Christine was surprised, after the months of anticipation and careful preparation, how calm she was when she returned to the Met to join her first rehearsal. The nerves in her stomach the night before had not been the crippling kind that she had feared would leave her trembling and unable to do more than squeak out a few notes; they were expectant and eager. She'd been waiting so long for this, and it hadn't been all that long ago that she'd been beginning to think her one chance had been snatched away from her and she would never see so much as a rehearsal with the chorus. But now here she was, stepping into the rehearsal room with more sureness than she had felt in months.
It was not uncommon, she knew, for the prima donna to eschew rehearsals almost entirely in favor of performing the role as she saw fit, ensuring that she would shine as brightly as possible onstage. Christine had not been offered this indulgence, and she was grateful for this. As new to this as she was, she could not imagine taking on the role with only her own preference and vanity to guide her.
She was greeted by the director, a Monsieur Castelmary, who wore a kind expression and spoke in a warm baritone. Then there were to two Polish brothers who would be playing Faust and Mephistopheles, and whom she found pleasantly jovial. The pretty young woman who stood shyly off to the side was Signorina Guercia who, like Christine, would be making her debut. There was a pleasantness about everyone that quickly put her at ease. A small part of her had been worried that she would be an outcast—that the others would look down on her lack of experience and would not welcome her into their own world. But if Christine had felt a slight tinge of nerves when she had entered the room, they dissipated quickly as she fell into the rehearsal, the pleasure of singing with others and the excitement of the performances ahead of them far outweighing any lingering anxiety.
During the brief moments when her mind did wander from her current surroundings, she thought of Erik, just down the hall in his office. They had arrived at the building together that morning, and the one stab of hesitation that she'd felt had come at the realization that, for the first time in weeks, she would be spending the better part of the day without him.
That night when they had sat up talking, when she'd first seen his face, now felt like years ago, although in reality only a couple of weeks had passed. She'd gone to bed feeling both lighter and heavier—her knowledge of his past and the abuse he'd suffered was a new weight, but it was balanced by the understanding that he trusted her, that he felt as close to her as she did to him. It was early in the afternoon when she finally rose the next day, still a little worn from the previous night but anxious to see Erik again. She'd gone downstairs to find him in his study, and he'd met her with a shy smile. Closing the door behind herself, she'd crossed the room and had taken his face in her hands, asking if she might remove the mask that was back in place. He'd agreed, although his nerves were clear, and once the mask was off she was quick to reassure him with a gentle kiss. She could not deny that his was not a pleasant face to look at, pallid and deathlike as it was, but she had a feeling that it would become pleasant to her as it became more familiar—it did, after all, belong to Erik, her Erik.
The days that had followed had been uncertain but exciting. Every move that either of them made felt cautious, as if they were each waiting to see what the other would do before proceeding. Erik could send a thrill through her simply by reaching out and taking her hand, which he did with great tentativeness at first, only daring to let their fingers brush until she gave him a encouraging smile. It was only very gradually that he'd grown more certain, and as much as she'd tried to assure him that she welcomed the touch, he was still cautious. The one indulgence he seemed to allow himself was a kiss goodnight. At the end of that first day, he'd kissed her forehead, his cool lips just barely brushing her skin. She'd smiled, her heart skipping at the shy gesture, and she'd leaned up and pressed a light kiss to his lips in response. The next night he'd dared to kiss her on the cheek, and the following night, when she'd seen the nervous way his eyes had darted to her lips, she'd stepped closer and tilted her face up invitingly, and he'd very carefully lowered his lips to hers. The kiss had been chaste, and she'd seen his cheeks reddening when he'd pulled away—it surprised her how expressive his face actually was after months of learning to read him in other ways. But she'd smiled warmly up at him, and he had kissed her every night since then, still shyly but finally beginning to gain a little more certainty.
As cautious as he was with her, he made no secret of the fact that he enjoyed being close to her, and she was more than happy to assure him that she enjoyed it too. She finally allowed herself the little touches that she'd been tempted to make for a while, whether it was resting a hand on his forearm or entwining their fingers or reaching up to straighten his cravat when it became askew. These little actions were always rewarded with an endearingly shy smile that made her feel wonderfully warm.
