A/N Hey all. This is me trying to get back into the swing of things. I hope you can all enjoy this. I've been disjointed the past few months, and I know that's going to show through. So I apologize. And I'm still having some major issues reading what I've written. As I go is ALL RIGHT... but not GREAT. Large blocks of text give me a headache, so my editing is sporadic at best. I'm sorry for everything I've undoubtedly missed.
After she'd already decided to simply get some rest, and worry about her relationship with Erik the following day… something still hadn't allowed her to sleep. She'd lain there; Erik's apology echoing in her mind as Adnah's disbelieving question went unacknowledged. Her husband's presence – so obvious to her sensitive awareness – had only further strengthened with each moment that passed. She could almost hear his soundless movement as he came closer, and had almost felt as though some ghostly hand was hovering close to her…
She had no idea that Erik had been tracing his hand in the air over her body… She'd only sensed that his eyes had been raking over her with almost physical force. She didn't know if the sensations were wishful thinking… or if they existed in a way that she was afraid to understand. All she knew was that he was there, staring at her; feeling terrible for not being the man she'd once known and loved. He was there staring at her… and she couldn't sleep because all she wanted was for the awkward silence and tentativeness of their reunion to be over.
The sweet Spanish words he'd broken the long silence with had finally broken her. It had forced her body to almost contract with a type of hope that caused agonizing pain. She didn't want to feel so suddenly hopeful. She didn't want to be so forward with Erik that it frightened him away… But in that moment - when she turned to look over her shoulder at him with such uncertainty - it had almost felt as though she had no choice if she wanted to survive another night in this house.
She needed to love Erik… to give herself to him in whatever way he would allow.
It's probably the only way… Adnah's voice had mused thoughtfully. He won't let her go if he doesn't have something better to look forward to.
She doubted what she had to give Erik could be considered better than what Christine had been giving him. For that to be possible, Christine would have had to have been giving him something at all. She didn't believe for a moment that Christine had given Erik anything worthwhile. She'd been too absorbed in what Erik had been giving her - the good and the bad.
The fact that Erik had not pushed Arabella away when she'd kissed him had been a good sign. At least… she thought so. There had been no commentary from the ghost haunting her thoughts; so she didn't know if anyone else agreed. But she knew it was a good sign when Erik had melted and joined her on the mattress. He'd given her something in return… however slight the gift had been. It had been a step in the right direction.
It could have been a purse of diamonds… the tiny surrender had been that valuable to her.
But she certainly hadn't expected his complete change in demeanor the next day. Erik hadn't teased anyone in such a way since… well…
When was the last time Erik had teased and been in good humor without a biting, acidic undertone to it? She honestly couldn't remember. It had been years; that much was certain… maybe even decades.
In spite of her curiosity and confusion, she hadn't wanted to question him about it. Bringing it to his attention might have made his good humor pop like a soap bubble. She didn't want that. She wanted to see Erik humming, composing, and teasing… She wanted, greedily, to see the tender thoughtfulness he used to be so capable of being nurtured. If she questioned him, and brought it directly to his attention, he might think that he was doing something unacceptable…
He'd made her a coat out of something he'd kept for years. That had touched her more than many other things she'd realized in the past few days. The idea of discarding the quickly assembled and slightly mismatched garment for something much more impersonal struck her as ludicrous – given how Erik sometimes forgot all about the comfort of others. She wasn't sure when this part of him had begun to manifest… but she knew he was very capable of forgetting that other people needed simple comforts. Even when he remembered; he didn't always care.
That he cared about her comfort enough to take her shopping after already making her something almost from scratch was a good thing… it had to be.
Once dressed and wearing the makeshift coat; she'd followed Erik out to the boat on the lake and taken his assisting hand to sit herself in the center. It didn't seem Erik was paying any particular attention to her balance or comfort out here… but he was still amused at her bemused reaction to his new demeanor. It was almost as though he were enjoying her reaction enough to keep it up for sheer entertainment purposes; rather than genuine continued good-humor. Still… their ride across the lake had been mostly silent – she doubted Erik was aware of the almost inaudible tune he continued to hum on the relatively brief journey.
