Chapter 21: Coming to America

[featuring: "Masked Man and Wife", "The King of New York", "Fresh off the Boat", and "Arrival of the Mistress of Mazandaran"]

The wedding was a quiet ceremony with no one but Gustave and the elderly maid as witnesses, but it was everything Erik and Christine had ever dreamed of. They stumbled out of the church in a state of bliss, clinging to each other's arms as man and wife. Erik helped Christine into the waiting brougham, and the newlyweds shed tears of joy as they shared a kiss. Gustave sat across from his parents, averting his eyes out the window and wondering how long it would take him to walk to the hotel instead of riding with his lovey dovey parents in the brougham.

After dinner at the hotel, the family retired to their rooms. Erik and Christine bid goodnight to their son at the door to his room.

"Goodnight, Mother and...Father," Gustave replied. The word "father" felt strange coming out of his mouth, but the man was his father, and he certainly couldn't call him Mr. Y.

Erik and Christine walked calmly down the hallway, but when they were alone in their room, they wasted no time in enjoying their wedding night. As they lay in each other's arms, Erik brushed his hand against the scar on Christine's abdomen. Her eyes grew wide with fear. She bit her lip and clutched his hand to her.

"I'm sorry, it doesn't hurt, does it?" he asked softly.

"No...it's just that…does it bother you?" she asked. The scar had disgusted Raoul, not because it was the singular blemish on an otherwise perfect body, but because when he saw the scar, he saw his wife bleeding to death in the arms of another man as they whispered melodies into each other's lips. He saw her eyes close for what could've been the last time. But Raoul had never shared these things with his wife; she only knew he found her body revolting.

"I don't care, Christine," said Erik, though he had a similar flashback to that horrid day on the Coney Island pier. He took Christine's hand and pressed it to the distorted side of his face. How could he possibly care about her scars when she loved him in spite of his own flaws?

The night was gentler and more tender than the passionate night they'd shared beneath a moonless sky. Both of them had changed greatly in the last decade; Christine had grown more matronly, and Erik's movements were slower, but they were still the same people who'd yearned for each other for over ten years. The turmoil that had raged inside of them was quieted, and they were at peace as they drifted off to sleep in each others' arms.

The honeymoon in Spain was a whirlwind, and before they knew it, the newlyweds and their son were on an ocean liner bound for New York City.

Erik and Christine stood at the railing of the magnificent vessel admiring the sunset reflected in the endless waters. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder. With Christine in his arms, Erik felt like the king of New York with his wife as his regal queen.

"Are you looking forward to returning to America?" Erik asked.

"Yes, I'm very much looking forward to returning home," Christine replied. Home! The word brought such joy.

"I'm glad. I can't wait to introduce you to everyone," Erik said. He'd never been a society man before, but now all he wanted was for the world to see his wife.

"But...what if people don't like me?" Christine asked fearfully. The Parisian aristocracy hadn't cared for her much. They thought she was nothing but a social climber, when the opposite was true.

"They'll adore you," Erik insisted. The new Madame Y was an ex-opera diva and former member of the French aristocracy fresh off the boat from Paris. What wasn't to love? New York was going to eat her up.

"They won't care if I'm divorced?" she asked nervously.

"You're not divorced, you're married to me." Erik placed a kiss on top of her head.

"Fine, was divorced."

"Why, I've heard of a woman who's on her third husband!" Erik exclaimed. "They don't care a thing about those sorts of things in America. All you need is money, and the upper classes accept you as one of their own."

In Europe, no matter how much money you had, you'd never fit in with the aristocracy if you were self made. Meanwhile, penniless aristocrats lived off their titles alone.

"Do you speak from experience?" Christine asked as she brushed a hand against her husband's mask.

"Well...I haven't really tried," Erik admitted hesitantly. "But once we get home, I want to throw a big masquerade ball!"

"Oh! That sounds wonderful!" Christine exclaimed, remembering Erik's ballroom that had yet to hold a party. "Erik darling, I think I'm going to like America a great deal."

Christine looked up toward Erik and the two shared a kiss. Her first husband had been a Parisian vicomte, but her second was an American robber baron. Not bad for a poor girl from rural Sweden.

The ocean vessel docked in New York and the trio disembarked. A hoard of reporters waited on the docks to catch glimpses of the upper class passengers returning from Europe. They were shocked to see the newlywed couple.

"Why, that's Christine Daae!" someone shouted, recognizing the woman and her son from their first trip to America.

"Christine de Chagny," another reporter corrected, remembering how the Vicomte had groused about her last name.

Erik heard the gossip and smiled wide. "I'm afraid you're both wrong," he said proudly. "Her name is Christine Y, my wife."

He gazed into her eyes, and the two shared a passionate kiss for the cameras before entering the waiting carriage. Everyone gaped in shock. They had just spoken to Mr. Y, the very man they denied the existence of.

Meg's heart had broken further when Mazandaran received Erik's first telegram from Europe.

Getting married STOP Will update you on arrival.

