A/N: I'm so sorry I didn't post last night, but I fell really sick and sort of crashed the moment I ended lessons... And proceeded thereupon to sleep more than 12 hours. Anyway, 4 more chapters to go, and this is the wedding chapter! -squeals- Just to clarify, I put Amelie's surname as Giry, because I took it that Madame Giry sort of 'adopted' her.
TierneyMacDonald: I know, but if Raoul hadn't been so silly, there would have been no second half to the story! Hehe!
Lydia the tygeropean: I do love a nice happy ending where everyone is friends again haha!
Masked Man 2: I do wish I could write more, too! But I haven't the time nor energy to come up with new ideas again ): Plus, I am pretty focused on my fashion blog now, that one takes up so much of my time! It's funny how you said that Erik has matured, because I re-read my story, from Chapter 1, and it also amazed me how much the way Erik speaks and thinks has changed! It's pretty incredible because I wrote it so subconsciously; it seemed like the proper way for Erik to change.
grandma paula: Thank you so much! I do hope you'll enjoy reading it all!
marial0789: Yup ): four more now! ):
GalleonGirl07: Thank you very much! I'm flattered, really I am, especially since I'm just an amateur writer with a love for writing. It means a lot to me! xx
E-man-dy-S: Hmm I never did think in-depth about that, but Erik did reassure Amelie that he would be fine... I guess she just decided to trust him (:
Thank you to all new favourites and followers! It means the world to me xx
Chapter 61: The Wedding
Paris, 1900
It was the spring of a new year. The snow of the past winter had melted, leaving only the crisp air behind. The flowers were beginning to spring from the soil again, their soft petals dewy, and their pale green shoots emerging slowly but surely.
In a small church, Erik waited, dressed smartly in a new black suit, his hair combed neatly and his mask gleaming. The daroga stood beside him, dressed similarly in Western fashion, though he had complained and protested throughout much of the fittings for his new suit, claiming that it was uncomfortable and ungainly. The minister stood behind them, ready for the wedding.
The wedding. Erik could hardly believe it himself. He fidgeted with his gloves nervously, and the daroga, who had noticed it, laughed.
"Hit with a case of the nerves, Erik?" He nudged him in the side. "Perhaps you do not wish to get married anymore?"
Erik ignored him, studying his cufflinks instead, and the daroga laughed.
Guests were starting to pour in. It was to be a small wedding, as per Erik's dislike for large crowds and public events. He had invited a small handful of people—Belcourt, the Reyers, some of the musicians he had talked to more often, Antoinette and Meg, and the daroga as his best man. Christine would be there, and Erik had managed to convince Amélie to allow the vicomte to be present,
"I'm more afraid that she has decided she does not want to marry me anymore," Erik muttered, adjusting his cufflinks and tugging on his sleeves. The daroga laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder heartily.
"Well I'd never thought I'd see this day, Erik. All those nights in Persia, sitting on the veranda talking about the mysterious Amélie-Rose… and all that time we both thought it was a meaningless fantasy, a mere dream of yours. But I am happy for you, Erik, that this dream we dismissed so long ago is finally coming true."
Erik allowed himself a small smile, but he was truly nervous.
The daroga noticed him pacing, and he smirked at Erik. "Calm down, my friend. She will arrive soon. It is but a worry that all grooms have before the wedding."
Erik sighed, and looked around the church. Antoinette sat in the front row, and she smiled at him widely when he made eye-contact with her. She had set aside her black widows' weeds for once, and was dressed in an elegant navy gown, trimmed with cream lace, but her hair was still scraped back severely. Meg sat next to Antoinette, all smiles, clad in a periwinkle blue dress that brought out her eyes perfectly. Beside her, Belcourt, dressed extravagantly in an exuberant violet striped waistcoat with a frilly cravat tied around his neck, winked at Erik and gave him a hearty thumbs-up.
Just then, the door to the church creaked open again, letting a stream of sunlight illuminate the room suddenly. The pianist began his rendition of the bridal march, and the choir began to fill the room with the harmonious tones of the song. The rest of the guests turned back to look at the door, and the bride stepped in. The daroga looked at Erik, and smiled to see the look of utter adoration upon his face.
Amélie stood at the doorway of the church, holding onto Reyer's arm. As she was an orphan and had nobody to walk her down the aisle, Erik had asked Reyer for the favour, and the man had enthusiastically agreed. She was dressed in a simple gown of white lace, with a short train of flowing chiffon and tulle. The slightly flared skirt was shot through with silver threads that caught the light with every movement, and the bodice was intricately embroidered with silver. A dainty pearl necklace was fastened around her neck, and upon her head was a crown of white roses from which a gauzy veil drifted. Her hair was arranged artfully into braided curlicues and pinned beautifully, and a faint blush settled on her cheeks.
She looked breath-taking. In his mind, tunes tumbled over each other, melodies intertwining into new songs that his fingers itched to scribble onto paper. She was his music, his muse. When she paused in her walk to beam at him from beneath her veil, he felt as though his heart were to burst out from his chest, so great was the ache.
As she reached him, he held out a gloved hand, praying that his hand would not shake. She smiled shyly at him and stepped away from Reyer, placing her hand in his. Reyer clapped Erik on the back proudly and moved away to sit in his seat in the front row, beside Antoinette.
"Dearly beloved…" The minister began, smiling warmly at Erik and Amélie and the guests.
"Do you, Erik Chevalier, take Amélie-Rose Giry as your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to cherish, to protect and to support?"
"I do," Erik said firmly, squeezing her hand.
