Another Christmas chapter at a very non-Christmas-y time

Chapter 14: Christmas in Paris

[featuring "Another Obligatory Christmas Chapter" and "Gustave's the Only One Keeping this Family Together"]

~Winter, 1908~

Dinner was the only meal the three de Chagnys ate together everyday. Christine could've done without the daily routine, but according to Raoul, it was part of "keeping up appearances" before the servants. It was bad enough they had to "keep up appearances" outside the house, but Raoul's latest attempt at being an authoritative husband was to insist that they emulate a happy family within the house as well.

"What are we doing for Christmas this year?" Christine asked at the dinner table as she gazed out the window. A light snow was falling, but the gentle snowflakes were turning into freezing rain.

"I don't know...the same as we always do, I suppose," Raoul replied, looking up from his soup. "Why do you ask?"

"I suppose I just forgot what it was like…" Christine absentmindedly stirred her soup. She and Gustave both felt a pang of nostalgia for the Christmas they spent at Mazandaran, but neither vocalised their memories.

"Ah, yes. I see," Raoul said with a nod and a smile.

Last Christmas had likely gone unobserved at Erik's manor. The monster probably didn't even know what Christmas was. No worries, Christine was home, and Raoul would make Christmas extra special for his wife and Gustave. He'd missed celebrating the holiday with them last year, and he hadn't bothered to celebrate Christmas by himself.

La Réveillon dinner was a quiet affair. Raoul sat at the head of the table, while Christine took the seat on the opposite end. Gustave sat beside his mother, but the other chairs at the massive dining room table remained empty as usual.

"Isn't this dinner delicious?" Raoul would say every so often, or a similar comment along those lines.

"Very much so," Christine would halfheartedly reply.

"I like it very much," Gustave would add. "Can I have some more please?"

"Take as much as you'd like." Raoul pushed the plate towards the boy. "There's plenty."

After dinner, the family retired to the parlour to continue the holiday merriment. Raoul and Christine sat on opposite sides of the room, while Gustave plopped himself down at the piano and softly played Christmas carols to cover up the stiff silence between his parents.

"Isn't this lovely?" said Raoul as he admired his wife's beauty in the flickering firelight. He had a clear view of her profile as she stared into the fireplace. Her chestnut hair was set in an elegant chignon except for a few loose curls falling against the delicate curve of her neck.

"Very much so," said Christine without lifting her gaze from the dancing flames in the hearth.

"I bet Christmas in New York was nothing like this, eh, Gustave?" said Raoul. The boy's agreement would make Christine realize how lucky she was to have a husband who loved Christmas as much as he did.

"Yes I suppose it was rather different," said Gustave with a small smile.

Raoul frowned at the boy's wistful expression. He hadn't heard anything about Christine and Gustave's time in New York except that Erik had been a monstrous terror and that Christine never wanted to see him ever again.

"Different? Really? How so?" Raoul asked, Surely, Gustave meant Christmas in New York had been different in a bad way.

"Oh, well you see-"

"Gustave, I'm sure your father doesn't wish to hear about Mr. Y's holiday traditions," Christine snapped when she realized where the conversation had drifted while she'd been staring into space.

Raoul stiffened at Christine's use of the word "father". Gustave continued to call him "Father" out of habit and obligation, but Christine avoided mentioning the word where she could. Raoul never heard her say it anymore, but then again, the two of them never spoke to each other more than strictly necessary.

"Let the boy speak, Christine." Raoul turned to Gustave and nodded expectantly.

Gustave froze in fear, looking between his two parents as he tried to decide whose wrath he wanted to invoke tonight.

"Go on, Gustave," prodded Raoul.

The boy gulped. Looks like he was invoking both his parents' wrath tonight.

"Well, you see…" Gustave began timidly. "Mr. Y had a very tall Christmas tree in his foyer. You saw how high his foyer ceiling is, didn't you...Father?"

"I did," Raoul grumbled, remembering his brief visit to Erik's home.

"Yes...so…the tree was very tall…" Gustave continued, realizing his own home lacked a Christmas tree at all, but at least there were some festive garlands across the mantles.

"What else, Gustave?"

"Oh...well...Mr. Y showed me how to make a gingerbread house-"

"Gustave, I'm sure your father doesn't care." Christine's voice trembled.

"What else, Gustave?"

"Uh...well, we sang carols...Hey! Let's sing some carols right now!" Gustave turned back to the piano and began a joyful rendition of "Un Flambeau, Jeanette Isabelle".

"Come on! Everyone join in!" the boy said enthusiastically in between his singing. Before the end of the first verse, his voice trailed off when he looked over his shoulder and saw his parents glaring at each other. "No takers? I can try a different song," Gustave suggested in vain.

"Gustave, I think you should go to bed," said Raoul. "You do want Père Noël to come, don't you?"

"Uh...yeah." Gustave slinked out of the living room without arguing about how he was too old to believe in Père Noël. He cringed when his parents started fighting as soon as he was out of sight.

"Well, it seems you had a lovely Christmas back in New York," Raoul groused, realizing for the first time that Christine had been lying to him about her time in Erik's home.

"Yes. We enjoyed it very much," Christine replied emotionlessly.

