A/N: My deepest apologies to those of you who have been keeping up with my story. School has been hectic and such, but without further excuses, the update.

Chapter Nine

The tension between us was mounting, as much as I tried to ignore it. Each day I had to fight myself against taking her hand in mine, or worse, taking her into my arms. The pressure grew heavier each day, like ever-rushing water against a poorly built beaver dam; eventually something would have to give. What would give and when was what worried me.

I assumed what I felt was no more than a boyish infatuation, but I was disgusted with myself just the same. I would attempt to project how she might react if I did indeed act on my impulses one day, but realistically, I could not imagine how she'd see beyond my mask. Amelie had been able to for she had not seen what lay beneath it, but I had a feeling Christine wouldn't let me off so easily. To her credit, though, she had seen my skeletal, bony hands, my abnormally thin, lean body, and my occasional, uncontrollable temper, and she had not yet been deferred.

I sat in the parlor at the piano thinking this all over and waiting for Christine to turn up so that we could begin our hour of music. She was at the market for the first time in over a week, after an oddly large amount of persuasion from me. Though I was no heavy consumer, even I'd begun to notice the lack of fresh food in the house. She'd begun to serve mostly preserved meats and pastas. When served a barren breakfast of a heel of the bread with marmalade leftover from the winter, I'd finally spoken up and insisted she'd go to the market as soon as the meal was over. I'd given her a few extra francs in order to restore our usual surplus of food.

To amuse myself as I waited for her return from the heavy shopping trip, I placed my fingers upon the keys and began to play Chopin's first piano concerto. I immersed myself in the piece, quickly forgetting Christine and all things worldly. Only one thing existed: music.

Her small hand may have been upon my shoulder for hours before I noticed it. I turned and there Christine stood. "I am ready to sing," she said.

Deciding hastily to skip our usual warm-up routine, as I was more than ready to hear her, I replied, "We will sing the final duet from Aïda, the one sung by Aïda and Radamés." A daring choice, I knew, but it was just what I was in the mood for. Passion, drama, tragedy! The very flavors of life.

I began, my voice filled with an ardor which must have startled her. Even I took note of the passionate overtones of my sound, for I had not dared to sing that way in quite some time, ever since Amelie died, and certainly never around Christine. I could slowly feel myself truly taking on the part, becoming the character and being filled with the very same passion and longing.

I grew louder and more confident, and at the crescendo of my part before Christine's was to begin, I rose from the piano bench and stood facing her, taking her warm, soft hand in mine, her buttery palms against my wilted ones, and stared directly into her eyes as I finished. Whatever she found in my dark orbs must have surprised her, for she gave a little start, but seemed thrilled, and pleased.

She opened her mouth and began to sing, her ardor nearly matching mine. I was pleased. I hadn't ever heard her sing this way, with such meaning, as if she were really meant what she sang. It certainly made for the best music, anyway, and it was a joy to my ears. The smoldering look in her eyes, too… the way her breast rose and fell with each deep breath she drew to support her lungs in this spectacular display of her musical talents.

I felt her body mesh more closely with mine, her hips much too close to mine. I was on fire, and I was so ashamed. And still she sang, and sang, and sang, until I abruptly wrapped my arms around her waist and brought my hideous lips to that opening from which music so freely and naturally flowed; I sealed my lips over hers and kissed her as deeply and surely as I could with my mask on.

The rapture, the comfort, the pleasure! Bathed in the glowing passion of our song, I was more confident than ever before, taking her lips so surely, and she kissed me back! She truly wished for this, I knew, as her arms wound around my neck, drawing me closer to her, pressing her small, soft body against my hard, lean one.

I pulled away when the need for air occurred to me, and it took me a few moments to register her face, beautiful and breathless and flushed. I breathed heavily as reality and embarrassment came crashing upon me. How could I have been so bold?

"I'm sorry," I stuttered clumsily, my tongue now seeming heavy and thick, when usually I was quite glib. "I didn't mean to — "

I was glad when she interrupted me by placing her finger against what was visible of my malformed lips. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't apologize to me."

She kissed me that time, and I couldn't help but think of how deliciously immoral this was. I kept the thought of Amelie and Georges from my mind, only focusing on Christine, and how subliminal her lips felt against mine. In fact, I barely noticed that she slipped the mask from my face, but feeling the gentle breeze against my bare skin was enough to set me off.