A/N: Mmmmk, First of all, I need to totally thank my beta, Emilie for everything! She totally gave me this idea to make this story oooohhh so awesome! So, thanks so much for being awesome, and thank you to everyone else who reviewed! It means SO much! First off,
MyDarkAngelErik- well, I'm happy that you AND Erik enjoy it::gasp: u gave up cookies? Wow, I could NEVER do that!
Free2bfroody- Yes! I made someone do the girly scream::dances: well, you're very welcome! Lol
Twinkle22- Thank you so much, you by far have some of the most encouraging words and I thank you for sticking with my story since chapter one!
Jamea- Hey, I think my mom has that same piece of scenery you mentioned in our bedroom! Freaky...lol
thank you to everyone else! And now, please enjoy, Chapter 15!
Chapter 15:The Proposal
Erik had been planning to ask her since the day before, and for a long while, he had been completely terrified of what her answer would be. Sure, she was passionate enough with him, but for all he knew, she might be afraid of commitment. Why not? After all, he was, too. Although, he had to admit, he had been more afraid of having to risk Christine breaking his heart again than commitment itself. But now, seeing Christine's expression, he was no longer apprehensive in the least.
He held the ring out before him, the same ring Raoul had given her, and struggled to keep a composed facade. He knew Christine could sense his nervousness, and he only hoped it wouldn't make Christine doubt his desire to marry her. As his hands trembled and he struggled to calm his breathing, Christine's eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect 'o' of surprise. She knew what was coming, and Erik only hoped he could make it through this without falter. He closed his eyes and took one last steadying breath, before opening his eyes and locking them on Christine's. There were tears of happiness already welling up in her eyes, and Erik felt all uneasiness seep from his body. Finally, feeling assured, he worked up the courage to ask what he had planned to from the very start.
"Christine, will you marry me?" The tension in the room was suffocating as Erik waited for Christine's response, and he completely forgot about the little old shopkeeper who was watching the whole affair silently with pure enjoyment. Christine closed her eyes and the tears fell down her cheeks, and for a moment Erik was sure she would reject him. He clenched his jaw to fight the urge to beg and plead with her, and forced himself to remain silent. Then, Christine started to laugh. It was the purest, most beautiful sound Erik had ever heard, and he closed his eyes in sheer bliss.
The next thing he knew, Christine's arms were around his neck, the edges of her shopping bags brushing his ear, and she was burying her curly head in Erik's shoulder. Caught completely off-guard, he asked stubbornly, "So, does that mean yes?" Christine laughed again, and Erik wondered if it were possible for a person to die of joy. Christine gave an enthusiastic "yes!", before burying her head in Erik's shoulder once more.
Erik wrapped his arms around her torso, basking in the warmth of both Christine's answer and her body. Feeling the tears come to his own eyes, he pressed his forehead to hers, gazing into her glistening eyes as if trying to discover if her answer had been true. Seeing only pure rapture in those ocean-blue eyes, he pressed a kiss to her lips, her hair, her cheeks, until Christine playfully pushed his face away.
"Erik, if you keep that up, you'll be too exhausted to help plan the wedding!" Erik couldn't help but laugh himself, and he could hardly remember a time when he had done so out of joy. Usually, he only laughed out of pure murderous delight, or perhaps scornful laughter. But now, he felt nothing but bliss. Sheer, unadulterated bliss. Sighing in contentment, he dragged himself and Christine up from the floor, never once breaking their embrace. He pulled back only enough to lightly take her left hand. He looked into her eyes for consent, and, satisfied that this was what she wanted, he slipped the ring onto her ring finger.
She gazed at it in captivated delighted, running her thumb over the gold band and the solitary glittering stone. Her blue eyes glimmered and her lips curled into a delicate smile as her mind drifted into some private daydream. Erik didn't dare interrupt her own intimate musings, as he was having his own as he studied her, noticing the way her skin seemed more radiant than it had been moments before, and the way her fingers trembled as they continued to fondle the precious band.