Once on the other side of the lake, Erik had secured the boat and escorted her out into the dim sunlight of early morning. It was crisp outside – almost cold enough to be considered bitter due to a gusty breeze that bit almost instantly through her coat. Erik took a sharp glance around; trying to decide where best to lead her first. Before they'd gone very far, however, Arabella had smelled freshly baked goods coming from a bakery as they past, and her stomach clenched in hunger.
Only then did she remember that neither of them had eaten super the night before. She put a hand over her stomach and paused, causing Erik to stop and look at her with a curious tilt of his head.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, his eyes continuously scanning the street for trouble when not looking directly into her eyes.
Your Erik has too many faces to keep track of – and that doesn't include his masks.
Her brow puckered at the unwelcome return of Adnah's voice in her head; but she was no longer alarmed whenever she heard it. Ever since his 'discussion' with her over whom he was haunting… his droll reactions to things never seemed scathing or frightening. Erik caught the reaction; but seemed to associate it with the entire reason she'd paused as he finally caught sight of the bakery and smelled the breads that had undoubtedly just come from the oven.
"Ah…" he acknowledged, reaching under his cloak to access his hidden purse. His gloved hand was very white in the lightening morning as he held it out to her. "I should have been thinking about it before we left. Here… get whatever pleases you."
"But-"
"-No." Erik interrupted, shaking his hand. "I insist."
Biting her lower lip, Arabella tried to hide a smile.
"What about you?" she asked instead. "Aren't you even a little hungry?"
"Perhaps I will do what you and I have done in the past." He gave her a somehow familiar lopsided shrug – and it took her a moment to realize he was unconsciously imitating one of her behaviors.
"What is that?" she demanded, although her smile was starting to break through. She was happy that Erik was in such good humor… but she didn't entirely trust it. Adnah had been right about Erik's many faces. It wouldn't take much for his mood to alter dramatically.
"I could steal a bite from what you're eating."
Rolling her eyes, Arabella found herself laughing as she walked toward the bakery.
The man inside was around Erik's age; and didn't appear too fond of seeing her walk into his shop. She didn't know if it was from waking so early on so many days to do his work… or if it was because she was clearly an outsider in an old-fashioned French dress. But he still took her money, even if he wasn't particularly polite about it. He sold her three biscuits laced with cheese, and then gruffly told her to enjoy the day – in a tone that suggested he'd just rather she go to Hell. Almost the entire time, he was eyeing Erik through the front display window of the bakery; as he stood in profile to them with his hands clasped patiently behind his back.
When she came out and offered him one of her small prizes, he smiled and took it without comment. She was amazed at the chunk he bit out of it, and stared down at her own while she tried to decide if she should similarly tear into it… or pick at it… or take smaller and more ladylike bites.
It was ridiculous; wondering how she should eat in front of her own husband…
"I take it you had something in mind…" Erik finally said once they'd paced a few more yards. He glanced at her sideways; and smirked at her questioning stare. "I mean… for clothing."
"Oh… well…" She glanced over her shoulder; in the direction of the shop where she'd bought her newest set of clothes. "I hadn't thought much about it. I had supposed we would find some booth or store selling used clothing."
"Used?" Erik snorted. "I don't put my money into something another person has already worn into shapelessness."
"Well… you have finer taste than I do." Arabella frowned at her feet as the continued walking away from the slightly tackier merchants of the area. "A few skirts and blouses would be enough for me, Erik."
He glanced at her – again. All of a sudden; his every glanced made her want to wince slightly. She felt scrutinized in a way that left her lacking somehow.
"I remember the night I brought you to that town festival." He mused quietly, staring ahead of them. He'd stopped scanning for possible danger; and Arabella wondered briefly and distractedly if that meant he was relaxing or simply more certain of his previous observations to now things wouldn't be changing suddenly – or soon. She knew exactly what day he was speaking of… and a flush heated her face as her hands began working anxiously over her food and the small bag he'd given her to carry the rest of it. "Even though the dress I'd managed to procure was probably ugly as sin by most standards… you were stunning in it. You seemed to thrive in that gown."
"I did feel like a real Lady…" Arabella admitted reluctantly. "Is… that … how you want me to dress? Like a real Parisian lady?"
