Good grief this is long. So just a reminder, if you felt the story was complete with the last chapter, by all means discontinue reading. This is for those of us who like additional "beyond the ending" type stuff that is purely fluffy and… yes.
Also I want to apologize for not giving out snippets last time—I won't let that happen again!
i
"I wish for Armand to come under my tutelage."
They had just returned from the market—where Christine had not once taken her hand from Erik's arm, much to the awkwardness of selecting items and carrying packages. They had taken the carriage and while frequent trips were made to divest themselves of supplies, Christine felt secure only when she was certain of Erik's presence.
Erik did not seem to mind.
The little boy had been balefully playing in the front garden and informed them that his parents were once more indisposed, and he now did not even have his feline friend to play with.
It had apparently grieved Erik as much as her to leave the dejected boy looking after them as they returned home, but they could not rightly take him without leaving word to his parents.
Her own instincts as a mother reproved such thoughts.
She remembered Erik's final pronouncement the night before, though it was through the haze of satiation and sleep which meant she had not exactly been prepared to think of the particulars of such a scheme. Christine did chuckle however that he would repeat the statement so exactly. Had he been rehearsing his argument in fear she would have retracted her consent overnight?
"You will have to ask his parents, Erik. I am sure Armand has no idea what studying means."
Erik looked contemptuous at the prospect. "They are too consumed with each other to realize how neglected he is. It should be up to him to decide if he wishes to learn."
Christine placed a placating hand on his arm. "And I am sure it will be, but you still need to ask permission of his parents. They have to know where he is."
She did not ask him to consider what it would be like to have Catherine suddenly disappear to study with an unknown person. The thought was too painful to even consider.
"Very well, perhaps they are finished now." It was true, it had taken at least half an hour to unload the carriage and place the items in their prospective locations throughout the kitchen. Surely that was enough time for a midday interlude.
They were proven correct when upon walking to their neighbor's home, Marie was collecting Armand from his place at the front stoop. "Bon jour, Erik and Christine!"
Erik was not nearly as pleasant, neither in his greeting nor in his request for audience with her and her husband. Christine tried to muster up the politeness necessary, but the face of the sad little boy haunted her, and she could only dimly smile at Marie.
"Of course! And you shall be able to meet Jacques!" Christine was not entirely sure she wanted to meet the man knowing what the couple had been up to not an hour ago.
But Marie was beckoning them enter, so it was with her normal husband, Christine and Erik went to meet the man who had left his family for so long a time.
He was not dressed for company, but at least he was fully clothed. Jacques rose upon seeing they had company, and his smile was easy and his eyes warm. There was something slightly boyish about him, though it was quite apparent he was even older than Marie.
His wife beamed at him when she approached. "This is my friend Christine and her husband, Erik! They asked to speak to us."
Jacques extended a hand to Erik, who did little hide his exasperation with the man, and then both he and Christine sat when requested by their hosts.
"What's on your mind?"
Christine though him quite an informal fellow, and though perhaps it was rather wretched of her, she could understand why he retired so early from the military—surely they did not appreciate such a lack of decorum!
When wearing this particular mask, Erik always had attempted to quell his intimidating nature, but as he sat in the homey little parlor, he looked an imposing figure indeed. "I would like to offer your son an education. He appears quite bored with the stimulation he finds at home, and it would be a pity to waste his intellect."
So much for tact.
She had expected them to eject them from their home for such insinuation of neglect, but instead Marie let out a sound of relief. "You would tutor him?"
Erik looked slightly taken aback at their ease of acquiescence, but confirmed his intention. "If he proves capable of learning, yes."
Jacques shifted slightly in his chair, looking uncomfortable. "How much would you charge?"
The disgust was plain on Erik's face, mask or no. "I do not offer this in hope of fiscal gain. He deserves to be taught."
The boy in question was seated near Christine, and his eyes flickered from his adult friends to his parents every so often, quite obviously confused by their conversation. "I would get to go to your house?"