Sucking in a trembling breath, she finally broke out of her reverie and turned to look at the old shopkeeper, who was still watching them as she would watch a romantic opera. Seeing that she had been caught observing, she averted her gaze and gave a feeble attempt to appear to have been straightening the wedding rings in their silk cases. Christine seemed unable to stop smiling. Walking up to the counter, she addressed the woman. "Madame, I would appreciate it if you did not speak of your seeing us here today, for I am rather. . .known, I guess I should say, in Paris, and I would not like it to get out that I am going to be married. I want it to be a small, intimate wedding."
As she said this, she walked back over to Erik and intertwined her fingers with his. The old woman looked confused for a moment, and Christine and Erik both realized they had nothing to worry about anyway, since the old woman probably never even left her shop, so how would she know about the happenings at an Opera House? She hardly seemed to notice Erik had a mask! After the old woman gave a slight nod, Christine looked back up at Erik who looked down at her with adoration, and she leaned up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Let's go," she whispered.
Erik nodded, giving her hand a light squeeze before walking towards the door. He was trying to keep the goofy grin from his face as he pushed the door open, as it reminded him too much of the Vicomte's own expression. So this is how he felt when Christine accepted his engagement, he thought with a grimace. No, no negative thoughts. Today, and forever after, Christine will be mine. He looked down at his fiancé, who was no longer smiling, but seemed to be in deep thought. Erik started to question her, but stopped as she leaned into him as they walked. Realizing she was probably already stressing about the wedding, he decided to ease the mood.
"Let's go to that café I told you about, Café Louis-Philippe. Would you like that?"
Christine continued to stare ahead, and Erik saw her murmuring things under her breath as if having a conversation with herself. With slight amusement, he repeated his question, finally snapping her from her silent contemplation. She looked up at him in confusion, her mouth slightly open, before nodding in consent. Erik smiled down at her, before leaning down to press a kiss to her temple. "Relax, my Angel," he whispered into her ear, lightly touching his lips to the flesh as he spoke. Christine shivered slightly under the warmth of his breath, and this small intimate touch seemed to convince her to stop stressing.
As they continued walking, Erik kept to the shadows, and Christine found herself growing irritated with his foolish insecurities. Grasping his hand in hers, she pulled him to her side as they approached the café. He seemed mildly stunned at her aggressiveness, but quickly covered his surprise with a childish glare. He tore his hand from Christine's and folded his hands across his chest. He quirked his eyebrow at Christine, as if daring her to do it again. She gave an exasperated cry, before stepping into the café without him after quickly spitting, "You childish man! Won't you ever overcome your insecurities?" At first, Erik had been a little hurt, and stayed outside the café for a moment as if proving he was not the type to come crawling back after being insulted. He soon started to feel very lonely, which was a great surprise to him, since for most of his life, he had strived for a life of solitude.
But now, he was greatly aching for his fiancé after not even five minutes without her, and, groaning in defeat, he climbed the steps and entered into the dimly lit café to find Christine.
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As their carriage pulled to a stop in front of their former home, Meg was surprised to find how little of the Opera House appeared changed. There was no evidence of the fire that had taken place months before, except for the blackened walls and shattered windows of the higher stories of the Opera House.
Meg had been silent through the whole trip, both anxious about seeing her home again, as well as curious as to why the two adults accompanying her were behaving so strangely.
Meg knew her mother held a slight dislike of the Vicomte, even though Meg found him rather handsome, but she thought she would at least have tried to strike up a conversation with him. Or, at least, that the Vicomte would talk to her. He was usually such a cheery man, always a charmer and never at a loss for words. That was one of the things that attracted Meg to him. And Christine, too, no doubt. Meg blushed as she remembered that this was her best friend's fiancé, and he harbored no interest in her anyway.
Raoul seemed unusually nervous through the whole of their journey, constantly checking out the windows, looking down at his pocket watch, or simply wringing the fabric of his dress coat with his hands. Meg studied him curiously as he sat across from her, as she pretended to be inspecting the interior of the carriage, and at one point, Raoul's eyes locked on hers, and she immediately dropped her eyes as a blush came to her cheeks. What could be wrong with him? Is he that anxious to find Christine?
