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A/N: I would like to dedicate this update to QueenBtchoftheUniverse. She gave me the encouragement I needed to revisit my story and really end things for Erik and Meg properly. It is time.
Readers, you may consider this chapter penultimate if you like.
Thank you,
DGM
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One Good Turn part XIV
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Meg's debut was only hours away and she was busy breaking in her new pointe shoes, sewing new pale pink ribbons on the sides; the simple dancer's chore helped center her mind and focus her thoughts. It had been three months since she had arrived as a guest of the Demidovs. And during that three month period, she had indeed cried, bled, and wished mercilessly for Nikolai to die a slow and torturous death. But damn if her performance wasn't sensational! And Nikolai, bless him, had been right; they were going to take St. Petersberg by storm!
Madam Giry had arrived earlier that week and was busy observing and overseeing the inner workings of the ballet company as well as getting to know the cast and crew. Already there was talk of the black-haired harridan from France that would work her dancers like slaves and hound them twice as much but the company's performances shown the more brilliantly for it and so the complaining was kept to a good-natured minimum.
Meg smiled as she remembered the day she arrived to the Demidov Manor. She had forgotten how much fun but also how exhausting being with Nikolai and Valentina could be. The both of them were so enthusiastic, so intense, and after having none but Erik's relaxed and reassuring company for the last few days, their personalities quite overwhelmed.
After a thorough tour of the house and grounds, after a formal dinner where she was introduced to every member and extended member of the family, they adjourned to a handsomely appointed drawing room that was furnished with all manner of the most modern and modish of conveniences. And Meg could barely keep her eyes open. "Ah, but the kotenok is tired, Nikolai. We must send her to bed at once." Valentina came smiling over to her and drew her up. "There but you are indeed almost asleep on your feet. Come. We will get you situated in your room, and you shall rest."
Meg looked over at Nick. The light-haired Russian man was seated at the pianoforte, playing an assortment of pieces by Bach, his sister accompanying him on the cello. His fingers never left the keys though his thoughtful grey-eyed gaze remained fixed on her. "Yes, and sleep well kotenok for tomorrow, we begin to train in earnest." He smiled viciously and she answered him with a wry smile of her own, nodding and bidding the rest of the family goodnight. Meg made her way wearily back to her room. What a day! And she was so tired and missing Erik.
Closing the door, Meg prepared herself for bed as usual and lay down. Dousing the lamp completely, she reminisced on her time spent with him, particularly sleeping next to him. She arranged her pillows until they approximated a body shape behind her. Still, it wasn't enough. God! They had been together less than a week. How could she have gotten so used to him, used to his presence in her bed, in that short of a time? She turned over and buried her head in the pillows, imagining his musky, unique scent. Minutes past as she tried to calm, but she only grew more edgy.
The bed dipped and then two strong arms came around to embrace her, drawing her close to a thin, unclothed chest. A knowing voice whispered softly in her ear, "You are terribly restless, ptichka. Care to tell me why?" She turned and buried her nose in his neck, wrapping herself so neatly in his embrace, she could scarcely breathe. She ran her hands up and down his back, side, and arms, happy just to feel him. His low, knowing chuckle pierced her to the core. "Did you miss me, Megan?"
She nodded.
"And I missed you. Are you not going to talk to me, little bird?"
She shook her head, finally relaxing, and he kissed her forehead. "Then we shall sleep." And Meg sighed, the love and peace she felt the balm she needed to finally find rest.
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Erik had also been busy, it seemed, during the daytime hours that Megan had spent rehearsing. Upon the day of their arrival, Erik had watched as Megan was greeted enthusiastically by the brother and sister Demidov and loaded forthwith into their waiting carriage. Casually, after hiring a handsome, he made to follow, checking his own bags for pickup later. He was not lying when he told Megan he would not be far from her. In fact, he would be her own personal haunt for the next few days while he gauged the environment in which she would be living and working.
He would not risk her safety—not for anything.