"You would look lovely, I'm sure." He stated in an offhand manner that was nowhere near as flattering as he meant it to be.
"I don't know if I can look as natural in such things as Christine did."
The way Erik nearly lost his graceful pacing and knocked the toe of one carefully shined boot into the street made her body stiffen in mortification.
Why did I say that? She thought miserably.
"You…" Taking in a deep breath, Erik seemed to shake himself. "… You aren't Christine. You don't need to wear the same styles and … and… things… that she did."
"But you still want me to dress like a gaje…?"
"If you don't want to; you don't have to." Erik was scrambling now, each of his sentences coming out in short and almost incoherent bursts. "I just… I thought… You were always so interested in ladies' fashion before… how different it was from what you were used to… even though it wasn't even that different. Some of it was just made with finer material; or a more artful hand…"
They were nearing a group of shops now… none of which looked open. Clearly, Erik hadn't taken the hours of dressmakers' shops into account when they'd left the house. Arabella found her eyes drawn to a dress example in one of the windows' – a party dress of deep cranberry blue-red with black lace and intricate beading. It reminded her – only slightly – of the gown she'd made for her wedding day. Erik's eyes followed her gaze, and then locked themselves firmly on the ground as though embarrassed. It took Arabella a few moments to realize he hadn't seen the gown at all; but a table behind it and nearly at the back of the room piled with ladies' underthings...
"You don't think I'll look like a fool?" she wondered uncertainly. "I just wouldn't want to… embarrass you."
Eyes wide, Erik turned to face her fully for the first time since leaving the lake.
"You couldn't…" he began to object. No doubt heat was suffusing his face. "I'd never suggest you wear something foolish. I would know much better what to suggest for you now than I did that one evening…."
What he silently meant was that he intended to control her wardrobe. Arabella realized that, considering it would be his money they used to purchase it… that this was utterly fair. But it still panged her slightly. It wasn't that she didn't trust Erik's taste … but the fact that he'd learned about women's fashion not due to her… but due to his obsession with obtaining Christine… it made things awkward. And she also wanted – very much – to be exactly what she'd never been before. She wanted to be Erik's lady. This thought had occurred to her in their past together- multiple times. But she'd never been so nervous that she was incapable of pulling such things off.
"If you don't want to do this…" he offered slowly; obviously with reluctance as he glanced at the nearest shop again. "…I'll take you somewhere else."
"No." she objected instantly. "It's all right. We can shop here… It will be interesting at least; to wear something brand new made by a professional hand."
"I thought your skill was something close to professional." He offered almost timidly.
"That isn't actually having professional skill." She pointed out. "When do we come back? After we've done the rest of our shopping? Will they be open for business by then?"
"We don't need to wait." He took in a steadying breath. "Wait here… I'll be right back."
"Where are you-?" Arabella's jaw dropped, her entire body stunned when he turned to walk down the street toward the corner of the building.
"To find the seamstress." He said dismissively. "She's done work for me before. She'll accommodate us."
Even as he vanished around a corner, Arabella felt her body slump.
Of course… Erik had attained all his brand new clothing for Christine from someone. It hadn't always been the same person… but she thought this place seemed specifically familiar now. She wondered what the reaction of the seamstress would be … seeing this intimidating man in exquisitely tailored black clothing escorting about a young foreign woman. Would she think that Erik had bought all the previous clothing for her? No… her measurements would be far too different from the ones of Christine – which Erik had acquired from wardrobe in the Opera. So… what would she think? Would she think anything at all?
It's too convenient, isn't it?Adnah asked; a tiny hint of his old malicious glee back in his voice. Everywhere he goes… he can think of her. There is no place in this city where he'll find a single thing to make him think of you, instead. You'll always be overshadowed by her.
Moaning, Arabella pressed her head to the cool glass of the display window by the cranberry colored party dress. Her hands rose up to cover her ears, as though she could block out the voice in her head.
"Go away…" she pleaded. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"
Who would you have to talk to if I did? Do you really think that he is going to be able to ever let you out of her shadow? Even his house is virtually a memorial to her.
Her face puckered in pain.
