Have a great Mother's Day to all my readers and reviewers that are mothers. God bless you.

I have added a picture in my profile - titled - "Gerik". It is a photoshop picture of what I picture Erik to look like in this story.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 30

Erik agreed to stay, although he was not certain what the outcome would be. Her kiss had only served to further confuse him…he had no idea what it meant…but he wished she would do it again; he just hoped it was not an act of pity.

He tried to anticipate her every need, bringing her a book to read while she recuperated, and a pillow to rest her foot on and another for her head. He opened the curtains wide, flooding the room with warm, inviting sunshine and instructed Mitzi to run a bath for him.

"I leave you to your book. I am in need of a bath and a shave..." he bowed politely and started for the door, "…is there anything you need before I leave?"

Lavanya looked him directly in the eye and pouted ruefully.

"You are coming back?"

He raised a brow and smirked bemusedly.

"If you wish it."

She smiled and nodded - causing her long, dark tresses to spill over her shoulders and wink at him. He watched them cascade over her feminine shoulders with avid eyes, eager to feel its softness trickle through his fingers.

She watched him go, still amazed at the ease and grace with which he moved. His long, lean legs and shapely backside were quite wonderful to look at as he strode down the long hallway.

I do not know which is better, watching him leave a room or enter it.

She settled back, shaped the pillow he had given her, and picked up her book. It was going to be quite dull until he came back – and Tarrah would not return for a few hours - so the book was her sole source of entertainment.

She could not get interested in the book and actually felt quite drowsy; it had been a long night after Erik left, and the morning had started out with a high level of anxiety.

She put the book down and shifted about until she was able to rest her head against the pillow while reclining fully. Her eyes drifted shut, but her mind remained on Erik.

He was still very formal toward her – but she was certain she saw his beautiful eyes dance with desire when he looked at her a few moments ago.

He will not act upon it; I know that – he feels that I will reject him.

She had no more than gotten the thought out, when she heard Tarrah in the hallway. It was a surprise, considering she was supposed to be auditioning for the lead role in the latest Lacroix opera.

She had apparently inquired about Lavanya's whereabouts and quickly made her way toward the parlor.

"What happened?"

Her words were not accusing, but Lavanya dropped her eyes in a guilty manner.

"We had a misunderstanding…and I ended up hurting him so terribly."

Tarrah frowned and sat down on the lounger next to her.

"I was talkin' 'bout your ankle." Tarrah teased, hoping to make Lavanya smile.

Lavanya lifted her eyes and smiled; Tarrah giggled, and they shared a sisterly moment.

"I heard about what happened, Christine and Annette were at the opera house and I overheard them…." Tarrah lifted her chin and stared down her nose at Lavanya, "…it seems most of ya think I am too young to know what is goin' on, but I understand perfectly well."

"Tarrah…"

"I do…" the young woman continued, "…I have lived with Erik for two years as 'is ward. I know his mood swings, his boiling point, and his soft spots."

Lavanya heard the determination in the young woman's voice and decided to listen to her – she had an insight on Erik that no other woman had ever had.

Lavanya sat up straighter on the lounge and grimaced slightly as her ankle slammed against the hard surface of the sofa's arm.

"I have to make him understand that I want this marriage – with him, and no one else. At first I had no desire to be married; I was afraid of marrying a man who would try to put me in a box and only allow me out when he saw fit; but I know that Erik is not that kind of man."

Tarrah shook her head in agreement and looked around the large room.

"Where is he anyway?"

"He is taking a bath and promised he would be back down, soon."

Tarrah chuckled and shook her head amusingly.

"I do believe he is the cleanest Frenchman I have ever known."

Lavanya echoed with a chuckle of her own.

"Yes…and he always smells so wonderful…except for this morning…" she whispered, wrinkling her nose, "…he slept in the stables with D'Ombre and managed to polish off an entire bottle of something called cognac."

Tarrah's mouth formed in a half frown/half smile, and she was fighting back the urge to break out into a full-fledged laugh.

"What!?"

"He slept in the stables with the horse…after our misunderstanding last night."

Tarrah rolled her eyes and slid onto the sofa beside Lavanya, careful not to touch her sore ankle.

"Help me, Tarrah…help me to help him see that he is worthy of everything I can give him…and so much more…." Lavanya lowered her pleading eyes and smiled, "…I will not permit intimacy until he feels worthy enough to at least touch me without thinking I am going to recoil from him – he openly berates himself for feeling attracted to me."

Tarrah furrowed her brow in concern.

"So you two really did not have a wedding night…I thought the rumors were not true."

Lavanya shook her head and a dark shadow crossed her eyes.

"For as long as I have known him, Erik has wanted a family – wife, children – the whole picture; however, I also know that he is love shy and will not risk his heart again…it almost killed him last time."