Meg continued to ponder until they reached their stop, when Meg giddily reached across her mother's lap to open the carriage door. She leapt out, landing gracefully on the stone sidewalk thanks to years in the ballet chorus. She held the door open for her mother and the Vicomte, and when they were out, she reached back inside to retrieve her bags, before slamming the door shut. The Vicomte gave the driver instructions to return to his estate after retrieving Madame Giry's bags from the back, before turning to the ladies. Meg's mother studied him as he led them up the steps, and watched with a raised eyebrow as he fished in his pocket for the key. "Where are the managers? Surely they would be here?" She raised a hand to shield the sun from her view, and swept her eyes over the abandoned property. "I do not see their carriage, Monsieur."
Raoul seemed to be expecting this, for he quickly stated, "Oh, yes, well, they did not wish to stay here while the 'Opera Ghost' is still not found. They're terribly frightened of him, you know." Madame Giry nodded. She sensed that Raoul's story was a lie, but was in no mood to tell him so. Deciding to go along with it, she changed the subject. "So, they have received no word from Erik?" Raoul looked at her in confusion for a moment, before realizing who she was speaking of. "Oh, you mean that demon. No, there is. . there is still no sign of him." Raoul's mind briefly flashed to the police, and then to his brother. What would he be doing, then? Was he worried about him? Or had he simply given up and decided he had died? Were they even trying to find him?
"Monsieur?" Madame Giry's curt tone cut through his thoughts. "Yes, Madame? Oh, right." He blushed as he realized he had been standing there, motionless, while the Girys awaited to be admitted. Finally, he found the key, and thrust it into the large knob of the double doors. The key wouldn't turn. He blushed a deeper pink as he realized the door was unlocked, and he nonchalantly removed the key from the door and pushed it open. He glanced towards the Girys to find Meg observing him with curiosity, and a small bit of amusement. Raoul avoided her gaze, and kept his eyes downward.
He led them into the entryway of the Opera, and removed his jacket to place it on the hook beside the door. He turned to the Girys, who were observing their home with shock. He couldn't blame them for their surprise, the opera house was a disaster. The wallpaper on the walls was black and peeling, and a thick layer of dust coated everything. Meg noticed with disgust that the dust was disturbed by tiny paw prints that could only belong to that of a rat. Or several, for that matter. Meg shut her eyes against the sight, and turned to her mother.
"Maman, can we go to our room now?" Madame Giry had been observing everything with slitted eyes, a frown set upon her face. She turned towards her daughter after casting a suspicious glance towards the Vicomte, and nodded in agreement. "Yes, ma cherie, let us return to our dormitories." Meg rushed up the creaking stairs with her suitcases, careful to step around the collapsed step. As she disappeared at the top of the stairs, Madame Giry turned to Raoul with a hateful gleam in her eyes.
"Monsieur, I believe you told us the Opera House was under reconstruction. And yet," She gestured around her as she spoke. "I can see no signs that any reconstruction has taken place at all." Once again, Raoul had been expecting this. He started to speak, but Madame Giry stopped him with a raised hand. "Monsieur, spare me. You are a liar, and a terrible one at that. I will continue to stay, if only for the sake of my daughter, who is happy to be here despite the fact that it is NOT being repaired." And with that, she turned and started up the stairs, leaving a stunned Vicomte behind her.
Fortunately, the ballet dormitories were in better condition than the downstairs portion of the Opera House. The only sign there had been a fire were the cracks in the wall and the slight smell of smoke that hung about the room. Meg sighed in contentment as she fell upon her old bed, unsurprised that she had been able to distinguish her bunk from the other twenty or so beds that were exactly identical to hers. She closed her eyes for a moment, simply relishing in the feeling of being home, until she heard the door swing open and her mother enter. She sat up quickly from the bed, and turned to her mother, who was removing her coat.
"Maman?" She questioned, a slight pleading in her voice as if she were a small child begging to be given a treat. "Can we please go into town? Perhaps to the café? I would really like to see Paris again." Madame Giry looked at her daughter, and gave a small smile. In her mind, she breathed a sigh of relief. She had been frightened that Meg would run down to the cellars as soon as she stepped into the Opera House. "Of course child, put on your coat, and we'll go in a moment."