Christine turned to him. "Yes, Armand, a few days a week I should think. You would be studying with Monsieur Erik."
The boy looked unconvinced. "And you and Cat?"
Christine was not certain if he was referring to their actual feline or to her daughter. And not for the first time did she curse Erik's chosen endearment. "Yes, we would all be there." Surely that was general enough to encompass whoever he meant to refer.
"I want to go, Mama!" It did not go unnoticed he did not tell his father of his desires. Apparently the boy was not again used to his male parental figure.
It troubled Christine greatly how quickly they agreed to Armand making the trek to the little yellow cottage three mornings a week. She told herself they were willing to sacrifice for his education, but the glances between the couple told her they had more selfish reasoning.
At what point was Armand to rebuild the bonds with his father?
When they prepared to leave as Catherine was beginning to fuss, Marie pulled Christine to the side. "Do you think you might take him this afternoon?" At Christine's incredulous look, she hastened to explain. "This morning would have been his first day anyway, and wouldn't it be best to start when he's so enthused?"
Armand was standing by Erik, and it struck her how small he looked next to her husband's impressive height. How could she deny the pleading eyes partially hidden behind the shaggy hair? "Of course."
She should have known Erik would have heard her agreement, and for that matter Marie's question as well, and upon hearing her answer he left, a trailing Armand behind him. "What am I to learn first?"
Erik looked down at his shadow. "You shall learn how to properly tune a piano."
Christine doubted Armand had any idea what a piano was, let alone why it required tuning, but he nodded happily all the same.
"Come along, Christine, do not dawdle. It sets a bad example."
What a cheeky husband she had.
She gave her goodbyes and hurried after her teasing husband, feeling a definite lurch in her heart when she watched Armand pull bits of foliage from the side of the lane and looked at Erik expectantly for identification.
So far he knew each plant, much to the boy's delight.
Being so caught up with new motherhood, she had given hardly any thought to providing Erik a son, but watching the two together seemed entirely natural.
Erik would prove an excellent father, no matter their gender.
There was something oddly comforting in the thought.
Soon Erik slowed his pace to allow for her to catch up, and he took Catherine in one arm as he took her hand in the other.
"This was kind of you, Erik."
He hummed noncommittally. "That has yet to be proven. I cannot wear this mask so often, and he shall have to become accustomed to seeing my more comfortable creations. They may frighten him."
Armand was a good fifteen paces ahead of them, curiously peering at some unknown diversion with rapt attention.
"He did not seem to mind yesterday." The casual statement as to Erik's curious accessory surprised even her, and she dearly hoped he could maintain such an attitude. It was most likely that test which made Erik comfortable enough to offer his services in the first place, and they would most likely be just as quickly rescinded should he face too many questions regarding his appearance.
"Perhaps you should explain it to him."
Erik stopped abruptly and looked at her in horror. "Why would you think that the proper solution? That would most assuredly frighten him!"
"Not show him you silly man! Merely explain your reasoning for wearing it in the first place. He shall only be frightened if you make him so!" She did not add that she spoke from experience. The mask was disconcerting—and one most certainly wondered what lay beneath—but it was Erik's emotions tied to it that proved far more terrifying than his actual visage.
Hopefully that had changed.
But even though she had not mentioned it, he still looked guilty for his past wrongs. "I shall consider it." And when she felt a kiss pressed atop her head, she knew it was in apology.
"You must know I have forgiven you."
The way he pressed her a little further into his side told her he was not at all accepting of such knowledge. "Oh Erik."
He shook his head resolutely, and she saw his eyes turn to the little boy now beside them. "We may discuss it later."
She was amazed he did not openly reject the idea of talking about it at all.
He was listening to her.
And she was quite happy to continue their pleasant walk home, which did not take nearly so long as she would have liked.
