Adele had warm greetings for them both. Hugs and handshakes all around, and she was quite pleased that Christine had come with him.
"Christine, I hope things are going well at the opera house for you."
"Thank you, Adele. They are," she smiled.
"And Raoul, I can't wait to hear your stories, I know you have so many of them! But I'm afraid they'll have to wait until I finish up in the kitchen."
"Do you need any help?" Raoul offered.
"Oh, no, thank you, though. Dinner will be ready soon, and Pierre should be back at any moment. Would you look after Maddie until I can get everything finished in the kitchen?"
It was a few moments before they heard the sound of small feet running down the hallway.
"Uncle Raoul!" the little girl cried as she ran to him. "Uncle Raoul, do you remember me?"
"Of course I remember you, little Madeline!" Raoul laughed as hugged her. "Now, you must tell me something important."
The little girl looked up at him solemnly and nodded.
Raoul leaned down on one knee to be level with her and asked seriously, "Do you remember your Aunt Christine?"
Maddie looked at Christine and nodded vigorously, then suddenly stopped, a look of wonder coming into her eyes.
"Christine is my aunt?!" she squeaked, and Raoul laughed again.
"Of course she is, silly goose!"
"Raoul!" Christine couldn't help but smile as she swatted at him. "Don't tell her that, what if she repeats it in front of Philippe?"
Maddie looked back and forth between the two of them.
"Who's Philippe?" she asked innocently.
Christine's face fell. Had the little girl really not seen her uncle in that long - or not at all? She clearly had a good memory, able to remember Christine from her week spent there so long ago...
Raoul glanced away, jaw tight, before trying to smile again for his niece.
"Come," he said, rising. "Let's go for a walk in the garden, shall we?"
Raoul and Christine each took one of Maddie's hands and set off the little garden in the backyard. They walked through it together, Maddie pointing out which flowers had recently bloomed and what she had named each butterfly that gently alighted on the blooms.
Once the entire garden had been explored, Maddie stopped suddenly.
"I'm hungry," Maddie sighed. "I want it to be dinner time."
"It will be soon," Christine promised her. "You just have to think of something else, and the time will fly right by!"
"Will it?"
"Of course!"
"I know just the thing!" Raoul snapped his fingers. "Christine, why don't you sing for us? Could you?"
She blushed a little but nodded.
She hummed a bit to warm up her voice, and Raoul and Maddie settled themselves on the stone bench in the middle of the flowers. She ended up picking a song she had known for a while, one she knew she could perform well. She didn't have to give it her all, since her audience was only a few feet away, but she found the notes rolled out as easily as those of any little songbird that could be found nearby. She closed her eyes for a few moments, lost in the song.
It felt like the world had stood still, as though all of creation had paused to listen to her sing. It was moments like that that made her certain she was on the right path for her life. How could anything ever compare to singing? She opened her eyes, taking in the blue sky with puffy clouds floating lazily by, turned pink and orange by the nearly setting sun, watched how the trees swayed to a rhythm no one else could hear. Everything in nature was where it should be, and so was she.
Christine glanced across at Raoul with his niece on his lap, at how they both watched her with such sparkling joy, and she felt her heart twist just a little at the scene. That could be hers, if she wanted it. That could be her husband and their child. They would watch her up on the stage in a similar fashion. Or would they?
It would already be enough of a scandal if a vicomte married a former opera singer - how much worse would it be if she kept singing? If she kept singing even after having a child? Someone else having to watch the little vicomtes and vicomtesses while Christine attended rehearsals and performed. It was unheard of. Would Raoul even agree to it?
She balled her hand into fists around the fabrics of her skirts, trilling her notes at just the right place.
She didn't want to have children, she knew that much - not for a long time, at least. It was one of the biggest reasons she adamantly refrained from certain activities that were commonplace at the opera house, though she knew that once she was married she might not have much of a say in that anymore. Things had a way of happening even when precautions were taken, she knew that very well from a number of girls who had to leave the stage.
It was probably a given that she'd have at least one child sooner or later after getting married, and she wasn't entirely adverse to the idea - but even still, she wanted to sing. She wanted to be on stage. Of course she would love her child, of course she would spend long hours tending to it and raising it and loving it - but she couldn't imagine a life without sharing her music on stage. Did becoming a mother mean she no longer had a life of her own, outside of raising her child? Did that make her selfish, to still want time and space to devote to her passions, was she selfish because she didn't want to give up every last thing about herself and instead become lost in the title of 'mother'?
