This was not crazy, Christine told herself. Not entirely, anyway. Agreeing to marry a man she hadn't known a month, a man she knew almost nothing about, was not the worst decision that anyone had ever made. It was actually perfectly sensible. She paused and studied her reflection in the slightly warped mirror that hung over the plain little dressing table in her room, tucking away a few stray strands of hair. Not that she needed to be particularly worried about her appearance, she supposed. Meg would be their only witness at the church, and Erik had never seemed to take much notice of how she looked. Erik.
It felt strange and too informal to call him by his given name, even in her own mind, even though he had long asked her to use it. She always insisted that he use her given name, but using his had just never felt quite right. Even when she had gone to him and accepted his proposal, she'd had to force herself to call him Erik. She would have to get used to it now.
No, she decided resolutely, it was not crazy for her to have agreed to marry him. This arrangement could be what allowed her to truly grow into herself as an artist—she had already noticed such a change in her voice since they had started their lessons, and she could only imagine what would be possible with continued instruction. He could see to it that her career progressed. There would be no more suggestions from the women around the boarding house that she was one of those kinds of shopgirls when she returned late from a lesson. She would have a more comfortable life than what she had known in many years. Plenty of people married for less.
There had only been one man before who had brought marriage into her thoughts. He'd only been a boy, really; they had barely been more than children. But even the two of them, two people terribly prone to fantasy and daydreams, had both been aware that anything beyond the summer they had spent together in that little town on the coast was simply not possible. He had left with his family, and it had only been a matter of months before the wracking cough that had long been festering in Mama's lungs finally took her, and then Christine had been alone. Any heartbreak that she might have felt from the end of that fleeting dream of marriage was immediately overtaken by the grief of losing her last familial figure, and she had not suffered from the desire to marry since then.
Instead, she'd turned her passion toward pursuing music. After Mama passed, Christine had taken the precious little money she'd had left and used it to get to the city and secure her little room in the boarding house. She had told herself that her dedication to the pursuit of her dream would be enough to sustain her, but every night of that first week, she found herself quietly crying herself to sleep, wondering how it was possible to live among so many people and still feel so completely isolated. But then she had met Meg and her loneliness had eased a little. That had been only a few months before her ill-fated audition, and Christine realized with a start that that meant less than two years had passed since her summer with Raoul. It seemed so much longer ago, lifetimes ago. Had the past two years really hardened her enough to make that relatively carefree time feel like her distant childhood? She shook the thoughts from her head; these were not thoughts for her wedding day.
There was a knock at the door and Meg entered, greeting her with a gentle smile. "You look lovely, Christine. Are you almost ready?"
"Almost. And thank you."
Christine stood back a little to examine her dress in the mirror, smoothing the ivory satin of the tight-fitting bodice. She had assured Erik that the dress was not necessary—he had already ordered several others for her, as all of her clothes were quite plain and worn and not befitting of her new position as the wife of one of the up-and-coming nouveau riche. The new dresses were already finer than any of the clothes she'd had in years, and she had tried to insist that one of them would suit her perfectly fine today. But Erik's insistence had been stronger. Perhaps it was his way of trying to repay her for the favor she was doing him, at least in his eyes. Or perhaps he simply figured that if she looked more like a bride, there would be less room for others of his set to question the nature of the relationship and the very sudden betrothal.
"I thought you could use this." Christine looked over her shoulder to find Meg watching her, her expression warm as she held out a small corsage of wax orange blossoms. "I know that this will not be the most traditional marriage, but I suppose I have a weakness for the customs."
"Thank you, Meg." Her voice wavered a little and she felt tears spring to her eyes, although she could not entirely discern the reason for them. Instead of letting her thoughts linger, she accepted the corsage from Meg and turned back to the mirror to fasten it to her bodice. Giving her reflection a final glance, she braced herself to meet her own eyes, prepared to see the sadness in them. If she had ever pictured her wedding day, this is surely not how she would have imagined it—marrying a near stranger, no romance, without her father or even Mama and the professor to share the day with her. But when she did examine her expression, she found that it was not one of disappointment or heartbreak. It was one of contented resignation, and the knowledge settled her a little.
"You look like a bride," Meg told her, and she smiled gratefully and took her friend's hands.
"I'm glad that you will be there today."
