Chapter 9

By the middle of dinner—filet mignon, since Erik was fresh out of sausage—Christine had Erik convinced that, indeed, livestock were inappropriate for the stage.

Erik reminded Christine that if the managers didn't allow cows on stage that La Carlotta would be sent straight to the slaughterhouse, which made Christine laugh so hard that she snorted. Strangely, she didn't realize that the wine made Erik's jests amusing—or that Erik said his jest backwards:

"If the managers didn't allow La Carlottas on the stage then cows would be sent straight to the slaughterhouse."

Eventually she figured it out, tears streaming down her red face as the wine made his words absurdly amusing.

"And they do!" Christine pointed at her plate and laughed so hard she nearly fell out of her chair.

Erik, who was more accustomed to wine than Christine, cleared his throat. He gave her a stern look, his concerns growing that she was imbibing far more than was healthy for a girl of her size.

"Would you please pass the wine?"

Christine promptly filled her glass and gave the bottle a rattle. She made a face of horror. "I think I drank it all."

Erik returned her face of horror with one of dread and swiftly offered her a glass of water, which she refused. Mostly because she wasn't sitting at the table anymore.

"Christine!" he shouted as he scrambled to his feet and ran after her.

She was poised on the stairs, her eyes bulging at the hundreds of candles. Erik was standing too far to see for certain, but he knew that if he were before her that her eyes would be twinkling, reflecting the dazzling light before her.

If he had the opportunity to gaze into her eyes at that very moment he would be able to see into her wonder-filled, wandering, restless soul, at the glistening delight that filled her big, brown orbs.

Or possibly the glazed stupor of a girl who had just finished three glasses of wine.

"Christine?" Erik tried again.

She tiptoed away, holding up the end of her skirt. "Pretty," she said. "Shiny. Pretty… shiny…pretty shiny. It's as though…all of the stars have rained down upon us—but they haven't! They've been caught…by you…my star catcher," she sighed. "And each one, with its opulent perfection and care-free glowing virginity bows before us, begging, pleading—no! No! They are yearning," she said in the most seductive tone Erik had ever heard. "These are the stars that are suspended and yearning to be remembered for an eternity. Persephone would be pleased."

"Pardon me?"

"Is there more wine?" Christine slurred as she spun around and stumbled down the stairs.

"No, not at all. Not in the whole opera house."

She stuck out her bottom lip. "Pity that."

"Indeed," he grunted as Christine fell hard against his chest. She suddenly felt twice her weight as he escorted her into his dining room.

"You should eat more," he suggested.

Christine blew air past her lips. Erik set her on her feet and held onto her arms, allowing her to test her legs before releasing her.

"It's quite warm," Christine commented as she fanned her face and neck. She turned, clinging to Erik's neck with her forehead pressed against his shoulder. She gently pinched his neck through his cravat, sighing and giggling in intoxicated bliss.

It would all be so simple to sweep her into his arms, carry her to bed and encourage her affection. Already she purred, rubbing her hand down to his chest. Every night of lying alone, of staring at a ceiling and knowing that hundreds of people walked and talked and lived above him—would come to an end. He would finally feel a sense of normality in his life plagued with solitude.

"Good evening," she whispered, looking into his face.

Swallowing hard, Erik brushed her hair away from her face. She grinned, her heavy-lidded gaze sweeping from his face down to his chest.

He waited for her to meet his eye again before he took her by the hand. "Come with me," he said.

"Your voice," she said as she clasped his hand. "It trembles."

Erik made no reply. He stood before her, walking backwards so that he could watch her walk. Though she teetered, she never stumbled, and once he had her at the bedside he knew that she would not protest anything he said or did.

She was willing to offer him everything he had always been denied.

"Lie down," Erik instructed.

Christine watched him in sleepy delight as he removed his overcoat and slung it over the bird's head. He folded his waistcoat and removed his cravat, placing both items over his coat.

With his shoes tossed aside he sat on the opposite side of the bed and leaned over to caress her face.

"Erik?"

He kissed her forehead. "Don't speak."

For a moment she obeyed, her eyes closing to his soothing touch.

"I feel very unusual," she confessed.

Erik kissed her forehead again. "You'll be better in the morning," he whispered before he sat up and left her to rest, lowering the curtain around her.