Surely in a world that demanded and expected so very much of her, she could be forgiven for being just a little selfish in how she lived her life.
She finished her song on a soaring note, and Raoul and Maddie clapped for her.
Maddie jumped down off Raoul's knee and ran up to Christine, throwing her arms around her.
"A princess!" the little girl cried. "You're a princess!"
Christine laughed as she hugged her back.
"That was amazing, Lottie," Raoul said breathlessly. "You've improved so much, you must have worked so hard."
A little smile quirked at the corner of her lips.
"I have been well taught," she said playfully.
Raoul had to agree. Clearly the strange tutor she had was a genius. He was still a little miffed at how the man had treated her in the beginning, but he trusted her to know what she was and wasn't comfortable with. Christine was a woman who stuck to her principles, and he knew that if she felt something wasn't right, she would say so - she wasn't the type to forgo her ideals in exchange for fame or fortune.
"Do you think dinner is ready yet?" Maddie asked.
"Wait right here," he told them. "I'll go check."
With Raoul gone, Maddie turned to Christine and asked her questions about her singing - the little girl was convinced her ability was a sort of magic, but Christine tried to explain that it was not truly magic, just lots of practice and a very good teacher. Maddie had nodded, frowning, and Christine was about to ask if she actually understood or not when Raoul arrived again.
"Alas!" he sighed. "Dinner is not ready yet! However," his eyes sparkled with mischief. "I did ask your mother another question, and she said yes - do you see those flowers right over there, Maddie?"
Raoul pointed to a larger patch of flowers in the corner. She nodded.
"I have something to show you!" he cried triumphantly, and marched over to the flowers.
He plucked a handful, and sat down on the ground before beginning to weave the stems together. Maddie watched, fascinated, and squealed with delight at the finished product - a little flower crown, perfectly fitted for her.
Christine sat down carefully next to him, trying to not get her skirts too dirty - though she knew, of course, that no one in the little family would think less of her if she did. Maddie sat in between them and they both showed her how to make chains out of the flower stems, and helped her to make crowns for her mother and her father.
By the time they had finished and the trio had marched into the house, each adorned with a crown of flowers, dinner was being set on the table. Maddie ran up to her mother and presented her with the crown she had made for her. Raoul handed the other one to Peirre, who chuckled nervously and reluctantly placed it on his head - he was not enthusiastic about wearing it in the least, but his daughter had made it and a vicomte had presented it to him, so he presumed he could not refuse. Adele was delighted with hers, and she beamed at her family as they all gathered around the table, each one wearing matching flower crowns.
Madeline tugged at her mother's skirts to get her attention.
"Maman, Maman - Christine can sing!" she insisted.
Adele smiled.
"I know, dear. She's a very good singer, isn't she?"
"Her teacher has magic powers, did you know?" her little brow furrowed, recalling her own interpretation of her conversation with Christine in the garden.
Raoul choked on his drink. Christine froze. Her eyes darted across to Raoul, who looked baffled.
"Madeline!" Christine laughed nervously. "That's not what I told you!"
Adele and Pierre, who didn't know the story of the Angel, thought it was amusing.
"I'm sure he does, Maddie, in his own way," Adele told her, and grinned at Christine with a little shrug.
Dinner that evening was everything dinner with Philippe should have been but wasn't. Christine was an equal participant in all the conversation, and there was laughter and stories all around.
Sitting there with them all, Christine truly felt like she was a part of a family. She regretted that it couldn't be like that with Philippe and his other two sisters. Her heart twisted a little at the thought - Adele and Pierre and little Madeline should have been there at the de Chagny mansion with everyone else. How wonderful it would have been, everyone all together.
She spared a troubled glance at Raoul, how happy and carefree he looked. Philippe had practically disowned his sister for marrying a commoner - how much worse would he do to Raoul if he married a stage performer? Would he strip him of his title, his inheritance?
She pushed the thought from her mind. Tonight was a happy night and there was no place for worry. Tonight was simply dinner with Raoul and his family, and that was enough - worries of angry brothers and lost fortunes were for another, distant, day.