"I am too." Meg seemed to hesitate for a second before she spoke again, her words a little timid this time. "Are you certain about this, Christine? You know that you don't have to go through with anything if you don't want to. I know that you've been discouraged with how everything is going, but things will turn around if you give them some time. Don't make a commitment you'll regret just to fix things right now."
"I know," Christine said softly. "I have thought about it a lot, and I'm sure. It may not be the romantic path, but… but it's safe. And I have dreamed of safety more than romance for quite some time. I am certain I will be happy enough this way."
Meg appeared doubtful, but she gave a nod and accepted the answer. "Well then, we should get you to the church. We wouldn't want to keep your fiancé waiting."
Her words were playful, and Christine couldn't help but smile, despite the slight snag she felt in her chest at the word fiancé.
"You're right. We should go. But Meg—" She paused for a second until Meg met her eyes. "I do appreciate your concern. You have been watching over me since we met. And I really am so glad that you'll be with me today. You're a good friend."
Meg's smile softened and she took a step forward to wrap Christine in her arms. Christine accepted the embrace gratefully; physical comfort had been scarce since she'd lost Mama, and the gentle pressure of Meg's arms around her was just what she needed. The feeling of being close to another person, of being cared for… it was something that she missed terribly. Erik had told her that their marriage would be in name only, and he had certainly kept her at arm's length during the short time she had known him, even after she had agreed to marry him. But perhaps simply having another person around, having someone who was bound to her in such a permanent way, would help ease the loneliness that had become a constant ache in her chest.
Erik had arrived at the church early, having run out of ways to divert his attention and feeling too restless to remain at home any longer. It felt a little odd to push open the heavy wooden doors and walk into the silent chamber. He had never been a religious man, much less a churchgoing one, and the foreignness of it all made his skin prickle. Taking a seat on a hard pew toward the front of the nave, he settled himself down to wait, doing his best not to fidget even though there was no one around for him to disturb; he was completely alone, and he couldn't help but think with a twinge of regret that this might be the last time he was. He would be leaving this building with a wife, and she would theoretically share his home for the rest of their lives. Although, he supposed, once their respective careers took off, they would likely be able to keep themselves busy enough to see very little of each other. She could even go on tour, sing with the great companies of Europe, allowing him to return to his blessed solitude for a while.
Despite these misgivings, he didn't truly regret the arrangement. It would help both of them. He would secure his position, perhaps even rise to greater heights, all the while fostering a young artist who could be a part of his legacy as much as anything else. Any hesitation he had ever felt about working with her was long gone. Her voice captivated him more with each lesson, and she was already showing greater improvement than he had anticipated. Now he would have more opportunity to work with her, more opportunity to hone her into the force of nature that she could become. He supposed he couldn't really complain about that.
After a while he was finally able to quiet his thoughts, focusing instead on the dust that he could see floating in a ray of the late afternoon sun, basking in this rare moment of peace. It didn't last long, though, as soon the priest approached to great him. Erik shook the man's hand, noticing that, to his credit, he didn't give the mask a second glance. He'd spent years trying to create the most discreet veneer possible, longing for the day when he might not catch people's attention, but the mask still looked far too artificial for his liking. He had grown used to pretending not to notice the stares he attracted on the street or the murmurs of pity or disgust, but it was much more difficult to let these things pass when meeting with a single person.
The priest asked him a few questions about himself and the bride-to-be, having kindly agreed to marry them on only a few days' notice and despite them not being congregants, and Erik answered the questions haltingly. No, neither of them had any family to speak of. Yes, they had both considered deeply what it means to make this vow before God. His answers were brief, as he had no desire to talk in too much detail about his life or to reveal just how little he knew about Christine. Fortunately the questions did not last long, as she was due to arrive soon with the friend who would be their witness.
Erik was torn between terror and numbness as he followed the priest up to the altar. Marriage had never been something he had considered or even wanted; even with the practicality and distance of this arrangement, surely he would not make a good husband. Christine would tire of him quickly and the marriage would soon become more of a burden than anything else. This suddenly seemed like a terrible mistake. There were plenty of other ways to improve his social standing, and if he hadn't acted so rashly, if he had just been willing to play the game for a while, he could have thought of a much better plan than this. What if all he had done was ensure years of misery for both of them?
