Chapter Eight:

Matrimony

Three weeks later, Christine was stood in front of her floor-length looking-glass, stepping into her wedding dress with Meg's assistance. As she drew the shoulders and bodice up around her torso, she caught her friend's eye in the mirror and smiled.

"I can't believe this day is actually here!" Christine gushed, almost bursting from nervous excitement. "Why is it that when you want something to come quickly, it never does?" Meg just smiled at her friend's reflection.

"You really do love him, don't you?" she asked, her smile creeping into her tone of voice. "I've never seen anyone so excited for anything! You weren't this nervous when you sung 'Think of Me' for the first time!" Christine grinned.

"I've never wanted anything so much in my life. For as long as I can remember, I've dreamed of having a wonderful wedding and marrying my true love amidst all my best friends! And now it's finally happening – I never thought my dream would actually come true!" Christine's face fell ever so slightly. "If only Papa were here to give me away…" A wistful, faraway look had come into her eyes, and Meg seized her shoulders firmly.

"Your father is so unbelievably proud of you," she said assuredly. "And I'm sure he's smiling in heaven, looking down on you." A few tears pricked the back of Christine's eyes, and she felt a lump arise in her throat. She nodded.

"I hope so," she said quietly.

"I know so." Christine looked up at Meg gratefully, and the blonde-haired young woman brushed the tears away from Christine's face. "He loves you, Raoul loves you, Mama and I love you…and you're going to look absolutely radiant in that dress." Christine smiled again and secured the bodice over her shoulders and chest. She lifted up her long hair and twirled around so she had her back to Meg.

"Can you do me up?" Meg smiled. She remembered when she and Christine had first met; that was the first thing that Christine had ever said to her. Looking at her now, she couldn't get over how far she had come since then. The gawky, shy teen that she had once been was long gone, replaced by a beautiful, sophisticated young woman, although Meg couldn't help but laugh when Christine would let out a sudden giggle – identical to the one that Meg had grown to love all those years ago. It was a flashback to the past, and in a strange way it reassured Meg that her childhood playmate was still there, just in a body and mind that had matured over the last seven years or so. When Christine had first come to the Opera, her hair had been enormous – more like a bush of curls than a waterfall. But now that had changed, and Christine's features had shifted into a beautiful ivory heart-shaped face, large green eyes that sparkled and danced, and a small but full-lipped mouth that could set into a hard line if she was either determined to get something done, cross about something, or if she was trying desperately not to laugh at something unseemly. Her hair had changed into a long cascade of auburn curls that fell to her waist, and however much Christine complained about it, everyone else knew it was beautiful. The fact that Christine was so unaware of how beautiful she was made her even lovelier; she didn't flaunt her beauty by painting her face and eyes up with eyeliner or lipstick, although she did often use a tiny amount of the stage face glitter to dab around the corner of her eyes, making them seem even larger and more alive. Occasionally her lips would be painted ever so slightly pink by some of the stage's lip tint, making her seem so much more youthful.

Meg smiled at her friend and carefully did up the tiny buttons that ran along the length of her bodice, stretching down to the level of her waist.

"There," she said, stepping back. Christine slowly turned around to face her, and Meg smiled even wider. "You look beautiful." Christine gave her a watery smile and let out a sob involuntarily.

"Oh, Meg…I'm terrified. What if I do it wrong? What if Raoul doesn't really want to marry me after all? I'll let everyone down…" Meg just shook her head and forced her friend to look at her.

"Christine, don't be absurd! I've never seen so much love for one person in someone's eyes as I do when I look at Raoul. Besides, if he didn't want to marry you, he would have told you so long before we started actual preparations – you know that's the sort of man that he is. And you're just being paranoid now anyway. There's nothing to get wrong! You'll be absolutely fine." Christine looked hopefully at her friend and tucked a curl behind her ear.

"How do I look?" she asked, shyly. Meg grinned, turned her friend round so that she was facing the mirror, and leant her head on her shoulder.

"A vision," she said simply, and it was true. Christine's dress had been custom made just for her: it had an ivory bodice with short, tight sleeves that hugged her shoulders, and there were tiny tendrils of ivy embroidered all over the bodice in thread the same colour as the dress itself. There was a teal ribbon that crisscrossed all the way up the back, concealing the tiny buttons and producing a corset effect. Around Christine's waist was tied a simple teal sash, complete with a simple bow at the back, and the skirt flowed down to the floor in almost a perfect circle, the full skirt spreading out around her feet and making a train when she walked. The most striking detail of the dress was the large, triangular panel of teal material at the back of the dress, which emanated from her waist and gradually widened. This was decorated with the outlines of tiny, silver teardrops, and the whole dress was so stunning on Christine that Meg could almost cry. She could hardly believe what was happening – how was she being maid of honour to her best friend since childhood? The years had passed so quickly and neither of them had really realised it, but now the hard reality of Christine leaving to get married really hit Meg, and she realised just how lonely she would probably be without her. She angrily brushed a few tears away. Now was not the time for sadness; it was Christine's big day, and she should be just as happy for her as the young brunette was for herself. She was shaken out of her thoughts when she heard a muffled sob come from Christine.