It was late after the dinner was finished that they all said their goodbyes. Hugs were exchanged all around, and Christine's heart melted when little Maddie hugged her and proclaimed "I love you, Aunt Christine!"
She left with the promise of procuring tickets for them when the opera season started back up, so that Madeline could see her 'aunt' on stage.
The carriage drove off into the night, the bumpy ride and darkness outside doing little to help how sleepy she felt. She ended up dozing off a few times on the ride back, curled up to Raoul next to her on the seat. There were definitely no thoughts of Philippe and his judgements there in the little carriage - the only things there were the sounds of horse hooves on cobblestones and the feeling of how warm Raoul was and how comforting his arm around her shoulders felt, how safe and content she felt there with him as the clear moonlight shone in through the window on the door.
When the carriage arrived on the step of the opera house, she sleepily bid Raoul farewell, smiling as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. She stepped out into the chilly night air and shivered a little, looking up at the roof.
The rest of the week was spent with Raoul on his various visits to his favorite places, restaurants, stores, and meeting a few friends. They saw Adele one more time, and unfortunately Christine had to see Philippe one more time as well and it was just as awkward as ever. The week went faster than she thought it could, and before she knew it she was seeing him off at the docks.
She waited politely in the crowd, unseen by Philippe, who was currently patting him on the shoulder and saying something Christine was too far away to hear.
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay until you get on the ship?" Philippe frowned.
"No, it's fine," Raoul quickly assured him. "Just bringing me was enough."
"You'll write to me, won't you?"
"Of course I will."
Raoul hugged him one last time, an embrace Philippe lingered on. He missed his little brother more than he would say, but he knew it was for the best. Still - he often missed having him around. If there was one other silver lining about his brother's expeditions, beyond the experience he would gain, it was that he was safely away from Christine.
"Stay well," he told him as they parted.
Raoul watched as Philippe got back into the carriage and left, and then he turned to scan the dock for Christine. She appeared at his side as soon as Philippe's carriage was out of view.
"Christine, I'm going to miss you," he hugged her. "I'm sorry I won't be here to celebrate your birthday with you."
"It's alright, Raoul. I'll miss you too, though."
She walked him to the edge of the gangplank, and he paused a moment, looking up at the ship, before he turned to Christine and kissed her on the lips, not caring who might see. When he pulled away he grinned that boyish grin she loved so much.
"You know the offer to run away together still stands," he said. "I'd love to see Sweden with you."
Her eyes sparkled.
"I'll keep that in mind, Monsieur."
The ship's horn blew and Raoul quickly went up the gangplank, turning to shout his goodbyes to Christine, who waved to him.
When the ship was out of view and on its way to its destination, she began her journey back to the opera house. Although quite fun, the week had been tiring, and she suddenly felt its effects. She had ballet practice the next day, and her lesson with Erik the day after. Life was back to normal.
She slept in as long as she could in the little cot, and somehow managed to get through practice and then returned to another night of semi-restful sleep. Then it was the day she had been looking forward to. The harp from the antique store in hand, she made her way to her dressing room.
She sat dutifully on her chair in her dressing room, holding the little harp in her lap. Her lesson wasn't for another quarter of an hour, but she had nowhere else to be at the moment. It seemed the same held true for Erik, who rolled back the mirror after she had been sitting for only a few minutes. She wondered, for a moment, how often he arrived early and simply waited for her to show up. Did he sit on the floor of the tunnel sometimes?
"Good morning, Christine," he greeted her warmly.
She smiled as she stood and held the harp out for him.
"Good morning, Erik - this is for you."
He cautiously took a step towards her, towards the apparent gift she held out for him.
She was reminded of the times in her childhood spent near the forest, when she would stand at the edge of the woods and hold out a carrot or an apple to entice the wary deer that lived there to eat out of her hand. They, too, held that same look of nervous surprise in their eyes when they saw her offering something to them.
She bit her lip to hold back the grin that was surely forming as her mind connected the similar traits between them - long legs, hesitant steps, big eyes, a creature that could surely hurt her if it chose but was in fact more frightened of her than she was of it.
"I was in the antique store with Raoul when I saw this and it made me think of you," she explained as he took it.
"You thought of me? When you were out with the boy?" he could scarcely believe it, that he might have occupied space in her mind when she had so many other more pleasant subjects she could focus on - but here was the seeming proof of her words.