Things had started so well today – in spite of her initial confusion. It wasn't Erik whose mood had suddenly taken a drastic change, though. He'd become a bit more serious… but even his musings of their past had seemed to be reasonably casual and light-hearted. He hadn't been trying to be domineering or discarding. He'd wanted to give her a taste of the life she'd once dreamed about. He was being kind – if perhaps misguided. This time… this time it was her fault.
Will he dress you in pretty pastel colors? Will it suit your skin tone… or clash terrible because it was really intended for a lithe and lovely blonde Scandinavian?
"Stop it!"
"Bella?"
A hand touched her shoulder and she jerked violently, spinning with one hand up to defend herself. Erik blocked her hand instinctively, hands held up innocently so that she could see he was harmless. Her mind spun back in time to the other times he'd tried to make himself as non-threatening as possible. There had been the time she'd gone into the red tent for his assistance… the day Adnah had died… the night she'd discovered her condition… Erik was always trying to prove how harmless he was to her… and over the years he'd become the dark shadow she'd always been afraid of in others – although not in quite the same way she'd feared. She tried to reconcile the two Erik's in her mind… and almost couldn't do it.
"Are you all right?" he asked worriedly.
"I… I'm fine." She said uneasily, turning back to stare through the window. "Did you find her?"
"She's in the workroom." He acknowledged. "She asked for a few more minutes to make the place presentable… Bella?..."
She turned her back to the window and reached into her bag of food to distractedly nibble at one of the leftover biscuits.
"What happened just now? You… you were… talking to someone…"
She shook her head quickly and forced a smile onto her face.
"Not now." She stated. "Later."
"But-"
"-Please, Erik…" she murmured, dropping her eyes. The smile was slipping. "Not now. We don't have that kind of time."
"All right…" he agreed reluctantly. He was staring at her as if she had gone crazy…
Maybe she had…
A few moments of tense quite passed between them as she pretended to nibble at her food. Finally, however, the front door to the shop unlocked and opened, and a slightly older woman with dark olive skin peered out at them. Arabella was startled – being so used to the fair skin of the French that something more exotic seemed utterly out of place. The very sight of the seamstress made her almost forget her misgivings and trepidations as Erik gestured her into the building.
He'd brought her to the one place – probably in all of Paris – that her differences wouldn't be looked down on. He'd brought her to a woman that would understand nearly everything about her body, hair, and skin, far better than any French woman.
He had found a place to leave her in good hands.
She hadn't realized this immediately; of course. He'd stayed for a time; keeping almost entirely to himself as the seamstress began speaking in slightly broken French – her accent unrecognizable to Arabella but friendly never-the-less. As Arabella became more relaxed, and seemed to forget what had tortured her outside, however, he offered apologies and explained that he would get the rest of their shopping done while she was measured.
"Take as long as you wish, Ma Belle." He insisted at her slightly uncertain glance up from a large book of design sketches. "I want you to enjoy yourself. Pick anything you wish. Don't worry about how much it costs…"
When he was gone, the seamstress smiled at her almost mischievously.
"He is good customer." She said in her faltering French. "He has exquisite taste. We take his words to heart – enjoy the chase of the perfect dress."
Arabella smiled in spite of her surprising trepidation, shaking her head at the woman's enthusiasm.
"No… I am not going to waste his money." She argued.
The woman's brow furrowed as she continued going through all of Arabella's options. She had apparently realized that Arabella was not the same woman Erik had bought for in previous visits.
"Your mother must be the expensive one." She mused quietly. "She is lucky to have such a small waist."
"The woman he bought for before isn't my mother." Arabella said – ashamed at how testily her tone came out. She couldn't help feeling that the seamstress had somehow managed to imply she was the wrong shape… maybe even fat. She knew it wasn't possible, in spite of her ample curves… but still…
She supposed she suffered far more insecurities than she'd ever dreamed.
"Ah…" The woman didn't so much as hesitate between pages at this revelation. "I apologize… Now… let's start with some silk. He said to give you nothing but the very best quality…"
Arabella doubted very much that Erik had been quite so specific. They'd already agreed that she could pick out what she preferred. But she couldn't blame the businesswoman for taking advantage of a patron unafraid of spending far too much on a massive quantity of clothing. She decided not to argue the point; and soon found herself enticed into buying more and more completely unnecessary garments. There were so many various designs, and the alterations the seamstress kept saying things could be changed did sound enticing – as though this custom made clothes would somehow be so different that she'd stand out like an exotic flower in a field of weeds.