Armand chattered agreeably, and Erik would dryly comment on whatever he had to say, to which the boy would simply crookedly grin and continue to prattle.
His favorite topic seemed to center around the baby.
At least that had been the case until the tall gates issuing them into their home appeared.
"We're going in there?" For the first time since he had set out on this adventure with Erik and Christine, Armand sounded frightened. "Mama says it is haunted."
As Erik's arms were occupied with a suddenly dissatisfied Catherine, so it was left to Christine to see to the reluctant boy. "Armand, I have lived here for over a month now, and I can assure you, I have never once seen a ghost."
Armand looked to her as though she was missing something quite obvious. "But you don't see ghosts, Madam Christine!"
Of course not.
For that would make this simple.
Thankfully Erik once more exerted his innate ability to handle children's fears far better than Christine could ever hope to emulate. Kneeling before the boy, not caring that some of the dust from the lane would surely cling to his trousers, he held up Cat as evidence. "Do you think I would ever let something happen to this little enfant? Or her mama?"
The little boy slowly shook his head.
"And I shall extend the same courtesy to you as well. I have had much experience with ghosts, and much like doors, they listen to Monsieur Erik's whims. You shall be safe here."
Armand looked at him for a long moment, obviously judging his sincerity before he put his small hand in Christine's and waited for Erik to open the gate and lead them to the house.
Erik was after all the master of such objects, and the gate opened seemingly by the wave of his hand.
Once inside, the boy seemed to regain some of his enthusiasm, but there was still a level of caution to his actions, and he had yet to leave Erik's side—though he did eventually release Christine's hand in favor of pinching a bit of Erik's coat between his fingers.
Christine was reminded of how she would do similarly in the beginning of their marriage—never actually touching him, but still looking to him for protection and comfort.
Sometimes it was beneficial to be cared for by one so intimidating that even ghosts would heed his warnings.
She had thought Erik would take them straight into the house if it was in fact simply the open garden that made the boy feel unsafe, but instead he led them past it into the small stable.
Christine had only been there a handful of times, and never stayed long. She had spent more time with horses since her marriage than ever before, and she was still wary of them when she did not have Erik's comforting presence behind her.
They were large, unpredictable, and she had absolutely no notion of what she was to be doing in their presence.
Perhaps it would be beneficial for Erik to properly teach her to ride. Surely Catherine would need lessons at some point—though her motherly instincts protested the idea viciously.
Armand however looked at the brown mare in awe. "Is it a girl? You have a lot of girls so I bet she's a girl. What's her name? Can I ride her?"
Erik chuckled at his enthusiasm. "She is indeed a mare, and I am afraid she does not yet possess a name. Madam Christine was going to have that honor."
Christine blinked in surprise. Her? Why on earth would she name the horse?
Though Erik was seemingly talking to Armand, his gaze never wavered from hers. "You see, when we found félin Christine, I was the one to bestow the name. And so it happened again with Cat. Do you not agree she deserves the opportunity?"
By no means was it of the same significance as naming their child, but Christine understood the sentiments far more than the actual offering.
He was being considerate and presenting amends for his hasty actions.
Christine smiled at him and silently mouthed a 'thank you'.
"But I do not know what a horse likes to be called! What do you think?"
Erik rolled his eyes at her enquiry. "Our assistance would entirely defeat the object. Surely you can think of something."
But her mind was entirely blank. It seemed rather silly to select one of the names she had compounded when pregnant with Catherine, as what if she became with child again? She would not at all appreciate the notion she had wasted the perfect name on a horse.
So when Armand piped up, she was quite grateful for his suggestion. "I would name her Fille."
Erik turned to the boy and looked at him incredulously. "You would name the horse, Girl?"
Jutting out his chin at the questioning of his name of choice, he responded with a mixture of pride and hurt for Erik's displeasure. "She is a girl. And I think she likes the name!"
It was true that the horse had nickered when Armand had said it, and Christine chuckled at his defense of the name. "Well I think it is a fine selection. Fille it shall be."