The earnest truth of Tarrah's words made so much sense to Lavanya.

"I found it hard to reason with him at times…he has never been around women. He was not familiar with our mood swings; he did not grow up around girls and does not know how to flirt or recognize when a woman is interested in him…" Tarrah leaned in and winked, "…and there have been several women interested in him over the last couple of years."

Lavanya pursed her lips and playfully frowned. "He is mine, they cannot have him."

"Then I suggest you not take too long to stake your claim my dear…I have seen the same look in the eyes of the women of Paris….they are interested."

"As well they should be…" Lavanya countered, "…he is a beautiful man, and the fact that he has no idea of this is even more endearing."

Tarrah agreed with her and then leaned forward with her arms across her knees; she lifted one arm and perched her chin on her fist.

"So, what is the plan?"

Lavanya briefly closed her eyes and wrinkled her brow in thought.

"I need to let him know through my own actions that I enjoy his touch and his caresses…" she thought about his soft, sweet, barely tasted lips, "…and I want more kisses – his first one left me vibrating with a hunger I have never known before."

Tarrah smiled and closed her eyes in romantic joy.

"My gracious…how will you ever keep from breaking your own vow if you react to him so strongly?"

Lavanya let out a long breath and smiled sweetly.

"I am sure that I have no idea what you are talking about."

Tarrah laughed and leaned in to her, "I am talkin' aboot beddin' him!"

Her Irish accent was very pronounced in that last statement and Lavanya almost laughed aloud, but she managed to look properly shocked.

"Tarrah!" Lavanya gasped and then playfully narrowed her eyes, "Are you sure you are only seventeen?"

Tarrah chuckled and playfully shrugged her shoulders.

"In two days, I will turn eighteen…but yes, right now I am seventeen."

"How did you get so wise?"

"It helps to live with a genius…I think it absorbs through the skin!"

They both shared a laugh and spent the next few minutes drinking tea.

♥♦♣♠

Meanwhile, Erik scrubbed the nastiness off his skin, hoping that no remnants of stable smell and horse grunge remained on his person.

He washed his hair and determined it was time for a haircut; he had let it go on long enough. He had not actually had one for over a year…and he was certain he resembled a wooly mammoth.

His thoughts were jumbled – rotating between the opera house, his compositions, and Lavanya. Suddenly, it seemed she wanted him around, even after his complete idiocy the night before. He felt it was hoping for too much for her to want still to be his friend, but he allowed himself the luxury of hoping.

His head was beginning to pound incessantly, and he had to think hard to remember the last time that he had actually eaten. The reception yesterday had not seemed like a good time to indulge, as he had to eat without the mask. Before that, it had been a couple of days since he had eaten.

He finished his bath and donned a white cotton, pullover shirt; a pair of black and white, pinstripe trousers; a black jacquard vest, and black boots. He did a quick look at himself in the mirror; he decided at the last minute to put on the black domino mask. It did not matter that she had seen him without a mask; he felt he should make any contact she had with him as pleasant as possible.

He had already made up his mind to go have his hair cut, so he pulled on a pair of riding gloves and headed downstairs; his need for food all but forgotten.

He absently moved into the parlor while fastening the cuffs of this shirt and quickly lifted his eyes when Tarrah spoke to him.

"Would you care for some tea, Erik?"

He mumbled what sounded like a no, after looking back down at his cuffs and finally managing to finish them. He found his coat and turned to leave.

"Where are you going?"

Lavanya's soft question stopped his retreat and he turned toward her.

She cocked her head to the side upon seeing him with the black mask covering the upper part of his face; even with it, he looked devastatingly handsome with his twinkling, dark eyes and full, kissable lips.

He was not used to giving accountability for his whereabouts, and found it rather odd that she even seemed to care…but he answered, "I am going to go to the opera house and have Annette cut my hair…I resemble a shabby, barnyard animal."

Lavanya shook her head and shifted on the couch to look at him better.

"Please…let me cut it…" She chuckled when his brow wrinkled in confusion and his mouth opened slightly, "…or rather, trim it. It doesn't need to be cut."

With her extended hand and sweet smile, she beckoned him toward her. He tentatively sat down on the couch beside her and almost bolted from the room when her slender, long-fingered hand made its way toward his black locks.

She touched the soft tips and felt the silkiness caress her fingers; he had beautiful hair.

His eyes drifted shut as she looked at him with interested, non-judgmental gazes. When he opened them again, she was smiling at him; he did not even realize that Tarrah had left the room.

"The black mask brings your eyes to the forefront – their ocean color is enhanced by the mask…you have beautiful eyes, Erik."

He startled at her words and drew back from her hand.

"My eyes?" He repeated; his face a gratifying study in shock and confusion, "You noticed my eyes?"