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Erik's eyes instantly adjusted to the loss of light as he stepped into the café, and he was momentarily struck by how beautiful the café was. There was a small jazz group playing light tunes in one corner, and every table was adorned with a white silk tablecloth, and a candelabra set in the middle of the table. He studied the way the ceiling rose to in an elegant arch in the middle of the room, and found himself amazed at the intricate and ornate designs and paintings decorating the plaster ceiling. The floor was made of a deep, rich wood that shined prettily in the light of the candles, and Erik temporarily forgot that he was supposed to be looking for Christine.
However, when his memory returned to him, he instantly spotted her, already seated in a corner of the café, as if she knew that Erik would not want to sit where he could easily be seen. She was studying her menu, her shopping bags on the floor beside her, and Erik noticed she was biting her bottom lip as she read over the various dishes, a habit which Erik had grown to adore. The candlelight made Christine even more alluring, adding an extra shine to her brown curls and making her eyes appear a darker blue. The candles added a deep, golden tone to her skin, making her appear every bit the same as a European goddess. His eyes fell upon the ring on her left hand, and his heart swelled. She would soon be his. His wife.
He walked towards her delicate form, and her eyes shot up to him as he seated himself across from her at the table, the shadows instantly enshrouding him. No one would be able to see him in the café, besides Christine. She shook her head at him, a small smile across her lips. Erik knew that his immature behavior had been forgiven. He picked up his own menu, quickly scanning through the French sweets, foreign coffees, and assorted other treats, and could not find anything he desired. He detested pastries and cakes with a passion. He set the menu to the side, deciding on black coffee, and turned his attention to Christine.
She was still studying her menu, her brows furrowed, but Erik was starting to suspect she wasn't thinking of food at all. Finally, feeling Erik's eyes upon her, she sighed and set down her menu. The waiter quickly came and took their orders, Christine deciding on hot tea, before rushing off to leave them in silence once more. Christine kept her eyes down-cast, as if deciding how to word something important. Finally, she opened her mouth slightly, and turned towards Erik. She was on the verge of speaking, but a wave of fright swept over her, and she closed her mouth again. She reached across the table and took Erik's hand, and Erik let her take it. Erik tried to ignore the warmth of her touch, taking a second to wonder if he would ever be able to be touched by Christine without feeling that same warmth course through him. He hoped to God that he wouldn't.
Finally, Christine turned pleading eyes to Erik, and stared deep into his own emerald eyes as if searching for something. Erik felt strangely exposed, and tried to shift his gaze. But Christine held fast, and Erik wondered if this is what Christine felt when he held her in his own powerful gaze. He never realized how vulnerable it made one feel. How did Christine seem to be so enraptured by it? Finally, Christine's voice broke through his thoughts.
"Erik, you have to go confess. To a priest."
Erik stiffened. His hand grew still underneath Christine's, and he drew it back from her grip as he looked at her in shock. Confess? Confess about what? Surely she didn't expect him to reveal the pains of his past to a preacher, and expect him to instantly be released of his sins? He scoffed, and Christine looked slightly hurt. He didn't let it make him feel guilty. He glared at her, burning his eyes into hers and once more capturing her soul and mind in his powerful gaze.
"Do you think," he seethed, hatred seeping from every word into her own soul, "that I would go to a preacher- in a church, Christine, for one- and confess every sin I've committed, and expect them to understand? Do you know how ludicrous that is, Christine? I'd be surprised if the priest doesn't order for me to be arrested! I know it is a Catholic tradition, but I am certainly not Catholic, and I refuse to become one. So no, I will not."
A fury rose in Christine's eyes, a fury he had never seen there before. "Erik! You must, or I will not be allowed to marry you! Who will marry us unless you have confessed? It is tradition that the spouse must confess all sins so that he can have God's blessings in marriage, otherwise the ceremony might as well be for nothing!" Erik gaze remained stony, and Christine forced her voice to lower. People were giving her strange looks all around the café, and Christine realized that she must look like she was talking to herself. Blushing, she turned back to Erik.