Erik sighed and looked rather bemused that Christine had not picked the name entirely on her own, but she kissed his covered cheek softly and whispered in his ear. "Thank you for allowing me to name her."
Before Erik could respond, Christine was distracted by Armand pressing himself against her in a little boy's semblance of a hug. "You listened to me!"
Her heart nearly broke the way he beamed at her for such a little thing.
She stroked his shaggy hair for a moment before Erik cleared his throat and ushered them back toward the house. "Perhaps you would be good enough to make tea while I begin to show Armand how one properly handles a piano."
It was a rarity that Erik would request tea, but the way he watched her interact with the little neighbor boy made her think there was something more than a desire for the steaming liquid.
There was not jealousy but perhaps… sadness?
He saw himself in the boy just as she did.
But unlike him, there was someone to look after him.
So when Christine and Catherine retired to the kitchen, she knew she would do something special for Erik to solidify once more he was the most important man to her.
But unlike the times he had felt so insecure in the past, she did not feel the pressure of subduing his madness with her choice.
She was doing it to simply show her love.
Grateful for the groceries they had procured, she settled on making the scones he had enjoyed so much the last time she had felt the urge to bake.
For Armand she warmed one of the leftover muffins from breakfast—and she sincerely hoped Erik would realize her efforts were to cater to his more savory palate.
She was even more grateful for the bassinet Erik had placed in the kitchen which allowed Catherine to be satisfied while she baked.
Soon she began to hear the steady tones of Erik hammering the strings, making minor adjustments to ensure the richest and most accurate of sounds.
She also heard the joyous laughter of Armand who was apparently quite pleased with the results.
Before long she had the scones prepared, and for herself she placed preserves also upon the tea tray as well as the other fixings to make their small tea all the more desirable.
She deposited the tray in the study—their usual room of choice for afternoon delights—and when she went next door her heart swelled at the sight before her.
Erik had removed his jacket and rolled up his crisp white shirt and his yellowy forearms were clearly visible as they maneuvered the strings of the grand piano. Armand was peering over the open lid, enraptured by each of his tutor's movements.
"Time for tea, gentlemen. Put away your toys and let us eat."
But when Armand turned to her, his excitement rapidly turned to horror. "Where is Cat?"
Erik's own eyes jerked sharply to her form, and Christine rolled her eyes at the both of them. "I could not very well carry the tea tray and Catherine, so she is waiting patiently in the kitchen." At least she hoped Catherine was still relatively satisfied with the arrangement, and by the lack of wails heard from across the cottage, she felt it a safe enough assumption.
"Now, I would ask you both wash your hands before joining me in the study, where both Catherine and I shall be waiting for you." Her eyes flitted her husband, imploring him to understand she was not in fact ordering him to wash, but was simply hoping he would ensure the little boy next to him saw to his slightly grimy hands before sitting down to eat.
The last thing she wished was to offend him.
Much to her relief, Erik merely sighed dramatically and ushered the still wary Armand to the powder room to find a basin to wash the foliage from his small hands.
Christine smiled as they passed and kissed Erik pleasantly.
He harrumphed in response.
Catherine had suddenly found her thumb remarkably entertaining as she suckled and twirled it, so chuckling, Christine removed her from her cushioned throne and took her into the study to pour the tea and begin cutting into her own steaming scone.
She wondered if her daughter would take after her own affinity for sweetness or perhaps was more inclined toward her father's tastes. It would be quite lonesome to be in a house with only savory eaters—though she steadfastly refused to give up the teaspoon of sugar in her tea, no matter the opinion of her husband and child.
It was not long before Armand scampered into the study, and though his eyes grew wide at his muffin and teacup, he was soon distracted by the feline perched upon the desk. "Bleu!"
Apparently he had forgotten that such was not in fact her name.