Christine caught the hint of doubt in his voice.
"Of course I thought you. I think of you every day, you know," she frowned before adding- "Don't you think of me?"
His eyes met hers with a mix of guilt and hope. Of course he thought of her every day - every hour - but it was different for him. What else did he have to occupy his mind with that was pleasant and nice to think about? Christine could think of anything in the world, and yet still her thoughts turned to him?
"Of course," he quickly supplied, and began to examine the harp.
He sat down in one of the chairs, his attention becoming absorbed in the little instrument. He plucked the strings and made adjustments to the tightness, then plucked them again. Christine smiled as he was consumed with the project.
"The strings are a little rusty," he muttered mostly to himself. "But that can easily be fixed."
He examined the carved sides, observed the angels, and glanced at Christine for a moment. His sight back on the harp once more, he plucked out a tune that sent shivers down her spine. Even when rusty and unused, it still was capable of producing a beautiful, haunting sound, and Christine hoped he would play it for her once it was fully fixed.
"It's a good instrument," he said. "Thank you, my dear."
Her face turned pink, but she said it anyway.
"You're quite welcome. It's a good musician who holds it."
He paused and narrowed his eyes.
"But still the instrument must be capable of what the musician asks of it."
"Erik!" she laughed. "Just accept the compliment!"
He tucked the harp into his jacket.
"No."
She rolled her eyes and made a show of sighing.
"Such a stubborn man. Will we be going downstairs for our lesson today?" she asked.
He nodded, rising from his seat and motioning for her to follow.
"You had ballet practice last night, did you not?"
She nodded.
"Did you miss the other ballet rats?"
He didn't have the courage to ask the second part of that question - did you miss me?
She squirmed a little.
"I suppose. I didn't think I was gone that long, but did you know a new trend has already swept through all of the dancers?"
"Oh?"
"I hadn't even heard of them, but they're all the rage now, apparently - little colorful charms on a necklace. I swear nearly every girl has one now. I'm afraid they rather teased me when I didn't even know what they were!"
"Hmm. Are they ugly?"
It had been Christine's - and Erik's - personal opinion that several of the latest trends that had taken the opera house by storm were rather unflattering. The previous one, various feathers tucked into their buns, had been one in particular that Christine had rolled her eyes and gagged over - and yet not two days later when she met Erik in her dressing room after ballet practice, his lips had quirked into a smile and he laughed that dark chuckle of his... because Christine had forgotten to remove several peacock feathers from her hair after practice. "Peer pressure, my dear?" he had said, tilting his head. Christine had clawed the feathers out as she fumed and pouted. "Oh, shut up," she had snapped, her cheeks crimson, and Erik had laughed even harder.
"No, that's just it - they're quite lovely! There's so many different ones - little birds, or seashells, a snowflake, a leaf, a fan, a flower. And there are some that are initials, or even symbols - a little star, or a heart. And so many colors! They're very darling," she frowned.
"Do you think you'll be following suit?" he asked, curious what shape she would choose.
She looked away into the shadows of the tunnel, a little embarrassed.
"No, I don't think so," she murmured. "I'm on a budget."
"Ah."
Erik thankfully did press the matter further. Christine had nearly fallen over when Meg (who had purchased a shiny pink and gold heart) had told her how much they cost - nearly four times as much as she'd have expected such a small necklace to be. She supposed she could afford one if she truly wished it, but she knew to do so she'd have to go without in other areas for quite a while.
"How has your week been?" she asked kindly.
"Busy," he replied.
She looked at him with interest and for whatever reason he couldn't fathom, it seemed she wanted him to elaborate.
"Home improvements, you know. They can become quite consuming."
"What all did you get done?"
"Oh, you'll see it when we get there."
And she certainly did - she gasped when he opened the door, revealing the new electric lighting in the entryway. The little lamps glowed brightly, but not so brightly that it hurt her eyes after being in the dark tunnels.
"It looks wonderful!" she exclaimed, turning in a little circle to take it all in.
"I decided to forgo electric lighting in a few rooms, but I did extend the wiring to each room should I ever change my mind."
He led her to the sitting room, one of the ones he had chosen not to light electrically, and she agreed with his decision to not do so - the room felt more cozy when the only light came from the fireplace and the gas lamp flames.