"If you do not confess, then I will not marry you." Erik's eyes widened in surprise. He had not expected that. Surely she wasn't serious! He drew farther back from her, crossing his arms over his chest as he had done outside the café. He studied the woman before him, and noticed she had indeed grown a great deal. He sighed in resignation, burying his head in his hands.
"No, Christine, I refuse to. I hardly believed you would marry me anyhow." Christine looked truly hurt at this, and Erik wished he could take the words back. She rose from her chair, and started to walk out until her eyes widened in shock. "Oh, no," she whispered, and Erik followed her gaze to two people who had just entered.
He felt his heart rate quicken in fear as Madame Giry and little Meg entered the café, and he shrank farther into the shadows so there were no chance that he would be spotted. Christine sank into her chair, turning her head towards the wall and squeezing her eyes shut as her lips began to move in a silent prayer. If they were spotted, everything was lost. Meg would babble on about how delighted she was that Christine was safe, until she noticed the ring glimmering on Christine's finger, and then she would notice the man hidden in the corner.
She dared not look towards Erik, for fear of giving away his presence. She couldn't think, not even to wonder about why Madame Giry and Meg were there in the first place, as her mind was too clouded by fear. After five tense minutes, Christine sneaked a glance around the café, and gave a sigh of relief as she spotted Meg and her mother at a table across the room, Meg seated with her back towards Christine. Looking towards Erik, she saw that he had re-emerged from the shadows, and was still studying her with an angry eye. Sighing, she took his hand. "Can we leave before we're spotted please?" Erik nodded, knowing he had no other choice. Standing from their seats, Erik wrapped his cloak around himself and Christine, after she retrieved her shopping bags, and together they started towards the door.
Just as Christine thought they were safe, the corner of Erik's cloak caught on a chair leg, and he had to spin around to free himself from the chair without toppling over the whole thing. In that one moment, Christine was revealed to Madame Giry, who's mouth fell open in shock. Christine's eyes widened in horror, and she silently pleaded with her eyes for Madame Giry to remain silent. She silently thanked God that Meg had not been seated in Madame Giry's spot.
She glanced towards her daughter, who didn't even appear to be aware of her mother's presence. Her gaze was focused on the street outside, where Parisians were walking gaily down the street, chattering and laughing as they went along with their regular life. Madame Giry continued to look at Christine with a mixture of shock and curiosity, and Christine, not knowing what to do, raised up her left hand and pointed to her ring. Madame Giry's eyes widened even further, and she finally got the message. Nodding slightly, she turned back towards her daughter and started a conversation. Christine felt a wave of relief as Meg began babbling happily, just as she used to. As they left the café, Christine saw the corner of Madame Giry's mouth turn up in a smile and a knowing look come into her eyes.
Once outside the café, Christine gave a laugh of sheer alleviation. They walked on in silence, until they reached an empty alley, where Erik pulled her in after him. Once sure that they were alone, Christine embraced Erik, tears of relief streaming down her cheeks. "Wow, I don't think I've ever been that scared to see Madame Giry and Meg before." Erik returned the embrace awkwardly, still not entirely forgiving her for trying to force him to confess. Christine didn't seem to notice his lack of compassion, and simply sighed into his chest and let her eyes flutter closed.
"What are they doing here?" Erik's voice was sharp, as if it were Christine's fault they had almost been caught. "Well, they live here, don't they?" Christine was confused. Why was Erik so on edge? Erik sighed. He had told her this almost three weeks before. "No Christine, they moved. To Rome." Christine drew back from him, and looked at him in confusion. And then, a light seemed to come into her eyes as she remembered. It was a faint memory, it had been two days after Erik had forced her to stay with him. She faintly recalled him telling her he received a letter from the Girys, saying they had moved to Rome. Christine had been too lost in her own world for the words to register. But now, she realized why Erik was so on edge.
Grasping his hand in hers in an attempt to soothe him, she brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it softly. "Erik, do you think they are here to try and find me?" Erik shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But whatever the reason, something tells me they're not here on a visit." Christine nodded in agreement. She sensed that as well. Sighing, she looked around her. "Oh! This is the alley that we entered the town through! Can we return home now, and discuss it there?" Erik looked around him in surprise, as if he had just noticed it as well. He needed rest. He nodded wearily, and he allowed Christine to hold his hand as they walked back to the old warehouse.