Then the doors at the end of the nave opened and his attention was drawn to the two figures entering, and there was an unfamiliar tightness in his chest as he looked at Christine. She was perfectly lovely in the simple ivory gown, the pale fabric highlighting the rosy color of her cheeks. She paused as her friend said something that Erik could not hear, but he saw her give a nod and squeeze her friend's hand, and then they turned and were making their way down the aisle. Christine looked up and met Erik's eyes as she approached, and he suddenly felt that he was standing too stiffly and there didn't seem to be a right place to put his hands. A small smile tugged at her lips, and he hoped that he returned it. In another moment she was by his side, and it was a second or two before he remembered that he was meant to take her hands.
"Are you ready?" she asked quietly, although he knew that what she meant was, Are you sure?
"I am. Are you?" He spoke with more assurance than he felt, although the fear that this had been a mistake had abated some for the moment. She seemed to relax a little at this.
"I am too."
Erik was vaguely aware, then, that the priest was speaking, but he could hardly make out his voice over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. His heart thudded heavily and he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from Christine, her dark eyes warm and her expression surprisingly peaceful considering she was binding herself to him for life. Her hands were soft and warm in his, and he tried to recall if a woman had ever taken his hand before. Perhaps his mother, when he was very young and she was attempting to reign him in, but their relationship had grown more resentful as he'd grown older, and then she had been gone, and now those earlier, happier memories felt few and far between. But Christine had slipped her hands into his as if it was nothing, as if she took no notice of how cool and boney his grasp was.
She would want to see his face at some point, surely. The mask was not a topic that had come up yet, and he had been happy enough to continue avoiding it, but now cold panic gripped him at the thought. Sooner or later she'd start asking questions, and what would he do then? Would he be forced to hide from her to avoid the confrontation, a prisoner in his own home, or would he have no choice but to show her and face her repulsion? Where would it leave them if she was unable to even look him in the eye?
Suddenly his was aware that the drone of the priest's voice had stopped, and he found both him and Christine watching him, a silent question in the slight crease of Christine's brow. Erik drew in a shaky breath, not entirely sure he wanted to say the words they were waiting for but finding himself saying them anyway.
"I do."
The priest repeated the question to Christine, and Erik felt a unexpected stab of fear at the thought that she might change her mind now, although he reminded himself that perhaps it would not be such a terrible thing if she did. Maybe he should even hope that she would change her mind. It wasn't as if he would be left brokenhearted. Still, he breathed a small sigh of relief when she spoke.
"I do."
The rest of the short ceremony was a blur. He remembered carefully sliding the ring onto her slender finger, and then she did the same. The plain gold band was a foreign weight that was impossible for him to ignore, a constant reminder of an arrangement he suddenly felt quite confused by, as if he had not been the one to instigate it. And then they were husband and wife and she was looking up at him expectantly—or perhaps it was wariness that he saw in her expression. Very gently, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against her forehead.
In only a few minutes, the marriage certificate was signed and he was helping his new wife into his carriage, the usual bustle of the city surrounding them as if the entire world had not just shifted.
The ride back to his home was quiet. Erik felt very much as though he should say something, but no words would come to him. Christine sat across from him, her face placid as she watched the city pass by and idly fiddled with the ring that now adorned her left hand. Occasionally he would glance up at her and meet her eyes, and she would give him a small, uncertain smile before glancing away. They were rounding the corner onto his street—their street—when he finally spoke.
"You look very nice." It was true, though he felt more than a little uncomfortable having said it. It was simply the first full, coherent sentence he'd been able to think of, despite the fact that he normally made a point not to notice such things. A man of a more romantic persuasion might have even described her as lovely. He would not have disagreed with the description.
"Thank you," she replied softly. "You look nice as well."
Erik doubted she meant it, but there was no need to reply as the carriage lurched to a stop in front of the house. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and she took his hand automatically again as she climbed out, and again he was surprised when she did not flinch at the contact or immediately pull away.
"I have all of your things waiting for you," he told her as he led her inside. He'd had to work quickly to prepare a room for her, but he imagined that just about anything would be an improvement on the room she had been living in at the boarding house.
"Thank you," she said again.
"Perhaps you should see the room before you thank me," he said, turning to catch her small smile at this.
"Very well."
She followed him upstairs to a door at the top of the steps—he had figured that she would want some distance between her room and his, which sat at the end of the hall, and this was the nicest room anyway. Opening the door, he allowed her to step inside first, watching her expression change as she took in the space.