There'd been a second telegram announcing their date of arrival in America. Then there'd been a third telegram which began:

Change of plans…

Meg got her hopes up that maybe the engagement had been broken off, but the "change of plans" was only a later arrival date because the newlyweds and their son were going on holiday in Spain.

Meg spent the remainder of Erik's absence preparing herself to face her ex-best friend again. Now that Christine had triumphed victorious in their parallel pursuits of Erik, perhaps she'd be willing to put their feud in the past and restore their friendship. A girl could dream, but one thing was certain: if Christine returned to America as smug and snobbish as ever, Meg would not be extending the olive branch.

She clenched her fists as she and the rest of the household stood in the grand foyer, awaiting the return of the master and his new wife. During her previous stay in America, Christine had been very unpopular at Mazandaran. The servants thought the sneaky vicomtesse was a terrible influence over their poor defenseless master, and they weren't looking forward to having her as Mazandaran's rightful mistress.

Meg and the staff let out a collective groan when the carriage pulled up outside, but Madame Giry quieted everyone before Erik entered the foyer with his new family in tow.

"Hello, everyone," the master addressed his household. "I'd like to introduce you to the new Mrs. Y and my son, Gustave."

While everyone politely clapped, Christine stood proudly on Erik's arm, resting one of her hands on his chest to show off a ruby engagement ring and a brand new wedding band. From the position of his hand, Erik seemed to be enjoying that the bustle had gone out of fashion in the past decade. Christine grinned up at her husband before returning her gaze to their household with her head held high. The deep blue of her travelling suit and the dark brown of her fur stole perfectly matched the ridiculous peacock plume standing from her massive hat. It was a faux plume, of course, because she stuck to her previous promise of never wearing feathered hats again. Raoul had thought it a peculiar whim of the American women when Christine came home to Paris and refused to wear her old hats.

"Well, you may all return to your work," said Erik, and the servants rushed to follow his command. "I'm going to show my wife to her room."

I'm sure she remembers the location of her room, Meg thought. And the location of yours as well…

When Meg rolled her eyes, Christine threw her ex-best friend a look that read Stay away from my husband. The look was so expertly subtle it went unnoticed by everyone except the intended recipient.

Don't worry I'll stay away from your husband, Meg thought as she sneered back at her ex-best friend. Unlike you, Christine, I don't condone adultery!

After the servants scurried back to work, the Girys were left alone in the foyer.

"Did you see that?" Meg roared to her mother.

"See what?" Madame Giry replied as she strode toward the kitchens. They were having a feast to celebrate Erik's homecoming, and she had to make sure things were running smoothly.

"That look she gave me!" Meg stormed after her mother. "I was all ready to make amends, but she's an absolute snake!"

"Well, in Christine's defense, you did leave things rather badly when she went away, not to mention, I'm sure she's heard all about your little stunt with the letters."

"Ugh! I can't believe you're taking her side!"

"I am not-"

"It's not my fault she's so insecure!" Meg shouted up toward the foyer staircase, even though Christine and Erik were long gone.

Meg left her mother and stormed into the library where Gustave was already pouring over a stack of Erik's books. Meg sat beside him with a scowl and folded her arms. Looks like she and Christine were picking up right where they left off.

"Hello, Mademoiselle Giry, is something wrong?" Gustave cautiously asked the fuming woman. He'd had to deal with his distraught mother over the past few months, and the elderly maid at their flat had warned Gustave never to ask a woman if something was wrong, but the boy felt guilty about ignoring Meg's distress.

"I'm fine," Meg replied. She wasn't going to bad mouth the boy's mother to his face. She was going to be the bigger person. "How was Spain?" she asked to change the subject.

"Oh, it was very nice," replied Gustave, even though he'd learned that when a woman said she was fine, it was far from the truth. "My father took me to see a bullfight, but my mother refused to go because she thought it too gory."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Meg exclaimed. She would've gone to the bullfight if she'd married Erik.

"Yes, it was fantastic!" Gustave agreed. "I was surprised my mother let us go without her though. The two of them couldn't spend a second apart. They were so mushy!"

While Gustave had enjoyed the trip, he was not thrilled about being dragged along on his parents' honeymoon. Meg laughed hysterically as Gustave mocked his parents. He batted his eyelashes to mimic his mother, and alternated between her high pitched voice and his father's deep tones.

"And then she said-"

"Wait, Gustave! Shh!" Meg cut off the boy's theatrics and looked up toward the library mezzanine.

"What's wrong?" Gustave asked.

"Oh nothing, I just thought I heard someone up there. I thought perhaps it was your parents because your father was showing your mother to her room."

"Oh, I see," said the boy with a smirk. He'd learned a great deal at school, both inside and outside the classroom.

Meg lost it again when she saw the boy's face. "Oh my god, Gustave! What is wrong with you!" she wheezed through her giggling.

"Am I wrong though?" Gustave joked, sending Meg into another fit of giggles.

Had it really been two years since Gustave made his first voyage to America as an innocent ten-year-old boy? How much he'd grown up since then!