"I'm sorry, Meg. It's just…well…I don't think either of us ever actually thought we would grow up and marry. Sometimes I think that we were only celebrating our thirteenth birthdays last week…and now we're twenty years old, and I'm getting married…I hardly know what to think." Meg smiled tearfully.

"I know…" she said, her voice shaking slightly. "We grew up…but we were the girls who would never grow up! I thought we'd be children forever: sneaking into the kitchens to steal some extra cake; falling over when we did our ballet warm-ups; giggling like idiots whenever a new male dancer was hired…and now you're going to be a married woman, Christine! I can hardly believe it!" The women smiled at each other for a few moments, linked by their hands as they thought back to their childhood together, and soon there was a quiet knock on the door.

"Girls?" Antoinette Giry called. "Are you ready for me to come in and do your hair, Christine?" Meg gave Christine a quick kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of her hand before ushering in her mother, who could only stop and stare at how beautiful Christine looked. She smiled widely at her.

"You look absolutely radiant, my dear." Christine blushed and looked at her feet. Antoinette inwardly scolded herself: what was she doing, embarrassing the poor girl in such a way? She walked over to the young woman and played around with some strands of her hair for a while.

"What do you think would be best, Madame?" Christine asked shyly. Antoinette tipped her head to one side, thinking for a minute.

"I think we should do a loose, plaited chignon." Christine blinked and looked vacant. "So I can plait your hair loosely, and then twist it round into a bun at about the crown of your head. We should be able to pull out a few curls to frame your face too, and you'll be the perfect picture. With just a little bit of kohl around your eyes…and a little rouge on your lips and cheeks, you'll be the incarnation of the word beauty!" Christine smiled gratefully, and Antoinette busied herself with plaiting the waterfall of curls that fell down Christine's back. Meg watched her mother with admiration as she noted her quick hands; she had evidently styled hair many, many times before, probably with the reams of ballet girls that had come under her command so many times over the years. She wished she could be as good at plaiting hair as her mother was; she'd tamed the unruly mass of curls in less than a minute and it was now sitting in a neat plait that ran down Christine's back. Antoinette quickly twisted the braid until it coiled round into a perfect chignon that sat almost exactly in the middle of the back of Christine's head, which she quickly secured with a good twenty hairpins. Meg shook her head in disbelief and admiration. Whenever she tried to do something like that, it just all fell apart and only succeeded in making her angry and frustrated. To add the final touch, her mother pulled a few curls loose to frame Christine's face, and turned her round to face Meg.

"What do you think?" Meg could only shake her head and smile.

"Perfect!" she answered truthfully. "I think you're ready, Christine." Her friend looked up at her, her eyes dancing with excitement and nervousness. "Come on – you don't want to be late!"

Forty-five minutes later, Christine was stood at the entrance to the small village church, her heart pounding. Gripping one of her hands firmly was Meg, who looked at her and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Her other hand was threaded through the arm of Monsieur Firmin, one of the theatre's patrons. She had always had a soft spot for the old gentleman, despite his rather comical appearance and disposition, and he had always admired her for her resilience and not being the image of all the other silly ballet girls. She looked up at her friend and he smiled kindly down at her. It had barely taken her a second thought to decide to ask him to give her away at her wedding, and he had accepted without hesitation. Of course, her Angel, the man whom she truly regarded as her father, would have been the best choice…but he was dead. Nevertheless, she was overjoyed that Firmin had agreed to give her away – she would have a truly concerned face amongst the ranks of ballerinas and suchlike. She could see Raoul stood at the altar, bouncing up and down nervously on the balls of his feet, and Andre stood beside him as his best man. Firmin signalled to the conductor to begin the music, and he willingly complied, striking up the wedding march. Christine looked up at Meg, panicking slightly, and the trio began their walk down the aisle. As she walked, she could feel various different gazes looking at her: some of contempt, like Carlotta and her rabble, but mostly of joy and admiration for the young soprano who was finally free of the fearsome Phantom and could be a free woman to marry the man whom she loved. She smiled at the youngest ballerinas, looking up at her eagerly, and thought how it hardly seemed any time at all since she had been one of them. Yet here she was, heading down towards the man whom she loved most in the entire world, and was finally going to become his wife. As they reached Raoul, Firmin gave her hand a squeeze and passed it over to the young Vicomte, and Meg released her other hand and stepped back with Firmin. She looked back at them both gratefully, and the priest looked at the couple kindly and began reciting their vows. Christine was shaking so much that she could hardly follow or repeat what he was saying, but eventually the two of them came to the end of the vows, and Raoul slipped a simple white-gold band over her ring finger.

"You may kiss the bride," the priest finished kindly. Raoul tucked one of Christine's curls behind her ear and leaned in to kiss her gently. She responded by looping her arms around his neck, and when the kiss had finished, Raoul whispered to her.

"You look beautiful." She smiled and kissed him again, and the two of them linked hands and made their way down the confetti-filled aisle, ready to start their new life together.

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