She giggled and lifted her hand once again – she watched his eyes follow her hand as it moved to caress his exposed jaw and chin.

"A woman would have to be blind not to notice countless beautiful things about you, Erik."

He stood up and his face was suddenly blank. His voice was smooth, but held a hint of lethal self-mockery.

"You are laughing at me."

Her features immediately went serious and she managed to grab his hand before he got away.

"Sit, Erik…you are going to hear this and then I am going to trim your hair."

He scowled suspiciously at her surprisingly strong hold and stern tone; but he relented by sitting down beside her, once again.

His eyes remained fixed on nothing in particular – the floor, the painting on the wall, his gloved hands…anything but her lovely face.

"Erik, please look at me."

He did, but it was not something that he wanted to do. He briefly scanned her face and then settled on her eyes.

"I was not laughing at you…please understand that."

Her voice and her eyes were pleading for him to be reasonable and allow her to explain. Against his better judgment, he remained seated and patiently urged her to continue.

"Do you always assume that when a woman compliments you, she is laughing at you?"

He silently weighed his words, not wanting to evoke any pity or appear to be seeking attention – he would never do such a thing.

"Women do not compliment me – unless you consider shrieking at the top of their lungs, fainting at the mere sight of my face, or being frozen in fear, as compliments – then yes…I get that all the time."

Bitterness crept into each word, although she could tell he did not mean for it to. He was relaying everything he had experienced in his life and she knew he honestly felt that what he said was true – years of conditioning – she supposed.

She did not touch him with her hands, as it seemed he felt threatened in some way when she did. Instead, she caressed his features with her eyes and smiled softly – hoping the combination would relax him.

"I have done none of those things, and yet you do not accept my compliments….why?"

He sat up straighter, surprised at the honesty of the question. She was correct – she had done none of those things…but she could not possibly expect him to believe that he possessed some sort of beauty that women noticed.

"Lavanya…I know beauty when I see it; I have surrounded myself with it all of my life…" he gave a waning smile and scoffed lightly, "…I suppose I hoped it would seep into my skin and alter my appearance."

He lifted his wandering gaze back to her and continued – his face wrapped in helpless dismay.

"My entire life has been one ugly experience after another, but focusing on the beautiful things around me has kept me from slipping into the dark abyss of insanity – at least on a permanent basis…" his brow wrinkled slightly and he seemed distant, "…Christine and Raoul would probably be the best ones to explain my descent into darkness."

In his silent pause, Lavanya decided to respond, "Christine harbors no hard feelings for you, Erik…she loves you in her own way…like a best friend who helped her through the toughest years of her life."

Erik's tempestuous eyes lifted and narrowed; the question was out before he could stop himself.

"Then why did she kiss me?"

At that moment, Lavanya was thankful that Christine had shared that information with her. They had discussed it in detail – just to set things straight between them.

"To free you, Erik…that is why."

His frown deepened and his head reared back, "Free me…from what?"

"She wanted you to realize that you are not alone – that you have people that care about you if you would just allow them to do so. The only one preventing that from happening was you."

He abruptly stood and moved away from her, his thunderous brow wrought full of dismal, self-mocking fortitude. His voice, when he spoke, was menacingly low – but still made her melt.

"People pity me with their sad, judging eyes and diminished spirits…" he spat, "…I do not want or need anyone's pity…I have survived on my own wits since I was six years old…I am quite capable of taking care of myself."

His words tore at her heart and tears sprang to her eyes…he did not see the injustice of what had happened to him – he obviously felt he deserved it; he assumed that all anyone – especially a woman - would ever feel for him, was pity.

"Please do not be angry with me, Erik…I am not trying to upset you – but I need to understand a few things and make clear a few things."

He gave one firm shake of his head and dropped his somber eyes, "I am not angry at you…I have never been angry with you…" He looked at her quickly and then looked away again, "…my anger is focused on me…and no one else."

A soft knock on the door alerted them to someone's presence. Lavanya immediately smiled and greeted Christine as she entered; Erik stood, but remained aloof.

"Greetings, Monsieur and Madam Lacroix, it is good to see you both this lovely day…again."

Lavanya pulled herself up straighter on the couch and motioned for Christine to come in and sit down.

"Is Raoul with you?"

"Oh no, he had some sort of meeting in town…he will not be home until much later…I asked him to allow me to come and visit you."

Erik stood stiff backed against the backdrop of the parlor…his heart gave a lurch when Christine referred to Lavanya as Madam Lacroix – he was not certain how she felt about that title.

"Erik, you do look splendid – I enjoy seeing you in something other than formal wear."

His brow lifted amusingly and he quickly made a sweep of his own form in the full-length, wall mirror directly across the room.

"Yes, he does – I was about to trim his hair a little bit – but we were discussing some things first."