"Oh, I see how it is. So you can enjoy Christmas with him, but you refuse to be happy with me."

"Raoul, stop being ridiculous." Christine stood up quickly from her armchair and began to walk out of the room, but Raoul caught her roughly by the arm.

"I'm not being ridiculous!" he shouted. "That man cares nothing for your happiness, and yet you love him."

"Raoul, stop it."

"Christine, I would do anything for you. Why is nothing I do good enough? Why don't you love me?"

"You lie," Christine said as she yanked her arms from his grip. "You promised me you would do better and you haven't. You still drink. You still gamble-"

"Well, I need to do something to distract myself from the fact you don't love me," Raoul screamed, "because even if I did stop, you still wouldn't love me!"

"Thank you, Raoul," spat Christine. "Right now, your childish behavior is proving exactly why I find you absolutely unbearable sometimes." Christine turned on her heel and stomped upstairs to her chambers, leaving Raoul alone in the living room.

"Who is it?" Christine grumbled when someone knocked on the door to her chambers. The visitor was likely Raoul, but she was in no mood to speak to her husband.

"It's me, Madame," said a maid. "Your husband wishes to speak to you in his study."

Christine sighed, but she stood up from her bed and made her way downstairs. She entered Raoul's study without knocking. He stood brooding at the window, watching the wintery mix fall on the street.

"What do you want?" Christine asked harshly.

"Christine, it seems I can no longer ignore the obvious," Raoul began, his back still toward Christine. "Even before last year, I'd gathered you no longer loved me, but I did not realize your indifference stretched as far back as the eve of our wedding."

"I wasn't indifferent," Christine whispered in protest.

"Oh, really? Then please tell me what caused you to behave as you did." Raoul turned to face Christine and glowered at his wife.

Christine pursed her lips and stared at the ground. There was no proper response to Raoul's request. She might have cried if she'd been in this position many years ago, but tonight she didn't shed a tear. She had nothing left to give.

"On the eve of our wedding!" Raoul pounded his fist on his desk. "And I suppose long before that night too, you had already given your heart to another."

Still Christine remained silent.

"Christine, did you...did you know Gustave was not…" Raoul asked, his voice hoarse.

Christine shrugged. She'd been relieved when Gustave was born with dark hair and hazel eyes, not Raoul's fair features. When Gustave was a baby, a curve of his lip or a twinkle in his eye reminded her of Erik, but Christine told herself she was only imagining. Then there was Gustave's musical abilities. Sure, he could've inherited it from her side of the family, but this was different. Gustave had been melodies before he'd begun music lessons. He'd been advancing at such a rapid pace that even his high calibre teachers were astonished by the young prodigy's talent. At Phantasma, Christine could longer deny the obvious when Gustave stood beside his real father.

"I had my...suspicions…" Christine said coolly.

"And you didn't tell me?" Raoul scoffed.

"What was I supposed to say!" Christine snapped. "I thought I could take the secret to my grave! I didn't want to hurt you…"

"You didn't want to hurt me, and yet that's exactly what you did the moment you sought that man out ten years ago!" Raoul fumed. "I thought you'd changed for the worse, but now I realize you've actually had me deceived this entire time. I may be childish, but you're nothing but a sneaky, conniving opera wench, and that's what you'll always be."

"Take that back!"

"I will not. You were the biggest wench of them all! The Opera Ghost's mistress," Raoul sneered when he remembered Christine's absences from the opera. "Is that why Erik was so anxious for you to be his prima donna?"

"It was not!" Christine screeched. She stomped her foot in outrage, and Raoul jumped back at his wife's flaring temper.

"Listen, Christine," he said, trying to calm himself down so Christine would do the same. "We're both miserable. I think...we should consider a divorce."

"I think so too. In fact, what's there to consider? I want out," Christine said confidently. Raoul's heart sank. He didn't think she'd be so certain of her desire to terminate their marriage.

"Is that really how you feel, Christine?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she replied stubbornly.

"Well, then." Raoul's temper came to a boiling point. "I'll make the necessary arrangements. You write to your Angel and beg him to marry you. I know you've been corresponding with him behind my back!"

"I have not!"

"Don't deny it, Christine. I interrogated every servant in our employment and I learned you did."

"Fine. I sent him one letter," Christine said adamantly. "I told him never to contact me again and...I told him to forget me, and...and I encouraged him to marry Meg Giry..." Her voice trailed off into a whisper.

"That's your own fault, trying to play matchmaker," Raoul scoffed. "You should've known we weren't going to come home and live happily ever after. I'd hoped you'd be a good girl and help me keep up appearances, but all you care about is making life difficult for everyone else. Now get out of my study!"

Raoul stormed to the door and roughly opened it, stiffly gesturing his arm for his wife to leave. Christine walked meekly out of the room. She jumped when the door slammed behind her and threw a nasty scowl over her shoulder.

Christine's feet were heavy as she walked up the stairs to her room. She sat at her writing desk to draft a letter to Erik; she'd write to him just to spite her husband, but every time she put her pen to paper, she crumpled the page at the absurdity of her words. Christine's head fell into her hands as she allowed herself to cry. For Christmas, she'd been given what she desired most in the world: a divorce.