a different kind of devil.
Not bothering to thank the trembling lad, he stalked out of the quaint tourist boutique, irate with nothing and everything, the torturous space that was between him and Christine weighing on his mind.
Oh! To think that he could now leave her stranded on bench in the middle of Paris, and to know that he could meet an empty seat bewildered him, left a fluttering space where his heart should be – the terror of the fact that she could choose to run and that there was a very near possibility that – that – that –
That Christine was still waiting for him there, just as he had left her.
And Erik contemplated if there was a possibility to love another more than life itself.
They were the picture of domesticity; a couple, the man reading a newspaper and one expertly sketching the tower above – he wanted to have someone record the image – have a damnable camera to take the picture, of them, of her, in perfect harmony of the world around them! He, a monster, her a beauty, in their perfect séance in front of Paris's pride and joy. Could it be any more perfect? Reality had taken a leap and a bound closer to his dream.
How much more could he describe ecstasy, when each time it soared higher and higher than before?
It was a high that never ended.
It was with a concealed light in Erik's eyes, that he led her towards the tower, a nauseating swirl of dread and excitement leaving her vaguely breathless. Perhaps it was the spring in his step she had not witnessed before, or the soft way his hand held hers, that made her wonder if this was a fragment of love that had escaped his usually stone-like demeanour. Why was it that Paris had been the instigator of such behaviour?
A smile tugged at her lips, an illicit piece of wonder that refused to leave and grew as they neared the arching monolith. There was a winding line (not an uncommon sight in Paris), that led from a red lift that they made their way to. Christine was hardly surprised that with a flash, and his eloquent voice that they bypassed the waiting line, waiting a moment for the current elevator to unload its passengers and be shepherded on themselves. Silence reigned, footsteps ringing as they stepped onto metal. Though the ride was smooth while ascending, Christine had to crane her head to see the inside of the hollow that they rose through.
Her shadow remained quiet, not bothering to glance outside to see the view, his attention upon her.
Though it had not lost its potency, its threat had long receded. It had become a mere…Observation.
Am I really that fascinating, Erik? I don't understand.
When her eyes flittered to his, a thing of habit when one stares at you, Christine took the plunge and offered him a smile. No, not large, but not unnoticeable.
Erik's eyes shimmered, despite how his head only titled fractionally in response. The drumming of his fingers, however, never ceased.
"I wish you could share this with me," Christine murmured to the plate, glistening in delectable treats that finished off their – or rather her – meal. With the ambiance of the restaurant, named 'Le Jules Verne', with glistening tables, overlooking the Palais du Trocadéro and tickling laughter, it was dream-like. Surreal. As if it was some half-fantasy she had planned with Meg during their French class. But here she was, sitting opposite the man which held everything in his palms and enjoying all of it, trying to rid herself of the nagging guilt.
And who thinks you're dead? Murdered? And God knows what else? Here you are, sitting opposite the man who had made this happen, indulging in his dream without reproach! Shame on you, Christine Daae!
With an iron fist, she shoved it away, the thought threatening to disrupt the tranquillity she had felt that morning.
Isn't it better for them to think you're dead, than to know that you're enjoying the things given to you by your supposed 'kidnapper'?
How would he feel? A stone sank to the pit of her stomach.
Would he consider this to be a betrayal? Will he think that you've become hypnotised to his bidding?
"Am I not already sharing this with you?" Erik's voice brought her back to reality, causing Christine's frown-marred face to clear. The tint of embarrassment stung her cheeks as she realised her momentary 'absence' had not been unnoticed by her companion, who's eyes watched her with lingering concern.
She shrugged, holding back her retort and choosing to indulge with another spoonful of her dish.
A forkful of pastry melted on her tongue, the crisp apple filling her taste buds, a following hint of cinnamon and oh, finally some gloriously made cream. Sinfully good, too many calories really, but with this desert, Christine was not in a state of mind to care.
Why should she? She was free to do as she liked and she was going to enjoy this in peace!
"Why have you not told me before that you enjoy apple tarte?" Erik sounded miffed. Faint amusement trickled through her.
With a smile curling the edges of her lips, she took another mouthful, savouring the taste. A clink of metal scraping along china and the spoon was leaden once more.
Erik recoiled as the spoon arrived near the pursed lips of his 'mouth', "What on earth are you attempting, Christine?" His eyes darted to the public around them, who paid them no mind.