"If anything is not to your taste, I am certain we can—"
She shook her head. "It's lovely."
He breathed a small sigh of relief at this. Even if he'd had more time, preparing the room still would have been a challenge simply since he knew so little of her taste. The pale blue floral wallpaper had seemed appropriately delicate, and the Louis XVI bed that sat at one end of the room and the matching wardrobe and dressing table across from it had seemed elegant but not overly extravagant. The large windows on the far wall looked out onto the garden, allowing the fading sunlight to seep in with the faint scent of roses. Erik had been fairly certain, at least, that Christine did not expect anything too grand, but he had worried a bit that the room would just be one more reason for her to be unhappy with him. The fact that that didn't seem to be the case put him more at ease.
"I hope you'll be comfortable," he said as Christine stepped further into the room.
"I'm sure I will be."
"That door there leads to your ensuite. If you find anything lacking, please let me know. I want you to feel… at home." The words felt strange in his mouth, and Christine shifted as though they sounded just as strange to her.
"I will. Thank you."
A long moment passed in silence, and she looked as uncertain as he felt as he searched for the correct thing to say or do now.
"Are those all of your things?" Erik asked eventually, glancing to the single trunk that had been brought up earlier that day.
"Yes," she said. "That's everything."
He gave a nod. "I'm sure you would like to get settled in, then. Would you like any supper sent up to you? Or some tea?"
"Won't you have supper with me? It is our wedding day, after all." Her voice was light and she spoke with a slight smile, but there was a touch of sadness in her expression that made something in him catch.
"If you wish. I have ordered supper for eight. Is there anything you need in the meantime?"
"No," she said. "Thank you."
He almost wished she would stop thanking him—any favor he was doing her was not enough compared to what he had asked of her in return.
Christine wasn't sure if she was grateful or not when Erik left her alone. It was a relief, at least, not to have to search for something to say, continually glancing up at him but finding him completely unreadable. His presence as he had lingered in her doorway had seemed more unnerving than it ever had before; it was nothing about him that had changed, but simply the realization that she had bound herself to a stranger sinking in. Now, alone in this beautiful room that was so unlike the one she had grown used to, exhaustion suddenly weighed heavily on her. Removing the corsage that Meg had given her and placing it on the dressing table, she collapsed unceremoniously onto the bed, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.
She couldn't quite explain why she felt like crying. The situation was more or less what she had expected—what she had wanted. She was comfortable and secure. The days that stretched out ahead of her would be filled with music. She would be able to practice and improve, and soon enough her nights would be spent on the reconstructed stage of the opera house. Surely, there was nothing about this new life that she could fairly complain about. The reminder calmed her nerves a little, and she took a deep breath and let her arms drop to her sides, though she did not yet open her eyes. No, it wasn't fair of her to be upset, not when she had agreed to this knowing full well what it would mean for her, not when Erik had clearly done so much to ensure that she was comfortable. She supposed it would just take a little time for her to grow accustomed to everything, and that was understandable enough. In a single hour, her entire life had changed to the point of being unrecognizable.
She remained where she was for a few more minutes before pushing herself upright again and standing to begin unpacking her things. Not that she had much to unpack. The wardrobe was already stocked with new clothes, as well as pristine, white underthings, which made her face heat as she thought of Erik ordering them for her. The dressing table displayed a gleaming new vanity set, and there was even a small stack of books arranged for her on the little table beside the plush chair that sat by the windows. The only things she had that were of any real worth to her were the silver case containing a tintype of her mother on one side and one of her father on the other, which she placed gingerly on the dressing table, and her father's violin in its battered case, which she left in the safety of her trunk.
With that done, she changed her dress, swapping the pristine ivory silk for a skirt and shirtwaist—too informal for evening, perhaps, but it made her feel more like herself, and Erik didn't seem like the kind of man to take issue with what she wore. When she checked her reflection in the mirror, part of her expected to see a great change in her features since she'd stood in her room at the boarding house. It almost seemed impossible for there not to be a single difference in her face now, some new trace of grimness or contentment or wisdom. But she looked just the same as she had that morning. Despite everything that had shifted around her, she was the same person she had always been, and the thought eased some of the tension in her shoulders.
Still, as she turned to make her way downstairs to have supper with her new husband, she couldn't help but feel that the woman she'd been when she'd entered the church that morning was growing a little more distant with each passing minute.