Seeing their carriage turn off into a secluded park lane, Erik now knew which direction the Demidov Estate was located. He gestured for the handsome to drive on, and he returned back to the train station to collect his bags and rent a room.
Appearances were crucial at this stage of the game, and he must, to all appearances, appear a normal, rather affluent, if slightly eccentric, gentleman. He had blended in the edges of the mask with putty, powder and grist so his face appeared seamless. Adopting a centralized dialect to his seemingly native Russian accent, Erik told the innkeeper he had just relocated from Moscow to St. Petersburg and needed a temporary place to stay while he looked for land upon which to build his new home.
The innkeeper was a veritable fount of information and directed Erik in everything: from the best saddler, banker, and peddler of horse flesh to those brokering land deals. Erik paid the man handsomely for his time and attention and made his way to buy a horse.
Thus setting the foundations for the new life he and his Megan were going to lead.
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Upon waking that first morning, Meg had found him seated beside her in a chair, once more fully clothed; her morning tea beside her at the ready. Smiling, she sat up and took it, sipping. "So this is your plan? Sneak into my bed each night?" She looked over her cup at him and smiled. "Not that I'm complaining, mind."
"For now, yes it is. We will never spend another night apart from one another, Megan. I thought you knew that." His eyes sparkled knowingly behind his black mask. "Now, do you know what you are going to be doing today?"
Finishing her tea with a grimace, Meg rose and seated herself in his lap. "Nick and I will rehearse." She shrugged. "What of you, maestro?"
He chucked her on her chin, "Ah. That, my dear, is a surprise for later. For now, you need to get ready. A maid is coming down the hall as we speak." A beat later, Meg heard a soft scratching at the door.
She raised her voice, "A moment, if you please." she stated in rough Russian. He stood with her in his arms and sat her down gently. "Will I see you at all today?"
His eyes sparkled, "So eager for my company, ptichka. No. You must focus, and constantly expecting my presence would hinder that." He lowered his mouth and kissed her savoring, "I will see you tonight after dinner."
And with one more lingering kiss, he was gone from her sight.
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And thus, three months had flown by with her days spent partnering Nikolai, and her nights partnering Erik.
Many nights they just held one another, Meg too tired, weary, and sore to do anything but hold him to her. On nights such as those, he was her tender, ardent lover, making exquisite love to her with his mouth and hands, making sure she drifted off to sleep relaxed and with a smile on her face.
Some nights, she would cry with her worries and her doubts, and he would hold her to him, rocking her as he whispered words of compassion and encouragement—words she would not, could not get from Nikolai if she wanted to excel. And on those nights, he would enter her gently, holding her to him as he quickened and moved within her, telling her with his words, his movements, his very soul how very special she was and how very much she meant to him.
And then some nights, when she was angry and frustrated, when she needed to vent her spleen, needed to scream her frustration, he let her, matching her temper, her nerves, her artistic fit of pique, with heat-tempered kisses of his own, pounding into her his need, swallowing her moans of tension and frustration, smothering them with ecstasy until her angry cries became those of more and of sweet release. And they both found the succor they needed in so violent a coupling.
Last night was one such night, and Meg quivered as she remembered his rough possession; her hips would bear the bruises for a week at least.
She sighed, coming out of her reverie to a knock on the door. She wasn't expecting Erik for another hour, not that he would use the door, and no one else she knew would disturb her right before a performance. Suddenly having a deep feeling of foreboding, Meg put down her darning and standing, walked across the room. Drawing a steadying breath, she opened the door.
"Hello Auntie Meg! Surprise!"
Speechless, Meg could only stare at her friend, dumbfounded.
"Chri-Christine!" she managed to stutter after what seemed an eternity; her mind refusing to make sense of what it was seeing. There was her friend holding a rosy-cheeked, sleeping infant, waving its chubby fist in the air enthusiastically.
Christine remained oblivious to Meg's disquiet, and Meg blinked, drawing a deep breath to ease the pounding of her heart and her suddenly tense muscles. Her friend looked radiant! It seemed the mantles of marriage and motherhood agreed with her, rounding out her girlish figure into a gibson shape any woman would envy and any man stop to take notice.