With so much to occupy her thoughts, the approaching rehearsals had started worrying her less and less. She could see the great improvement she'd made since beginning her lessons with Erik, and as rehearsals grew nearer, she realized that she felt ready for them. By the time their carriage had pulled up in front of the opera house that morning, she'd felt eager and steady. Erik had offered to go in with her to introduce her to the director himself, and when she told him she thought she should go in alone—she didn't want to look like she was receiving preferential treatment as his wife—his smile had grown.
When they were given a short break, though, she was quick to make her way up to his office, eager to be with him again even if it was only for a few minutes. Perhaps it was only because they had spent so little time apart recently, but just the past couple of hours had left her bursting with things to tell him. She wanted to recount every moment of the rehearsal to him, to tell him about how friendly everyone was and how strange it felt to be singing with anyone other than him and how thrilling she found the whole thing. Her feet carried her quickly to the closed door of his office, but when she knocked softly, no answer came. She knocked again, and when there was still no answer, she cautiously pushed the door open.
"Erik?"
He was sitting at his desk, his shoulders hunched in concentration and his mouth pressed into a firm line, and he looked up in surprise at the sound of her voice.
"Christine, is something the matter? I was not expecting you until—" he pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it, evidently surprised by the hour it displayed. "Ah. So this is your midday break."
"Are you very busy?" Christine asked, her brow furrowing. "I can leave you to your work if you can't afford a distraction right now."
"On the contrary, there is nothing I would like more than a distraction," he replied as he stood, his movements a little stiff. "Especially if that distraction is a visit from you."
Smiling, Christine stepped fully into the office and closed the door before crossing the room to him. She knew he would not want to remove the mask in such a public place—even at home, he would only remove it when he was certain a member of the staff would not be likely to enter the room without warning—but she took his face in her hands anyway before gently kissing his lips. He leaned into her slightly, letting out a small, contented sigh, and when she pulled away enough to meet his eyes, she offered him a sympathetic smile.
"Has it been a very difficult morning, then?"
"I suppose it's been no more difficult than I ought to have expected," he said running a hand through his hair. "But there is much to do and the board has been pushing back on every minor suggestion I make, and being here rather than in my study just… makes it all feel more real. It's as if the importance of putting on a successful season is hitting me doubly as hard now."
"Oh Erik," Christine sighed, letting her hands drop down to his shoulders where she rubbed light, soothing circles. Even as thin and angular as his frame was, she could feel how the muscles were knotted. "I'm sorry. I can only imagine the kind of pressure you're under. I hope you're not making it worse for yourself."
He let out a small chuckle as he relaxed into her touch. "I'm afraid it's my nature to make things more difficult for myself. And thinking about all that I stand to lose if this season does not go well is proving an effective way to do that."
"But it will go well," she told him, making her voice sound absolutely certain despite the fact that the same worry had gripped her more than a few times. "You mustn't think otherwise. I know your mind, Erik, and I am convinced that you're incapable of making anything other than beauty if that is what you intend to do. The programming is perfect. You have selected wonderful artists who will fulfill your vision. I am certain that even the renovations you have insisted on will be lauded. The auditorium will be much improved. And others will have no choice but to recognize your brilliance."
Giving her a weak smile, he reached out to brush a stray curl off her forehead and allowed his fingers to trail lightly down the side of her face. "I am honored, Christine, truly, by your opinion of me. I do not know how I came to earn it, but I treasure it."
"I can assure you that my opinion is not unduly earned. But in case you think that I am being too generous, I will also tell you what will happen if, for some reason beyond my understanding, things do not go well." She spoke lightly and was gratified to see his smile grow warmer. "We can leave the city and pursue an opera company elsewhere. Perhaps we could even go to some European capitol. Imagine living in the midst of so much art and culture. Or perhaps we could move to the country and live peacefully on a quiet little farm where we could keep to ourselves and spend our evenings sitting on the porch, singing to the stars."