She pouted, batting her eyelashes playfully, "Come on, try a bit. It's really lovely, I'm sure you'll enjoy it. You never eat anything nice,"
The blue eyes narrowed, regarding the spoon as if it were an animal ready to strike, "I rarely eat. It is a matter of hunger, rather than lack of quality sustenance,"
The poor man sounded affronted.
"Please? For your Christine?" she pulled at her lip with her teeth, eyes pleading.
Erik took in a sharp inhalation; fingers clenched into two trembling fists and he turned his head away with a pained jerk.
Christine kept the spoon in the air, wavering slightly as her arm began to ache, fervently hoping he'd take the bite. She did not feel the sting of rejection, how could she?
Just when her arm was twinging a bit too painfully, threatening cramp and her pride could still be salvaged if she took the spoon back now, two lips hovered briefly, then lowered in swallowing the bite.
Did he even chew that?
A dazzled smile she inadvertently wore when she met his eyes once more, the sight of the blue irises and slightly slack-jawed expression enough for her to grin – no beam.
There! There was that fluttering feeling of joy, that sparkling glow of accomplishment, the knowledge of progress made and something good.
What was this feeling?
No matter what it is, it is good.
Christine smiled gingerly, likening the way he had eaten from the spoon as a bird poke its head out and would down a morsel, "Wasn't as bad as you thought, huh?"
Erik had returned to his neutral pose: reclining slightly upon his seat like a lithe panther, a hand resting on the table cloth tapping out melodies, the constant swerve of his gaze when they were in a public environment, despite being located in a corner, surveying for danger. Casual, oh so casual but ready to spring, alert for attackers. Another one of his graceful illusions, Christine had found.
"I suppose it was not truly awful," he replied, nonchalantly. Christine managed to hide her grin behind a look of a smugly raised eyebrow.
"Fine, fine, don't admit defeat," she shrugged just as coolly, a knowing look in her eye that hinted at amusement, "But it would be a shame if I had to leave some of this, knowing that I won't have any room for dinner…"
Erik twitched, signalling to a waiter to come over with the bill and 'another slice of the apple tarte to go, post-haste'.
The man opposite her ignored her widening grin, electing to gaze out of the window instead, as he slid his card into the machine.
It was a day of surprises and pre-planned occasions, it appeared, as once they departed from the restaurant, Erik had yet another destination on his mind. Christine assumed he'd arranged the car to be there for them, taking the brief time she'd zipped to the toilet (asking for directions from one waiter with her passable French), to book travel.
To her astonishment, the car pulled over outside a shop that held crystals, rubies, amethyst, sapphires on display – the sight pulling at her feminine sensibilities. The rest of the avenue was lined with boutiques.
"What are we doing here?" she questioned, once they'd paid their fare and had turned to the shop in front of them.
"You shall see," Erik replied, holding the door open for her to enter.
The shop itself was something Christine had only ever glimpsed in dreams of pretend – thinking if she had money that she'd be able to buy something for Meg and herself. Get lost in a moment hoping that they came from royalty.
Holy smokes, Meg's voice sounded in her head. It was an apt expression of her best friend, who without a doubt, would have said such a thing had she been there too.
Christine felt afraid to be amongst such crystals, that she would walk into something and cause a catastrophe or to even dirty a jewelled item with her gaze and unworthy fingers. Erik, he walked among the elite. Raoul, yes, he would look right at home with such finery. Not her. Not the slob and broke college student. Not the foreigner who would look out of place with more than a charm bracelet on one hand and a homemade headband.
The insane urge to run out of the shop and the jeering gazes of the staff was stilled by the gentle pressure on the small of her back.
"You are not inferior to them, Christine. Do not let yourself be daunted by the finery you deserve as much as those who sell it," Erik's voice sounded in her head, reassurance in every nuance of his tone.
How did he understand?
"You are beautiful, my dear. A swan amongst the rabble; allow me the honour of clothing you in the stones that will only add to your radiance," There it was again. How? How did he know?
The look she gave him was one of gratitude, eyes trying not to shimmer. She found she didn't want to leave his protection, that careful stride and guiding arm, which did not once desert her, as they waded through the other customers.
Christine watched the clerk wrapped up a beautiful tanzanite ring, necklace and earing set to the woman in front and her eyes tried not to bulge at the price that swam across the till's screen.