"It is going to take you weeks to make all this." She finally realized in mortification. "Why am I doing this? No one needs this many clothes!"
"You are new to this city…" the seamstress guessed with a knowing smile. "You will need every single one of these garments in time. We haven't even started on the underthings!"
Arabella very much doubted that…
"I won't need as much as you think in that regard."
It felt as though hours had passed before they were finally interrupted by the shop door opening, and a light, trilling voice breaking into their revelry.
"Hello!"
Oh no!
She could think of absolutely nothing else coherent as the seamstress excused herself to meet with the new customer. Arabella froze a moment; knowing that she was a stranger to all in this city and thus could never be recognized by a Parisian woman… But she still felt trapped in the room. Recognizable or not, she didn't want the new customer to see her.
Frantic, she hurried around behind a shelving unit that held an array of fashionable accessories. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the blonde-haired customer in a black hat and salmon-hued dress eagerly clasping hands with the seamstress as though they were old friends.
She'd only been seen once in a restaurant? Adnah's voice broke into her panic. Someone has not been looking very hard.
I feel sick… she admitted; too upset by this sudden turn of events to be disturbed by Adnah's obnoxious return.
Do you genuinely feel threatened by that silly songbird?
Not now, Adnah!
It would be such a waste to kiss him so pathetically; just to be reminded of a much more sensual one, wouldn't it?
Ah… There was that horrible mockery she was so used to. Her face twisted into a hateful grimace as she searched out a doorway into a back room. She couldn't concentrate on a single word spoken between the two other women in the room. All she could think of was escape.
Why is she here now? She wondered furiously; unable to find a door immediately. She doesn't live close enough to bother with this street! She shouldn't even be in town!
Not that Nadir knew. Adnah reminded her – a touch more sympathetically. Newspapers don't stand outside of seamstress shops and wait for Opera diva's to shop there.
He was right; of course… Sighing, Arabella forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath and begin to look for the door more carefully.
"Mademoiselle?"
She nearly jumped out of her skin at the seamstresses' voice. She whirled and felt her face explode with heat as the woman rounded the shelf full of accessories to peer at her in concern.
"Is there something you wanted back here?" She asked worriedly. "We haven't fully discussed colors or fabrics. We won't know what will go with any of-"
"I trust your judgement. I wouldn't know what to pick. But I am done today – I can't handle any more." Arabella interrupted. "I need to leave. Is your new customer still here?"
The woman narrowed her eyes; obviously confused.
"What? Oh! No… she was only picking up clothes. No fitting today."
"O-oh…"
Arabella was so relieved that she nearly fainted; but managed to keep on her feet. She didn't understand why she'd personally wanted to escape the shop so much without Christine seeing her. It wasn't as though there had been a photograph of her in Erik's home. She wouldn't have been recognized by the ingénue. But coming face-to-face with Erik's most cherished muse had felt like an insurmountable challenge so soon after her return. She certainly didn't want to think what would have happened had Erik returned while Christine was still in the shop!
You didn't want to hear if Erik came in and reunited with her. Adnah accused mildly.
He was right… but it still didn't explain her horror at being so near the soprano.
Maybe you don't want Erik to see you side by side and make an unattractive comparison?
Leave… me… ALONE!
She doubted very much that he was gone; but Adnah did her the favor of not speaking again as she returned to the books full of designs next to a – by then – enormous pile of fabric swatches. There was nothing for her to collect; but she felt utterly rude simply stalking out without so much as a polite 'thank you'. She'd been rude enough as it was.
"Are you certain I cannot convince you to stay a bit longer? I would hate to disappoint you."
Arabella shook her head adamantly; but smiled faintly with apology.
"What's the matter?" the seamstress demanded. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No, no…" Arabella assured. "It's nothing like that. I just…"
She didn't know how to answer. The seamstress was clearly puzzled by her sudden behavior. Still; after a moment she gave Arabella a brilliant smile.