But then Meg found herself enveloped in her friend's embrace; being careful not to jostle the little bundle she was holding in her arms. Meg quieted her voice to an agitated whisper, careful not to wake the sleeping babe, "Christine! What are you doing here?!"
She giggled gleefully, her brown curls bouncing in her excitement as she whispered, "Madam and I had this planned for months as a surprise. I was supposed to arrive yesterday so that we could have more time to spend together before your performance, but the train was delayed in a little backwater place in Belarus and so we didn't get here until today. Are you not going to invite me in, Meg?" Christine's tone when she asked was wry.
Meg blinked and stated weakly, "Oh-of course! Forgive me. It's just—I'm a bit surprised that's all."
"And who can blame you? I too am shocked at the turns our lives have taken. Me with a husband and child. And you, Marguerite Giry, Prima Ballerina for the premier ballet in St. Petersberg! Are you really going to perform for the Tsar and his wife?!" Meg watched in mystified fascination as Christine situated the infant on the oblong chaise, a mound of pillows surrounding him, making herself quite at home in the quarters Meg shared with Erik.
"This, Auntie Meg, is Christofer Eckehard Alexandre de Chagny, named for both my father and Raoul's." The pride shown through Christine's eyes and voice as she gazed lovingly down at her son. Meg studied the beautiful child. Rosy-cheeked, perfect and sleeping like a little angel, he had inherited Raoul's coloring but Meg was told that he had Papa Daae's eyes. "He is such a little miracle Meg! Honestly, he does something each and every day that makes me fall in love with him just a little bit more. And he's such a comfort too now that Raoul has been called away for his arctic expedition."
Meg started and looked up sharply. "Arctic expedition? You mean he left you all alone?"
Christine laughed and gestured to the babe, "Hardly alone, Meg. There's Christof and his nurse, the steward, the maid, the cook. Goodness, an entire regiment of people to see to our needs and safety. Besides, now that I'm in St. Petersberg, I will have you and Madam to stave off the blues while he's away." She sat gracefully on the settee, and knees atremble, Meg made to join her, "I'm told the journey will last three months at most, and then Raoul will meet us here and fetch us home." She smiled cheerily up at her, and Meg felt her heart sink.
Three months. She clutched the locket at the base of her throat in agitation. Three months alone. Without Raoul.
"Anyway, I'm so glad to get the chance to spend some time with you, my oldest friend and sister." Christine patted her hand, "It gets so lonely at the Chateau sometimes. Raoul's family still refuse to have anything to do with me, and you know I can't return to the opera." She wrinkled her pert nose, "I'm ever so thankful to have you here Meg! You are the only one who knows, besides Raoul and that Persian man, of course, the events of that night."
Meg closed her eyes and nodded stiffly. Yes, those events were ingrained in her memory. "You are the only one I could possibly confide in, Meg. Raoul, I love him, but he wouldn't –couldn't understand the combination of feelings I felt, still feel really, for my Angel." Meg's breathing began to hitch, her pulse beginning to spiral as her vision became spotty. "I still hear his voice inside my head sometimes, you know? And it's so twisted, and so incredibly wrong, but Meg, some small part of me still yearns for him—to be with him. Do you think that's wrong?"
Meg let out a choked sound, clutching her locket tighter.
Would Erik let a little thing like a child keep him from his heart's desire if his heart's desire was still having Christine?
"Meg? What is it you are clutching so tightly? What have you got there?" Trying vainly to calm her spiraling emotions, Meg relinquished her death grip on the locket just enough for Christine to reach and pry it from her grasp.
"A locket?" Meg heard the snick as it was opened. "Oh, Marguerite Giry, do you have a gentleman? Well, it's about time!" Meg felt the catch on the locket give way as Christine lifted it from her neck and studied it closely. "He's handsome as well as dignified. Oh, Meg. It looks like you both love one another very much! Who is he?"
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A/N: The final update soon, dear patient readers.
DGM
review please. it means the world to this little authoress and all feedback is most welcome.