"The darker blue the stone is, the more expensive it becomes," Erik explained in his gentle tone, warming the air as they waited for their turn, "The cheapest pieces are almost white with a bare hint of blue, but it is still exceedingly expensive due to the fact that the stone has a limited supply,"
"Limited supply?"
Erik gave a nod, "Indeed, the stone itself is what is called a generational stone, where there is only one source in the world where it is located and mined. Generational: as in that it will be around for a generation,"
"Where is it found?" she looked up at him, curiously.
"It is from Tanzania. To be precise, Mount Kilimanjaro,"
Christine blinked, "Tanzania, as in where the Tasmanian Devil comes from?" It seemed her watching of Looney Toons when she was younger had shown its usefulness now.
Erik smiled, his lips pursing in a way that aimed to conceal amusement, "Quite so. It is situated on the continent of Africa, my dear,"
"I know that," Christine muttered.
Erik wisely said nothing more about her geographical knowledge and continued, "What makes it a better industry, some might say, is that the government owns the production of the stones, so the profit is able to benefit the community and those who live there,"
Christine raised an eyebrow, "I had no idea. It's a shame its only a generational stone then," she frowned, "That means those people will only benefit from the profit as long there is stone to mine,"
"That is the way of things, Christine. Goodness is brief,"
"But it shouldn't be. Not all of it has to be," her mouth pursed in a pout.
Erik sighed softly, "Don't ever change, Christine," the thumb against her back stroked down once – an electric tingle made her shudder and abruptly, the hand left her back.
Part of her mourned the loss of it.
Their wait was finally over as the lady left, looking rather pleased with herself.
A petite blonde with pristine-white teeth greeted them as they stepped forward.
Are pearly-white teeth a requirement here when looking for staff? Her mind scoffed.
"How can I help you today, Monsieur?" the French flowed off her tongue like water.
French suited beautiful girls.
"I believe there is a reservation under Claudin," Erik smoothly replied, his tenor entrancing as a glazed look entered the woman's eyes.
Perhaps French also suited beautiful voices.
"Please wait just a moment," the lady smiled, enchanted and Christine realised the danger of his voice with a new understanding.
Had he done the same with her? Inwardly, Christine shook her head. She was not some dazed muppet around him, no thoughts within her head. Something eased inside her at the revelation.
Christine watched as the lady spoke to another, a man with round glasses who reminded her of a wizened ferret, and he said in a clear voice, "We are closing now for an hour, please make your leave if you are not purchasing any jewellery,"
Frowning, Christine turned to the exit before a gentle hand stayed her movement, "Not us, dear,"
She gave him a questioning look, but said nothing, as the rest of the public filed towards the exit with peeved complaints and befuddled gazes.
At last, the shop was empty, bar the staff and themselves. The gentleman who had made the announcement – of whom she assumed was the manager – came behind the glass counter and gazed at them appraisingly.
"Now, what are we looking for today?"
"The finest rubies you have to offer, Monsieur," Erik turned to her, lips curling ever so slightly, "I believe you have no suitable necklace for that rouge-coloured dress of yours, my darling,"
My darling? Since when did he say that to me in public! But…He says it so…So…Charmingly. I can't refuse the look in his eyes.
His warmth fell around her like a soft blanket as she gave a shy smile to the jeweller, "Yes, I would like a necklace, please,"
I'll play along, if Erik wants me to.
The receiving look of passing wonderment was enough to steal the breath from her.
Now knowing what they were looking for, the jeweller grinned and led them to a display, showcasing the rubies on offer. An 'ahh' of admiration left her, knowing these were the real things, the crystals that only the impossibly elite could afford.
Guilt wormed through her.
"Christine, you must realise that the same rule applies from yesterday. Do not hesitate. Those children will suffer more if you don't pick anything,"
Her eyes flicked up to the shadow beside her, who displayed no characteristic that he had just spoken directly into her mind and swallowed back the chagrined retort. That stubborn, stubborn man.
Heart aching with an emotion akin to tenderness, Christine left his side to peer closer at the necklaces, willing her eyes away from the price. If she was going to chose something now, it would be for her.
It was unnervingly odd to feel the cold metal chain be placed around her neck, knowing that the pendant was worth more than anything else that'd she would ever own.