Christine stopped in front of the building, and leaned in to try to find the door. Erik watched in amusement as she searched for a good ten minutes, completely bewildered at the fact that she couldn't find it. Finally, Erik reached up a lazy hand and pushed firmly on the thin line, which was right in Christine's line of vision. She blushed, before walking into the darkness ahead of Erik. He continued to smirk as he led the way through the darkness, and it was then that he realized he had forgotten entirely about his plan to tell Christine about Rome. He panicked. Should he tell her then, or wait until they got back? Or maybe it would be a better idea to surprise her, perhaps a day before they were supposed to leave. Yes, that seemed like a smart idea. He fought the urge to sigh in relief. One less thing to worry about that night.
As they eventually reached the entrance they had come out through that morning, he collapsed in his chair as soon as he entered the living room. He hardly noticed that Christine hadn't followed him, as he was so weighed down by everything that had happened that day. The proposal, Christine telling him to confess, the Giry's appearance; it was more than he was ready for at that moment.
Finally, Christine entered through the door, and looking up, Erik noticed she held one of his roses.
His eyes widened in surprise as he realized, with slight amusement, that they had had no reason to go out in the first place, as he had bought food the day before. He had completely forgotten about his excursion through the town, as it seemed like so much had happened that it couldn't be only a day after.
She smiled down at him. "Looks like we didn't have to go anywhere. We were almost busted for nothing." Christine's voice was coated with fake anger, and Erik couldn't help but play along. "Why, my dear, please forgive my foolishness. Next time I shall be a little more clever." Christine smiled, but her face became stony as she walked over to him and sat down beside him; half-way in the chair, half-way on Erik's lap. Erik stiffened. As much as he enjoyed the position, he still found it extremely strange having someone so intimate with him. He wondered how long it would take for him to get used to it. Perhaps he never would, and he would always flinch whenever Christine showed any sign of intimacy. It would certainly make their marriage an uncomfortable one. Maybe he shouldn't have-. .
He came out of his thoughts as Christine started speaking, desperation in her voice. "Erik, please. Confess. I'm begging you, as your future wife, please do this for me!" Erik looked down at her in bewilderment. She was still holding on to the notion that he would confess? She really was getting rather stubborn. He sighed and gave a small growl of aggravation. Christine's expression didn't change. She looked at something on the opposite wall, and seemed to be contemplating something for a long while. After a few minutes of deep musing, she turned back to Erik. Erik simply sat in silence as she prepared for the lecture that was inevitably approaching.
"Erik, listen, we can go to a small chapel, one that hardly anyone knows of, and you can confess there. Look, preachers are religious people. Do you honestly think they would turn you over to the police when you are no longer a criminal? Your crimes are in the past, but you must seek redemption from these crimes! The preacher will not fear you, Erik."
Erik looked away, stubbornly ignoring her. He put on a defiant front, but in his mind, he was thinking over her offer. Christine claimed that she wouldn't marry him without his confessions, but how would he confess all his sins? There were too many to name, and far too many for Christine to be present. . .
"If I do this, Christine, will it be necessary for you to be in the room?" Christine let out an exasperated cry.
"Erik! You are about to become my husband! You do not need to hide your past from me! One cannot bind themselves to a person without knowing all there is to know about them! You already know everything of my life," Christine was pleading now. "Now let me know you."
Erik closed his eyes against the pain that he knew was obvious in his eyes. Knowing he was fighting a losing battle, he began to massage his temples with his fingertips. This would be difficult, but he would do it. For Christine. Tomorrow, Christine would know everything about him; what caused him pain, what his weaknesses were, what he had done, who he had killed. . .and there was a big chance that she might walk out on him. But for some reason, he was willing to risk it. He kissed her as he admitted defeat.
"You are one devilish vixen. Fine, you shall get what you want. " Christine beamed. She would finally know the man who had never opened up to her, had hidden all his feelings in his own little shell of solitude. She would finally meet the man behind the mask, her angel.
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Review please!