"I know! I have just the right gift for such a generous client! Honestly, I had made it for myself… but…"
She frowned, a look of grief seeping into her eyes. Arabella didn't ask what had changed her mood so suddenly. She merely watched, dumbfounded, as the slightly older woman walked into the back room only to return with a large white box in her hands. The sadness was still in her eyes; but her smile had returned full-force. It looked terribly false, and she seemed to be trembling slightly.
"This should fit you just as well as it would have fit me." She promised. "I don't need it now; and I promise I've never worn it."
Arabella accepted the box; uneasy. She couldn't imagine what had sparked this sudden generosity in the other woman. There had been nothing particularly familiar that had passed between them. Had Erik somehow arranged for…?
But Erik arranging for anything in the few minutes he'd been gone to fetch the seamstress was silly. This woman claimed to have made it for herself. Perhaps it was a spontaneous moment of comradery… or perhaps because Arabella was so close to her size, it was the perfect opportunity to get rid of something that brought sad memories.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Something for a special occasion." The seamstress said with a wink that showed a glimmer of tears. "I think you will appreciate it… on some evening… perhaps…."
"Oh… thank you…"
Arabella sat there for a long moment, her hands clasping the box. The seamstress stood as though waiting for her to open the box and peer inside… but Arabella no longer felt like being around these clothes was any sort of fun. She was ready to be gone; and to go home with Erik. She wanted to be safely tucked away with him where there was no chance of accidental encounters…
Would it be wrong to keep this a secret from him?
You haven't told him about me yet. I don't think this would be much worse.
Again; he was right. But she meant to tell Erik about Adnah… the time just hadn't been right…
Secrets are what killed you the first time; you know. Keeping a secret about your suspicions that you were with child… about how sick you really were…
Clenching her teeth, Arabella quickly turned toward the front of the shop.
"Thank you." She offered to the seamstress one more time. "We'll pay you when we come back for the fitting… if that's all right."
"I've already been paid." The seamstress waved a hand dismissively. "And, of course, any possible extra costs will be added to later. I hope you're happy with the results."
"I'm sure I will be. Good day."
She walked through the front room, escorted by the dress maker, and pushed her way outside to realize Erik was standing in the shadows of the building across the way, his arms folded tightly across his chest and his eyes distant. There was only a small basket of necessities at his feet… it seemed he hadn't done much shopping at all.
He saw her coming and quickly released the death grip he had on his own torso before scooping up his basket and walking over to meet her. His eyes looked strained, but he still managed a slight smile for her.
He knows. She thought immediately – and a touch irrationally. He must have been nearby; and he saw her come and go…
"Is this all you're getting?" she demanded, motioning to the basket. "I thought we were in desperate need of more."
"We were." He admitted. "I came by the shop once, when I was almost done, just to check on you. You seemed like you were having so much fun that I slipped back out to bring many of our supplies home already."
"Y-you've been back home already?" she demanded, looking around anxiously to try and see how late it was. It was impossible to tell in the now crowded and narrow street. "How long were you waiting for me out here?"
Erik was silent for a long tense moment, glancing at the shop she'd been in one time, before shaking his head as though to clear it.
"Not long." he replied evasively, holding his hand out for her box. "What is this? Something was made already? I bought an extra few items from one of the consignment shops – as you had suggested - in order to help you through without the finer things... but I had no idea you'd come out with anything."
"Erik… I don't know if I'll even wear the finer things."
"I know you aren't used to it." He acknowledged. "But how can you know unless you try – yes?"
"Yes… you're right." Arabella agreed anxiously. Erik turned; and they began to walk back toward the Opera House close together. "I don't know what's in here. It was a gift but I… I just didn't want to disappoint her if I looked and didn't like it.
"You … you looked very… distracted… when I came out."
"Did I?" Erik cleared his throat nervously; glancing once over his shoulder back the way they'd come. "I suppose I was worried about you. Your face is bright red… and something very strange happened before I left you with the seamstress that you weren't willing to talk about… so…"
"Is that all?" She asked, rolling her eyes as though she weren't actually expecting another answer. "Nothing happened to upset you other than that?"
"Why would it?" he demanded; although Arabella almost convinced herself that he looked simply disconcerted by her prodding.
Sighing, she shook her head.
"Erik…" she began reluctantly. "We need to talk…"