I couldn't sleep. I dreaded broaching the subject again, but she had to listen to reason eventually.
"Christine…"
"Mm." She drew my arm tighter around her.
"I've been thinking." She purred when I kissed her neck. "If something should happen, you shouldn't be alone. You should find someone who–"
"You're ill! What's wrong with you? Erik!" She scrambled away.
"No I'm not, Angel, I swear it."
"LIAR!"
"Hush, Christine, for God's sake; you'll wake the entire house! Come back here." Reluctantly, she allowed me to gather her up.
"You're the cruelest man in the world," she grumbled. "How could you speak to me of another man after you've just made such beautiful love to me?"
"Same thing, Darling; how ill could I be? I just…everyone gets old, Christine. Reza's given me his will to hold, and–"
"He's making you melancholic! Wait til I see that old man, I--" She trembled, lost for words. My precious diva had grown into a wildcat even as I'd become a kitten.
"Christine," I kissed her hands in a vain attempt to get them to unclench, but she tore them away, tucking the sheets around herself tightly.
"No! I'm not listening, Erik! I'm not going to hear this! Get your hands off me!"
"Christine, just promise me you'll find someone to take care of you," I pleaded.
"You'll take care of me, do you hear?" Her eyes shot flames as she clutched my arms; I'd be wearing matching handprint tattoos in the morning. For all her love, she was shaking the life out of me. "You'll take care of me forever, Erik. Promise me, promise; or I'll never forgive you!"
"I'm thirty years your senior, Woman; can't you once listen to me? Once, in our life together? How much have I asked of you?"
"NO!" Christine threw herself against me the way our angry little man used to do. "Go find Anci if you want someone to behave! Tell me you won't leave me; TELL ME!"
She clung to me as if she feared she'd never hold me again, emitting great gasping sobs. When I couldn't take it any longer (not very long at all), I murmured "I won't leave you, Christine." I had to relent; she was squeezing the breath out of me.
"Ever."
"Ever," I added.
"Say you'll take care of me," she sniffled, a frightened orphan again.
"I'll take care of you, Christine," I sighed.
"Forever. Promise."
"I promise, forever."
Well, I reckoned I would have to live forever. How could I leave her if I didn't know she'd be alright? If only she knew how much heartache these battles gave me. Stubborn, willful child; every time I try to look after her it ends up in a mêlée royal. If I had even a sous for each time I'd tried to have this conversation with Christine, I'd be wealthy enough to buy eternal life. There was nothing for it, I'd have to take it up with Raoul. There's poetic irony for you.
-0-0-0-0-
"…received your invitation, Monsieur–"
"Erik, please, hm? And listen here, Son, before my little girl arrives, let's be clear about something."
"Of course, Erik…" Pale; Miri-ange's vicomte was impossibly pale and slim. When I shook his hand, it was as soft as a girl's. Alright, I suppose, so long as the money held out.
"You know something of Masson's escapades, no doubt, but if I catch you playing slap and tickle with my baby, I'll kill you."
He nodded and got even paler, if that was possible. It was gratifying to know I could still threaten, even though I was fangless old lapdog.
Miri-ange glided downstairs with her mother. I got a kiss and a smile before she and her effete beau drifted toward Chagny, where the young people were gathering to dance all night. Christine tugged on my arm. "Will you come next door with me?"
"Of course; I'll have the prettiest girl there. I am always happy to show you off."
"Oh dear, you're too good to me, Erik. Listen, I want you to meet someone; you remember dear Mr Mill? His godson has come to say hello. He was in Paris, and having heard so much about me from the dear old man–"
"I'm sure. He's come to steal you away. Is he young and handsome?"
"You're mad," she giggled. "He's a boy!"
"So, much the better, then; he can keep up with you. What's the rascal's name?"
"Bertrand Russell."
"Egad, not another Bertrand. Alright, then, let's go meet your next husband," I chuckled.
"Will Masson come, do you think?" she worried.
"I hope so. I told him I needed his help spying on Miri-ange and Etienne."
"My baby's heart broken, Erik," Christine lamented. "If I learn the name of the cow–"
"Shame on you, Angel; you sound like a vengeful opera ghost. Anyway, he's been celibate four days now; I'm sure a roomful of plump young pigeons will set him quickly to rights, particularly after a few brisk dances."
"What a positively wicked thing to say about our firstborn. I'll have to consider whether I can forgive you…" She slipped out of my grasp coyly.
"Come back here, you naughty thing," I grinned. What party? I could've stood outside the ballroom all night and let Christine tease me.
"Hm. Why should I?" Her luscious pout worked on me like no drug could.
"Because, speaking of wicked, I have some marvelous gossip for you. About Reza and Silke," I murmured, tempting her into arm's range.
"What about Reza and Silke?"
"She's changed his luck," I whispered.
"Erik, that's not gossip any more than you and I are gossip," she scoffed.
I stared at her. Maybe my mouth was even hanging open.
"Don't tell me you just discovered them? Erik!" Her laugher still made me melt like the first time I heard it. She scampered up the steps and reached out to me. "Come along, my oblivious old man!"
-0-0-0-0-
The party would have been an unqualified success, but the three musketeers staged a raid, dumping a bucket of frogs into the parlor where the girls had congregated to gossip and compare fashions.
No rest for the wicked; Raoul and I had to excuse ourselves to administer beatings. The Chagny boys got off easy with the whippings. On the other hand, Christine marched Gustave over the following morning to scrub the ballroom and parlor floors.
Raoul tried to intervene on poor Gustave's behalf. I tried to warn him to leave it; Christine was in no mood.
"Christine, let him go, for pity's sake; it's nothing but boyish high spirits!"
"Shut up, Raoul, or I'll have you scrubbing as well."
-0-0-0-0-
"Mama's crying," Jeanette tugged at my sleeve. "Please, Papa." It terrifies the little ones when their mother is anything but a pillar of strength and a whirlwind.
"Yes, yes," I groaned, "I'll go. Let me get my old feet under me, Child."
She was curled up in the window seat, unchanged from the little girl who used to hide in the chapel. I sat at her feet and waited.
"Annemarie's left me. She's given no explanation, refused even to speak to me." My angel mourns the loss of every girl as if it was the first. I never know what to do for her.
I longed to tell her what I knew; ease her pain and let her know it hadn't been her failure, but I admit I wasn't a clever enough man to know how to accomplish it without signing my son's death warrant. So I said nothing, and tried to work out what I'd do with Masson now that his sweetheart had returned to the street.