By the third necklace, Christine was almost sure that rubies didn't suit her, when Erik made a suggestion, "Perhaps, my dear, you should try those with a gold chain,"
His words were aimed at the older man and he jumped to attention, "Of course, Monsieur. Right away. I shall retrieve one,"
With them left alone, as the man fished a chain from another display, Christine turned to Erik with worried eyes, "Am I doing alright? I have no idea what the etiquette is with trying on jewellery like this," she shrugged, mumbling to the floor.
"You are doing splendidly, Christine. There is no need to fear," A hand rose and she noted a faint tremble in them. Her heart leapt as the leather briefly rested on her lip, "And please, leave your poor lip alone,"
Teeth released lip and she smiled faintly, "Duly noted, Monsieur,"
Their brief interlude was disrupted with the man bumbling back with a golden chain strung on his fingers, "Mademoiselle?" he offered the chain to her along with the current pendant.
Truly, Erik's suggestion of a different chain was the miracle she had needed; the warmth of the gold was a kinder hue against her skin. In the end, with Erik's hidden urging, she discarded the squarer pendants in favour of a tear-drop shaped ruby, which would nestle perfectly with the V-neckline of the dress. The stone itself was about the size of her thumbnail, not too flashy, but not unnoticeable.
Christine almost crowed in delight as it settled against her skin and Erik's eyes shone, "I believe we have found a winner," he murmured.
She beamed, unable to help herself admire it in the mirror, only imagining how well it would go with the dress!
"Thank you," unable to reach his hand without ensuing awkwardness, Christine stepped over to him and gave him a quick squeeze around the waist. Part of her knew that had her Papa seen him, he would have done his best to fatten him up! He really was too thin.
Would you have liked my necklace too, Papa?
Her embrace had been too quick for her to notice the glazed look that danced in Erik's eyes as he paid, casting adoring inconspicuous looks at her all the while. He sent her out to the car to wait, as the jeweller bagged up the necklace, a knowing look in his eye and a grin on his lips.
The rest of the shopping trip passed by in a blur and it was only when they arrived back at the hotel that Christine realised Erik had been speaking to her.
"Christine, do pay attention. We are on a tight schedule today," his clipped tone softened as she blinked wearily up at him. He paused, eyes trailing down her curls with such longing that it made her heart ache.
He only wants a touch. I can't see any harm.
Forcing herself to relax, Christine inclined her head slightly and her hair brushed against his outstretched fingers. Erik inhaled, shuddering, as her eyes closed. Digits as gentle as stroking a bird's wing, traced her ringlets, awe and reverence in every brush.
Heavenly. It was heavenly. Nothing else could compare.
"Oh Christine," he half-moaned, half-sighed, as if he was enjoying it as much as she. Then there was a dancing touch, leading her head, tilting it upwards and oh – it was like the music. The forbidden burning music, slithering and pressing, caressing her chin, an artist cataloguing each line, wanting to see from every angle, as if it was going to coax music out of her. The faint brush of it over the bow of her lip, reaching higher to swipe across her cheek – and
"Christine, we leave in half an hour,"
His voice shattered the illusion, the only evidence of a touch the burning sensation left, tingling along the lines of her skin, a mockery of something dazzling and breath-stealing. And oh, how she desired it all.
"What?" she blinked, hard, unable to remember if they had been speaking, or walking, heart-hammering in a terribly out of place way.
Erik gave a noise of amusement, "My dear, we leave for the matinée in half an hour. Wear your best," a leather hand held out a velvet box, black as midnight, "Do not loose this, especially since we have just purchased it. It would be rather disgruntling,"
Ah! He means the necklace.
"Only half an hour?" Christine all but exclaimed, "But I won't be able to control my hair in –"
"Christine," Erik interrupted, calming her with a wave of his hand, "Clarice has already drawn you a bath and will help you prepare. Panicking will not be productive," he placed the box in her hands, eyeing her carefully, "You look beautiful, in no matter what garb you wear," he paused for emphasis, "..Nor what state your hair decides to be,"
Christine gave a weak chuckle at his attempt at humour, and released a pent-up breath, "Alright. Alright. I'm fine, just fine,"
"Indeed," Erik swiped their hotel room open and held the door for her, like a true gentleman. Christine gave a smile of thanks, stepping inside and hurrying to her own set of rooms, "See you in thirty!"
The doors slammed shut before Erik had time to reply.