"Did you enjoy your week with the boy?" he finally asked, once they were settled in his house.
"I did," she smiled.
For a brief moment he wanted to ask what, exactly, they had done all week, but was afraid of overstepping his bounds again. The only thing that had kept him from simply following her as she went wherever they had gone was the thought of the betrayed look on her face should she found out.
But she continued, saving him from eternally wondering or having to ask.
"We went to see his sister in the countryside - I always enjoy seeing her so much more than seeing his brother, you know. Those dinners with the Comte are always so awkward," she paused, frowning. "He makes me feel so out of place at times."
But Erik didn't hear the rest of what she had said.
"Comte?" he parroted hollowly. "Why did you have dinner with a Comte?"
Christine tilted her head a little.
"The Comte de Chagny... Raoul's older brother," she explained slowly. Did he really not know? Had she neglected to tell him before this?
"Raoul is... Raoul is the Vicomte de Chagny, then?"
Christine nodded, not understanding the stricken look on Erik's face.
"Monsieur le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny," he breathed. "Oh."
He turned away from her. His mind was spinning.
He absentmindedly tried to appear as though he were doing something - something other than descending into horror, that is. He flipped through a few papers on his shelves, moved this little knickknack to there, patted his hands on the spines of some books.
"Oh," he said again.
Vicomte?
Christine had been out with a vicomte? How did she know a vicomte? Was he- was he her patron? He certainly couldn't ask her that, he knew better than to even bring that up.
Christine watched him curiously as he set about his pointless little tasks, wondering what was going on in that odd but brilliant mind of his. Her thoughts from earlier in the week drifted back to her. Was he jealous? How strange, she thought.
Erik smoothed down the front of vest repeatedly, trying to gather the presence of mind needed to do or say something.
A vicomte. He hadn't known.
Christine couldn't marry a vicomte... could she?
She certainly should, if she got the chance, he knew that much. Christine deserved to be kept in luxury. Silk dresses and ruffled hats and charming little shoes and only the finest stockings. She could have a good life, as a vicomtesse. A comtesse, one day, perhaps. She could sit out in the sun and look out across all the land her husband owned and drink ice cold lemonade and never have to worry about anything ever again.
Erik could not sit in the sun, but his wretched soul was not so immured in shadow that he would try to prevent her from doing so if she were given the chance. She likely wouldn't be able to sing, afterwards, but she would be safe, well cared for and provided for. She should always be safe and cared for, he thought.
He turned to her suddenly.
"Would you like anything, my dear? Some toast or a bit of fruit, perhaps?"
Christine frowned a little as she shook her head, her concerned eyes resting on his hands. When he had spoken, his tone was sweet and gentle, but his hands twisted in each other's grasp and squeezed and pulled at the finger joints with such a vehemence that she was afraid he was going to hurt himself.
"No, I'm fine, thank you. Perhaps after our lesson, though?"
"Of course," he nodded.
Whatever strange mood had seemingly seized him during their discussion of Raoul thankfully melted away during her lesson. After having been away from practice for a little while, the lesson ran long, though neither of them seemed to mind. When it finally ended, he offered her anything from his kitchen and this time she accepted.
A little while later they both sat on the couch and drank their tea, a plate with a little sandwich on it in front of Christine. She lingered over the small meal, wanting to stay downstairs with him as long as she could that day - she had missed him.
After the food was finished and the theater gossip all discussed, Christine stretched and yawned.
"Oh, I'm so tired today, I don't know what's come over me."
"You worked very hard in your lesson today, I'm not surprised," he paused before adding dryly- "And not to mention how your vicomte has been dragging you all over France this past week."
Christine giggled, and Erik breathed a sigh of relief - right after having said it, he had begun to fear she would get offended, that she would feel he was unkind to the boy. But she seemed to take it as the joke he had intended it, and he smiled a little.
She leaned back on the couch and sighed.
"I hope you don't mind if I rest here a little while longer? I simply don't feel up to the journey above at the moment."
Erik tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. This was it - the opportunity he hadn't truly believed would ever come. The room suddenly felt too hot, as though the little fire in the corner had grown and taken over the entire room.
"You are always welcome to stay as long you wish, Christine."
He stood up, going to bookcase, not to actually look at the books, but just so he wouldn't have to face her when he said his next words.
"In fact, you could even spend the night here, if you liked."