Erik closed his eyes, his smile wavering for a moment. "Do you truly mean that you would… remain with me?"
The quiet wonder that crept into his words sent a pang of sadness through Christine, and she took a step forward to wrap her arms around him, pulling him close and pressing her face into the crook of his neck. He hesitated for a second, but then she felt his arms carefully encircle her, and after another moment his grip tightened and he held onto her more securely.
"Of course I would remain with you," she said, her voice gentle but certain. "Whatever else happens, you do not need to worry about that."
"It's what I worry about most of all," he murmured. "Before I met you, the worst that could happen was that I would lose the position. And that seemed bad enough—being denied the chance to put my talent and my skill to good use, being denied an artistic legacy. Then, the possibility of having that influence to assert and the integrity of my art outweighed any fear I might have had about failing. But now you're wrapped up in this too. Your career is at risk along with mine—if you had not allowed me to promote you, you might have made your way through the ranks until someone much more in favor than me championed you. I cannot imagine that the board would be happy to retain too many of my choices if I am removed from my position. And if that happens, I may not be able to offer you the comfortable, secure life I promised you either. Without that security and without your career, the two things I promised you when you married me, why would you choose to remain with me?"
"Because I love you."
The words left Christine's mouth before she was even aware that she meant to speak them. When she realized that she had spoken them, she braced herself for the self-consciousness that was sure to follow, but it didn't come. Erik pulled back a little to look at her, his eyes wide and his mouth opening and closing without actually forming any words, but she still only felt that it had been right to say it. It was true, and if her actions were not enough to instill this knowledge in him, then she would tell him outright.
"I love you," she said again. "Erik, I may have agreed to marry you because of what you could offer me, but those ceased to be my reasons for staying here some time ago. I believe wholly that you deserve great success, but if it doesn't come to fruition, I will still be here with you."
Erik gave a weak nod before slowly bring his gaze up to meet hers again. "I love you too." The words were rushed and shaky, and his lips twitched into a sad smile. "God, Christine, I love you so much I've been sure it would be my ruin. I don't know how to tell you what I feel for you or how to apologize to you for feeling it."
She shook her head, wanting to insist to him that there was no need to apologize, that his love was not the curse he seemed to imagine it was and that his admission now made her dizzy with joy. But she knew he was ready to brush away such words, and so instead of arguing, she lifted herself up onto the tips of her toes and pressed her lips soundly to his. He returned the kiss eagerly, almost frantically, holding her so tightly that her feet nearly lifted off the ground. She cradled his masked face, wishing very much that when she pulled away she would be met with the face of the man she loved rather than the cold, blank surface. Still, when they did part, both grinning sheepishly and breathing heavily, she was gratified to see how his eyes were lit up, how a flush had spread up his neck to the tips of his ears, likely mirroring the rosiness of her own features.
"Please try not to worry yourself too much," she said softly. "You deserve greatness. But whatever comes, we'll face it together."
Erik closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. "Thank you."
"And I'm here for you now, too," she added. "If I can do anything to help you, I hope you'll tell me. I want to help."
"Christine," he breathed, his lips forming her name with soft reverence. "I believe you have done more for me just this morning than you can imagine."
Smiling, she leaned in to kiss him again, her head swimming with the unexpected and wonderful revelation that he loved her. She supposed she had known without him telling her, but to actually hear the words, to share this moment with him, was another thing entirely.
"You ought to get back to rehearsal," Erik said, his voice gentle but regretful. "I've kept you too long already."
"I suppose you're right," she sighed. "But I'll be back."
He pressed a final, soft kiss to her forehead, and then she was hurrying off, returning to rehearsal with a new lightness and a smile she could not quite contain.