A vision, swirling in the kiss of a rose and skin of porcelain. Nevermore angelical, nevermore desirable – a fervent need to claim and claim again speared through the ragged organ within. Oh, those curling lips, painted with innocent ruby. Aphrodite rising from the foam, red rippling around her, unknowing of their bewitching powers on the eyes of the humble godless creatures of flesh and bone. Peerless, a sort of eternal youth sparkling in those once dead dead eyes, now rich in laughter. Parchment filled with his blood would not be enough to site the music that danced in her veins. All that he knew was that it was his music. And such, for a humble creature was he, daring to breach the mortal confines of his hubris, was enough.
Just a touch, just a touch, of his ange, his beauty -
"Mon petit papillon," his whisper laced the air, rasping and musical.
And her, a ray of light, lips spreading, eyes twinkling, his love, his life.
"What did you say?" her breathy tones so shy, so tentative. Ah! She was flustered, there was that oh so pretty blush he had long since admired.
Mine, mine, mine. Oh Christine, don't you know? Don't you feel? Yes, yes you do.
And there, just as Erik had foreseen the dazzling stone complimenting every inch of her skin – no, no, no further Erik – and how smooth the gown was, that glowing perfection, figure complimented in every form.
Oh, Erik has committed too much treachery against you, Christine. Mind, body and soul, yet he cannot regret such when you smile for him. Only for him, not for other men, other boys. Love – this is what has brought us here. Love will do so again. And again. Until there will be no other gaze to return but mine, my dearest little butterfly.
And I love you so.
More than I can ever possibly convey, salvation seems so paltry a word, when all I wish is to keep you in my arms. Forevermore.
And why is there such a big fear that you wish so, too? No, but I read it wrong, of course. But isn't it not nice to imagine, Christine?
Let us pretend, Christine. Let us pretend, tonight.
It had been Clarice to push her out of those doors, both little hands came to be quite the force! Still, the rushed departure had been worth every second of soaking in the rapture that was Erik's expression. He was statuesque; he hadn't moved a muscle in what felt like an ever-stretching second, only French tumbling from his lips as a spoken blessing.
Though half her curls were placed in a precarious up-do that Clarice had been insistent on, the other half let down to dry naturally into their ringlets, the lipstick that Christine had baulked at, there was something magical about feeling the jewel rest 'just right', the golden chain cool, but quickly warming. Feet clad in matching red sandals (they had appeared from nowhere!) and a sparkling black clutch, the only last thing had been her fussing in the mirror.
Clarice had quickly sorted that out for her.
"So," she breathed, trying to regain her thoughts, "Are we going?"
"Going?" Erik echoed, velvet tones and seeking eyes a betraying a sparkling sort energy that dizzied her, before suddenly it was shuttered back, back, back. A veneer of control made him offer a hand to her, the faint tremble the only remnant of the man caged behind those walls.
For the first time, there was a surge of anger. I want to break those damn walls! I want to see who he is without them. Not the lost boy, no, the man struggling to break free.
The man with amber eyes.
"Yes, you are correct, we should be going if we are to be on time," he beckoned her, and tentatively her hand went to rest on the crook of his arm.
By now, it should have been familiar action to her, but as the afternoon descended and after a journey through Paris, it felt more concrete, more real.
And she realised, if she didn't think, it wasn't as scary as before.
Hello, my beauties, lovelies and all sorts of people from the planet Zog. (Seriously, it IS a real place…In my imagination.) Hey, who doesn't love arguing about semantics?
However, I am aware it is about time I updated! Who'd have thought my summer would be so BUSY! Yikes. Not to mention my wrists/hands were out of action for at least three weeks? Just been overstraining them. I haven't looked at my computer in that length of time – strange. I have been working on a couple of side projects – mostly drafts – to recharge my Falling Petals muses, they were tired too! I make no promises on whether you'd ever get to see said side projects. Haha!
I just seriously want to thank you all for such BE-A-UTIFUL feedback and reviews for last chapter, I was honoured to have such kind words and praise. Just a big THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed, read and continues to read Falling Petals!
Specifically, my reviewers: Batty Dings, HoursOfMazenderan, GothicLolitaxo, Qtkittee, cmisselt98, TheTenthMuseSappho and lastly, but not least, Laurenvbellado.
To Batty D - Exactly, you totally just epitomised what and why his eyes are so important! They are the doorways to the soul, and his is always going to be unique! I am so happy you enjoyed the chapter!