The minister turned to Amélie. "And do you, Amélie-Rose Giry, take Erik Chevalier as your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish, to protect and to support?"
Amélie looked up at Erik and beamed. "I do," she said, looking him squarely in the eye.
"I pronounce you man and wife," the minister said jovially. "You may now kiss the bride."
With hands that almost trembled from the overwhelming feelings he felt, Erik lifted the gauzy veil from her face, and gently took her face in his hands. He leant forward, and kissed her softly. The church erupted in cheers, and Erik pulled back, his face flaming. Amélie laughed, and tiptoed, pressing a quick peck to his exposed cheek. Erik could see Antoinette wiping a tear from her eye as she smiled. He had never seen her this happy before.
Antoinette walked over to him, and he clasped her hands warmly. "Thank you for coming, Antoinette," he said sincerely.
She squeezed his hands, her eyes welling up in tears. "Oh, Erik," she whispered. "It feels like just yesterday that I first met you, a little boy who had no idea of his value. And today, I experienced the wedding of a brother—something I thought I'd never experience."
Impulsively, he gave her a quick hug. "Thank you, Antoinette."
"Be happy, Erik," she said, patting him on the back, and moving away so that the rest of the guests could come forward to congratulate him.
"Congratulations, my old friend," the daroga said heartily, winking at Amélie. "I shall be expecting a housewarming party soon enough!"
After Erik had finished thanking the guests for coming, he held out his hand to Amélie. "Shall we?"
She smiled and took his hand, and together they walked out of the church into the sunlight, into a new beginning.
XXXXX
By the time Amélie had finished changing into a simple dress in Antoinette's apartments and packed the wedding dress neatly away into a large box, it was almost evening time. The newlyweds ate dinner with the Girys, before departing the opera house for their new house. It felt strange, for the opera house had been the one place the two had called home for as long as they could remember.
The carriage ride was quiet and uneventful, with Amélie leaning on Erik's shoulder, dozing peacefully. The day's events had tired her out, and Erik was content to hold her hand, stroking his thumb over her smooth skin as she slept. When they arrived, Erik nudged her awake, and paid the carriage driver. The two walked into their new house together.
In the months before the wedding, Amélie had been busy trawling all the shops in town for furniture she liked, working hard to furnish their new home. The living room and foyer had been painted a homely cream, with dark wood cabinets and a large fireplace with a rug thrown on the floor before it. An odd assortment of stuffed sofas and armchairs were scattered around the living room around a coffee table, with a singular rocking chair. The little tin ballerina music box Erik had made for Amélie so many years ago had its pride of place in the centre of the mantelpiece, beside a small vase of roses. The two had returned together to Erik's underground home beneath the opera house for the last time, where Erik had lovingly disassembled his beloved pipe organ, to be carried over in boxes to their new home, where it had pride of place in the large music room. They had left almost everything behind in the underground house, as it was too difficult to carry everything out without being noticed, but had taken with them bits and pieces of the house—mainly musical scores and sketches that Erik had completed, and his extensive collection of books. Then, Erik and Amélie had stood at the entrance they had entered by silently for a few moments, relishing the last minutes of their presence in the place that had housed Erik for so many years, before Erik had finally sealed up the entrance again, closing the Opera Ghost's home forever. Erik did not think it likely that the two would ever return here again; it was after all a bleak chapter of his life that they were closing. Perhaps they would return in time, just to check on the house and to reminisce. He did not know. But it did not matter, for now they had their new home, and their new future ahead of them.
Erik shrugged off his coat and hung it on the coat rack, removed his gloves, and helped Amélie with her wrap.
Hand in hand, they walked up the stairs. He turned the knob of the first room, and entered it with her. It was to be their new bedroom, and it felt inviting and comforting to be standing within it. Amélie had insisted that the room be painted in muted greys and blues, with pale wood furniture and thin, gauzy curtains that allowed the evening sun to stream in in dappled beams of light. The cream bedspread was turned down invitingly, with plump white pillows.
"We're home," Erik said softly, turning to Amélie.
She nodded. "We are."
He reached out slowly to remove the pins from her hair, releasing the tumble of russet locks around her shoulders. Gently, he combed his fingers through her hair, letting the thick strands sift through his fingers. She looked at him with warmth in her eyes, and raised her hands to remove his mask from his face, placing it carefully on the bedside table. Then, slowly, she cupped his face with both her palms, and kissed him once.
His piercing green eyes darkened, and he pulled her closer, leaning in to kiss her thoroughly.
XXXXX
It was morning, and Erik was awakened by the sunlight streaming in through the window onto his face. He felt disconcerted for a moment, wondering where he was, but when he heard a soft sigh from beside him and turned to see a sleeping Amélie, her eyes closed contentedly, he exhaled a breath in wonder.
He lay there contentedly for a few moments, and then decided to get up. Softly, he dressed and crept out of the room and down the stairs.
It was much later that Amélie woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and toast in the bedroom, and she blinked blearily, yawning. To her surprise, Erik was backing into the room with a full tray of breakfast.
"Good morning to you, sleepyhead." He teased, setting the tray down onto the bed and climbing in carefully. He tousled her hair and kissed her. "I brought breakfast."
"I feel like a princess," she said, laughing. "Thank you, Erik."
"You're my princess." He said, handing her a cup of coffee and a slice of toast. She giggled and beamed at him from around a mouthful of toast. He sat back against the pillows and munched on his own slice of toast, feeling completely at peace for the first time in his life.
XXXXX
A/N: Well, there we have it! Not much more to go now! (Aka, this is the perfect time for you to leave a review to let me know what you think, if you haven't already done so! Hehe!) xx hazel