"Why did you kiss me when I mean nothing to you?"

Erik blurted the question out before he could stop himself, but he was not about to act remorseful for having done so.

Stunned silence was the first response.

"You think you mean nothing to me?" Christine stated. "You mean a great deal to me…but I have never seen you as a romantic interest…." his eyes narrowed and she knew what he was thinking, "…and before you say it, my feelings have nothing to do with the deformity."

Erik lifted his chin, defying her words with his eyes.

"Not everyone is so petty about such things, Erik…after I saw it one time, I saw it no more."

Lavanya was nodding her head in agreement.

"By kissing you, I was hoping to convey to you that I find you attractive and that you are a vital and important part of humanity…" Christine emphasized, "…it was not a kiss of passion – for you are more like a big brother to me…or a best friend – but I needed to do it."

Erik thought about her words and realized what a fool he was. He was a grown man with little or no knowledge of the acts of courting or intimacy…what good was he?

"I did not know of such kisses…I am sorry." He mumbled; choosing to ignore what she said about finding him attractive…she had to be joking.

"There are different levels of kisses, Erik…different types." Christine shared. "How have you lived in an opera house for so long and not realized this?"

Erik felt that she was laughing at him and that did not bode well, but he kept his temper in check.

"I simply did not care to know…it is a part of life that eludes me…." He stated, looking away from both of them. "…I shall continue to live in blissful oblivion."

The conversation came to a halt as Blanche McGhee stepped through the door and Erik immediately smiled at her. He had not seen her since he had left London; it was good to have her back.

"Blanche, I am so pleased that you came."

She scoffed and shrugged her soft shoulders.

"What, and allow these young women to monopolize your attention…I think not Monsieur Lacroix. I enjoy having those jade eyes look at me."

She ran her eyes over his frame and regarded him with a one-sided smirk.

"Lunch is served in the informal dining room, sir…" he flared his eyes at her, "…Monsieur Lacroix…" she corrected with a grin, "…Madam Lacroix..."

Lavanya noticed the friendly exchange the two shared and assumed this older woman had been in his employ for a few years.

"I hired her in London three years ago…we understand each other."

Erik was hesitant to follow, but his stomach protested – insisting on sustenance. He glanced at Lavanya, who sat patiently waiting for him to carry her to the dining room. He brushed aside his insecurities for the time being and effortlessly lifted her into his strong arms.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, smiled sweetly, and then rested her head on his chest – listening to his rapid, steady heartbeat. He would know the difference in kisses – she would see to that.

"Christine, join us…please." Lavanya threw over his broad shoulder.

Erik rolled his eyes and felt another wave of panic engulf him. He had little desire to eat in front of his wife – and even less to eat in front of Christine.

He placed her in the chair and moved it under the table. He then went around to the other side and pulled the chair out for Christine. He hesitated from there and Lavanya sensed his unease.

"Sit down, my husband…enjoy the meal."

He inclined his head and spoke softly.

"I normally eat without the mask…I will take my meal in the music room."

He turned to leave, but Blanche and Lavanya both honed in on him.

"I do not think so young man….this young lady is your wife. Has she seen your scars?"

Erik shockingly nodded.

"Then why are you leaving?" Blanche insisted, her hands on her broad hips. "You are not turning back into the shadow that you were when I first came to work for you…I will not allow it."

She glanced at Christine.

"Has she seen your scars?"

He nodded again, still baffled by her strong defense of him.

"Then eat, you mule-headed man."

Erik's mouth dropped open at the same time that he dropped into his chair. He stared after the middle-aged woman as she moved from the room, and then he lifted his mouth in a heart-stirring smile.

"Did she just call me a mule-headed man?" He asked, not expecting an answer. "Did she mean that my head resembles a mule's or that I am stubborn…could be either…?" He chuckled, "…or both?"

"Oh Erik, it is so good to see you smile – you have a gorgeous smile."

Christine giggled - a look of pure adoration on her face. Erik watched the twinkle in her eyes and realized - perhaps for the first time – that she did care about him - in some way.

"Do I?" he responded, not sure of what to say past that.

"Yes…and you are a stubborn man…in many ways." Lavanya agreed.

He lifted tentative eyes to Christine, and gave a matching smile, "Am I to conclude that it is not pity that you feel toward me?"

Her smile lessened, but did no fade away entirely, "No Erik, although I may have indicated it, I never felt pity toward you….you are far too strong in character for me to pity."

He nodded his acceptance.

"I suppose I can eat with this mask on…it is not as constricting as the half-mask is."

Lavanya smiled and shook her head chidingly.

"Take it off, Erik…you are among family." She leaned over and rested her hand atop his, making him warm all over, "Besides, I will tell you sometime what I think about your masks."

His brow lifted in amused bewilderment; what could she mean by that?

TBC