To HoursofMazenderan - You leave some of the most inspiring comments! You are very perceptive and really seem to understand what Christine is going through, I'm so glad all of that came through and for saying as much! 'Just letting herself feel' is very apt - it's a perfect summarisation! :D Aw, it makes my heart to hear that you look forward to Falling Petals every month! My apologies on the lateness of this chapter! Thanks for your continued support!
To GothicLolitaxo - My dear, thank you for your wonderful review! Hehe Yes, Erik finding his 'confidence' in that is something I really wanted to develop in this - that slow, psychological voice keep saying give in, give in, give in - yet not trying to master her spirit. It's such a balance between too much and too little! And I'm glad having Clarice's part has helped show that 3D aspect, that 'other side of the story' to him. Because, as much as Erik doesn't know some societal boundaries, he's not heartless and deep down, will never be. I like your phrasing: 'good manipulation' and 'becomes more human' because they kinda go hand in hand! :D Thank you for commenting!
To Qtkittee - I think that Erik is such sweet torture at times, knowing what he might feel, and wants, so intensely, just mind blowing. You definitely get that! You inspired me to keep my mind open to perspectives, so thank you ;D I hoped his reaction to Christine in her dress and outfit was enough to tug you. Not to mention the rest of the fluff! Thanks for your consistent and lovely reviews! :D
To cmisselt98 - Thank you! Your kind words are just so motivating! So lovely to know that you liked hearing about Clarice! Considering this story has a lot of tension and built-up suspense, it is very reassuring to hear that it's going well! I'm sure you're dying for the big blowout! I won't - can't - give away any spoilers - but I must say, ;)
To TheTenthMuseSappho - I must say, I do try and squeeze in all the good stuff! ;P Thank you for your beautiful and chunky review for me to gobble up like a goblin, I am so pleased you worked out the Greek - I knew you would haha! I won't abandon the kind Daroga, he is too much fun! And yes, it is an adventure working out how an Erik would minimise and maximise his opportunities with travel arrangements, but with protection and keeping Christine in his little bubble, in a modern scenario, no less! I think Meg can be a great character by herself, but is not to be underestimated in being a nice source for light humour amidst the more serious parts of Falling Petals! I am glad that those little bits that flesh it out, still gives you the feels, because it's sometimes knowing the 'direction', but also knowing how to get there that make the story change and divert paths a little! Since I've been writing this thing for nearly a year now (woot woot), I have been trying my best to keep the contingency so I'm glad the small details keep it smooth too! :D All will be revealed with the briefcase in due time mhahaha. Christine and Clarice's relationship is a very unique one, and it's been very interesting to write it, and how they've progressed! And, it's *always* a delight to read your reviews! ;)
To Laurenvbellado - You're so kind! Thank you! I am happy that Clarice surprised you, she's one interesting gal ;P and that this progression feels natural! Christine and Erik have a dynamic that makes it easy to write them progressing, but I am much more pleased that to a reader, it works just as well! :D I hope this chapter did the same! Thank you for commenting, as always!
Now...For those who are super Phans, you may have noticed a sneaky reference to another Phantom in this chappie ;)
But, I gave another nod to Leroux in this chapter, if you hadn't noticed already. Since Raoul isn't in the Navy, I wanted to at least keep some of his family within that sort of background/influence as having a parent (specifically his father), in the forces can explain many things for why Raoul is the way he is. Having his Dad in the forces keeps the military tone I had initially imagined his father having. Also name meaning time!
Pierre is French form of Latin Petrus, meaning "rock, stone." (info taken from various websites :)
Give a guess why Raoul's dad is called that :P
I love symbolism ahhhhh.
I also found a quote that applies to our mystery amber-eyed man!
'I've found a natural drug for all my panic, anxiety and anger. It's his voice. It's him.'
J.R Rogue
Honestly, gotta love conversations about stones :D I don't specialise in them, but geology is a fascinating subject. – I now sound like a balding middle-aged man, who owns a place in some university and a musty office – but really, I just like knowing history of things :P (and sparkly things that go in jewellery). Hope I educated you a bit in the history of Tanzanite, it really is such a pretty stone! My precious…Now I just sound like Golem – oh man.
Anyway, hope you're enjoying summer, wherever you are! There's lots more to go!
Merci,
Enigma