The days after that passed faster than Christine could follow. Rehearsal days were full and long. Erik would always drive with her to the opera house, and she would kiss him goodbye before they parted ways, always feeling a little giddy at the easy affection. Then she would lose herself in rehearsals for the following hours. It was exhilarating and exhausting all at once. Soon they moved from the rehearsal room to the stage, working with the newly finished sets and looking out onto the now nearly completed auditorium. With every rehearsal, it became easier to imagine the opening night performance, and this only made the days more thrilling. A few times, she glimpsed Erik sitting in some unobtrusive seat in the boxes, apparently unnoticed by the others, and her heart would race at the knowledge that he was watching.
The days when there were no rehearsals were slower but no less pleasant. Erik would be gone most of the time, but when he wasn't they would continue their lessons; these were Christine's favorite days. When he was kept away, attending to opera business, she would often pass the morning visiting with Meg or Dora, and on one or two occasions, even Lydia Harrison was kind enough to call on her. Sometimes she would spend the day alone, and even this she found she didn't mind—in the midst of all the excitement of rehearsals, the occasional quiet day didn't feel so lonely.
The best part of all of these days, though, was the evening. She and Erik would sit together in the parlor, settled comfortably on the sofa, the blazing fire in front of them fighting off the chill of the rapidly approaching winter. Some nights they would talk, their voices low and their hands entwined between them. That day in his office had eased some of his worries, but there were still plenty to plague him. He told Christine about some of his interactions with the board, which seemed to be growing tenser every day, but she was certain that there was more he was trying to shield her from. This suspicion always stirred an uneasy feeling in her stomach, but she chose not to press him to tell her more, instead doing what she could to reassure him that everything would work out. She was glad that he was at least talking as much as he was, and if things were more precarious than he let on, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
Other nights, they wouldn't talk at all. They would recline together, her head resting on his chest as she let the warmth of his body and the steady thrum of his heartbeat soothe her. One of his hands would rest on her back and the other would play idly with the curls that had come loose from their arrangement, his elegant, slender fingers sinking deep into her hair. The touch was so gentle and relaxing that she would nearly drift off, and then she would feel his lips press to the top of her head and her heart would flutter, and she would shift until she could meet his lips. They would melt into soft, slow kisses; it was only during times like these when Erik would never hesitate, never pull away to look at her uncertainly as if he couldn't believe she would want to be with him like this. At least during nights like this, things were easy. It was just them, and there was nothing else to think about.
And so the days passed quickly but comfortably, usually leaving Christine in a cheerful, contented mood. She was in just such a mood when she stepped out of the opera house one afternoon after a pleasant day of rehearsal. The sun had already set, and there was a heavy wetness to the air that hinted at the approach of snow. The dampness quickly seeped through the wool barrier of her coat and she shivered, pulling the garment more tightly around herself, but her spirits were high as she set off toward home. Rehearsals had been going well and opening night was hardly more than a week away, which seemed both impossibly near and painfully far off. Her nerves were not entirely steady when she thought about her debut, but she had determined that the flutter in her chest was more eager than nervous. And, of course, once opening night had passed and received the praise it undoubtedly would, perhaps Erik would be able to relax.
He had been running himself ragged these past weeks, and she knew he would only begin to allow himself any real rest when he was certain the season would not be entirely poorly received. Even now, he was uptown for a meeting even though, he'd assured her that morning, he would much rather have been driving home with her like they usually did. Christine didn't mind the solitary walk today, though. The chill was invigorating and she liked the way the wind stung her cheeks, and even after a long rehearsal it felt good to stretch her legs like this.
When the carriage pulled up beside her, there was a brief moment of hope that Erik might have finished his business early and had come to meet her. But even in the dim light, she quickly realized that this was not Erik's carriage. The door swung open as she started to walk past, and she could barely make out the figure inside.
"Mrs. Mason, what a cold day it is for a walk. May I offer you a ride somewhere?"
She recognized the voice of George Wright at the same moment that she made out his face, and it took effort not to sigh audibly in disappointment.
"That is a kind offer, but I'm only on my way home, and I do not find it too cold."
"I insist," George pressed. "It wouldn't do for you to catch cold right before the big night, now, would it?"
