Ch 2

Erik wasn't certain if he should be overjoyed that Christine wished to stay or angered that she refused to leave. He waded through sheet music strewn across the floor, hands on his hips as he walked through the mess. Some of the papers were burned, others covered in wax from his tantrum.

He glanced back at the bedchamber and grit his teeth, imagining her sitting there staring at the mask she had stolen from him. It angered him that she was so insolent, but he was also relieved that she hadn't followed him.

He couldn't bear to think of how frightened she had appeared while he acted so childishly, tearing apart his apartments in a rage. He needed a moment to compose himself and prevent another outburst. The last thing he wanted to do was lose control before her. He wanted to appear dignified, gentlemanly, not raving and mad.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, remembering how he had led her down the hall, whisking her away down the five levels of the opera house.

His hand squeezed into fists as he thought about how she had felt in his arms when he laid her down in bed. A thousand nights before Erik had lain awake and imagined what it would be like to have her beside him. He envisioned her in the middle of the satin sheets, her hair framing her face, chest rising and falling as she slept peacefully. He thought about running his fingers gently down her arms, along her face, through her hair.

Papers shuffling drew his attention, and when he turned he saw Christine kneeling down as she gathered sheet music in her hands. She glanced up at him before she pushed her hair away from her face.

She continued to collect the papers while he looked on, uncertain of what he wanted to do. He thought, quite cynically, that he enjoyed her company more when she wasn't asking questions, but, knowing her well enough, he knew her silence would be short-lived.

He needed to speak before she did, to draw her under his protective wing, to persuade her just as he did from behind the mirror.

He needed to use the power of his voice. With a deep breath, he opened his mouth, intending to sing to her once more.
"How did you do it?" she asked, averting her eyes as she spoke.

"Let your—" he spoke over her, catching himself too late.

Christine stared at him a moment, her lips parted and eyebrows raised in question. "Pardon me?"

"People will be alarmed once they discover you are missing," he said, finding his irritation growing. "Come with me."

"There's a monkey," she said suddenly as she stood and placed the papers on a table. She dusted off her hands and licked her lips nervously. "By the bed. He has cymbals, and he was playing a tune. It's…"

"It's what?" he snapped.

"Quite frightful, really. The way it stares…" Her eyes wandered around the lair.

"It's not real," he muttered. "It can't see you."

She shrugged. "One never knows what is real and what is not within the opera house," she said as she wandered back into the bedchamber.

"Christine," he said as he stomped down the stone stairs, wishing he had devised a better plan. Once he had her in his home he expected her to accept her fate, trusting him as she always did. He expected a questioning child to become an obedient young woman who listened to her husband as though his word was the law of God.

Clearly, that was not how things were going.

"May I ask you something?"

Erik had a feeling that if he told her no she would still ask, so he followed her in and stood in the doorway. "There are stairs through that door," he said, nodding to the opposite end of the room.

"Oh," she said as she sat down on the edge of the bed and ran her hands over her forearms.

"Are you cold?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes," she replied, her teeth chattering.

He watched her closely for a moment, uncertain of whether or not she was mocking him. "Fine, then," he said at last as he turned and brought her his cloak.

With the heavy fabric draped over her shoulders she looked inconceivably small and innocent, her large, dark eyes blinking up at him.

"What hour is it?" she yawned.

Removing his pocket watch, he glanced up to see her eyes closing slowly, body slightly swaying as she remained seated.

"Two," he said rather loudly, which made her jump.

"In the afternoon?"

"Morning, I would gather," he said, feeling wide awake. Being that he only traveled at night, he held a different schedule than everyone else.

"Ah," she said, her head tipping forward. "I'm so tired."

"Then you best return to your room at once," he said as he walked around the bed to retrieve another cape. "Before you are too tired to walk up the stairs. Of course, once the damp air hits your face you should be fine." He glanced over his shoulder and saw her nod. Finally, he was convincing her to return. Perhaps if he returned her now she would think it was all nothing more than a dream, a strange but wonderful dream. She would wake up in the morning and think it was all silly, absurd really. After a few weeks he would come back to her and make another attempt. By that time she would forget all that she saw, he hoped.

"To your feet, Mademoiselle, before you—"

He turned and frowned at her, his nerves on end. She was already lying on her side before he finished speaking, snuggled up in his cloak with her eyes shut and a blissful smile on her face.

For the first time since he had laid eyes upon her Erik didn't see an angel.

Everything he had always wanted was before him, he thought, but for the life of him he couldn't understand why he wanted to be rid of her.

He allowed his cloak to fall to the floor as he walked toward the bed and studied her oval face.

Christine was gaining the upper hand, and he would be damned if a woman controlled him.