Christine doubted a short walk in the cold would leave her feeling the least bit ill, but she worried that she could not argue against George's offer again without coming off as rude. And Erik did not need another social relationship to be concerned about right now—even if George himself was not part of the Metropolitan Opera's leadership, the men who were were friendlier with him than with Erik, and Christine suspected that George was a man petty enough to injure another's career over a small slight. She could at least take comfort in the fact that it would be a short ride.
She tried not to notice how satisfied George looked when she climbed into the carriage.
"Surprised to see you out alone after dark," he commented once she had given her address to the driver and the carriage had lurched into motion.
"It's not all that late," she replied simply. "I had a rehearsal this afternoon."
"I see. And your husband did not care to drive you home?"
"He was called uptown unexpectedly."
George hummed thoughtfully, and when she did not ask him to voice his thoughts, a few seconds passed in silence. He let out a small, annoyed sigh, then, and Christine pressed her lips together to keep herself from laughing at the absurd ego of this man.
"Well," he said eventually, his tone revealing his irritation at not having been asked to speak further, although he was now smiling at her again. "I should think that Mason would be well-advised to take better care of his pretty wife. Otherwise she might find her affections falling elsewhere once her career has taken off."
"He needn't worry about that."
George chuckled at this. "I really do admire your dedication, you know. Though I suppose that, as an actress, you do know how to play a part."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." Christine knew that there was likely no use in trying to argue with him and had hoped that her terse replies might be enough to put an end to the conversation. George seemed intent on drawing her out, though.
"It must be quite tiring living like that, having to keep up that pretense. I can't imagine it would be pleasant under most circumstances, but especially not with your choice of husband. If you should ever find yourself in need of some… better company, I should be happy to pay you a visit."
These last words were spoken lowly, making the suggestion clear. For a moment Christine sat in stunned silence, not entirely sure what reply she could make to a man who was either quite shameless or quite delusional about his own appeal. The carriage gave a little jolt, then, and she realized that they had reached her destination. Part of her mind urged her to exit the carriage quickly, without a word or a look back; there was no dignity in this situation, and perhaps it would be best simply to remove herself as quickly as she could. But she had the distinct feeling that George would be persistent in his interest in her, and it was perfectly clear now that that was what this was. Perhaps an answer wouldn't entirely dissuade him, but it might at least discourage him a little.
Squaring her shoulders, she gave him a sweet smile and saw the immediate triumph in his expression. "Mr. Wright, what an unexpected offer," she cooed. "Unfortunately I must decline, as even if I was in an unhappy marriage, it would take much more than that to make me desire the company of a man as odious as you. Good night."
She paused only long enough to see his expression begin to turn to one of confusion, and then she let herself out of the carriage and walked quickly up to the house, laughter already bubbling up in her as the situation began to feel oddly ridiculous.
Erik was less amused than she was when she related the occurrence to him later that evening, but she had started laughing again, unable to suppress it at the thought of George Wright, of all people, propositioning her, and what he must think of her, and the look that had been starting to form on his face when she had so curtly rejected him. This seemed to relax Erik a little, and soon even he was unable to hide a wry smile.
"I ought to beat him senseless for having the audacity to be so crass with you," he muttered, not entirely ready to match Christine's levity.
She gave him a gentle smile and, taking his hand, raised it to her lips and pressed a kiss to the knuckles. "It would not be worth the damage to your hands."
"But it would be satisfying." It was as much of an argument as he could make, clearly softening to her touch like he was. "You'll tell me if he bothers you again?"
"I will. I promise." She hesitated for a moment, wanted to say more but needing to find the right words. "Erik?"
"Yes?"
"You do know that, even if it had been someone other than George Wright, someone more agreeable, I… well, I do not desire any man's attentions but yours. And I never will."
Her words had their intended affect, Erik's shoulders relaxing and the last traces of agitation leaving his expression. "And I will never desire anyone's attentions but yours."
Tilting her face up to his, she smiled as he gently pressed his lips to hers, the touch shy and tender. No, she could not imagine ever wanting anyone but him.