If the cat was at all concerned by the small hands suddenly running through her fur, she gave little evidence of it much to Christine's relief. It would be a pity to return the boy home with tiny slices covering his arms and hands.
"What is this?"
Erik was rolling down his shirt sleeves in an attempt to smooth his appearance, and Christine nearly asked him to refrain from doing so as she quite liked seeing the sinewy muscles flex as he moved.
But alas they soon disappeared and so she found herself describing her choice in accoutrement. "Apparently my husband's sweetness is taken up in his manner, so I thought you would prefer a plain scone. Armand is being blessed with a muffin."
His eyes searched her for a moment, and when his fingertips skimmed her cheek, and he whispered a quiet "Thank you," in her ear, she knew that he understood she was providing an offering solely to him.
And Armand did not at all seem to mind.
"So how is the piano coming along?"
The boy was attempting to mimic Erik's impeccable posture as he sat across from the couple, though he only managed to hold the tea cup with two hands—a tea cup prepared the same way as Christine's own cup, much to Erik's chagrin.
"Monsieur Erik says it is finished and if I am good and don't look when he's asking you, maybe you'll sing for me!"
Christine scowled at her husband who was looking quite innocently down at his scone. "Pray tell, why is it important he not look, husband?"
Erik blinked at her placidly. "I can assure you, I have no idea where he got such a notion."
He had the audacity to then look to Armand who looked back at him sheepishly. "Sorry, sir, I did not mean to get you in trouble."
"Your second lesson then shall be that what we study together remains between the two of us. Madam Christine need not know of it."
"I beg your pardon, should Catherine and I depart and leave you two gentlemen alone? I should hate to intrude in my own home." She glared at both of them. "I thought you wanted me to sing."
Erik's eyes finally seemed to hold a glimmer of remorse, and he leaned to whisper in her ear. "That I do, my Christine, and I had far pleasanter ways of coaxing you into doing so until my plans were utterly spoiled by a loud mouthed little boy."
Christine blushed.
"Then perhaps you may utilize such methods when we are once more alone."
Erik grinned at her rather wickedly, but returned to his tea and scone.
And so it happened Christine was persuaded to reinstate her lessons, this time only under the pretence of teaching Armand the proper musical forms.
What a sneaky husband she had.
-X-
Christine was feeling restless.
Autumn was steadfastly giving into the temptations of winter, and with it came the looming presence of Christmas. She harbored no such delusions as to trees and decorations, but in three days time it was to be Christmas Eve, and she dearly wished for Catherine and their little family to christen their first blessed event with a service.
But she had not the courage to ask Erik.
Marie brought it up frequently, as she had begun to note that Erik and Christine were not in attendance of the Sunday services and her own attendance had begun to regulate now that Jacques had returned home. "But surely you must attend Christmas Eve! Even the most loose of faith acknowledge that day deserves the reverence."
"I can assure you, my faith would quite happily move me to attend each week, but Erik is against the practice." And she understood, truly she did.
She had brought it up to him before and he had calmly informed her he was not against the principle of weekly service, but it remained impossible to wear his mask so frequently as what such an arrangement would require.
And truthfully, she was beginning to grow frustrated with how often he was wearing the object as it was.
Armand had been coming to their cottage for almost a month now, and for the three hour sessions he remained locked away in Erik's study, her husband had resolutely maintained the use of his more normal mask—to the detriment of his delicate flesh beneath.
She had pled with him that he not torment himself with the façade—that he simply explain his ailment to the boy—but as of yet he was convinced that Armand required more time to grow in respect for his teacher before he was exposed to his more comfortable masks.
So as it stood, Christmas Eve service seemed entirely out of the question.
That did not however stop them from going to the shops in search of gifts for one another.
She had made the mistake of assuming Erik would be unfamiliar with the prospect of gift giving, and when she began explaining to him he rolled his eyes and looked at her quite indulgently. "Christine, do you believe I am an uneducated man?"
Looking quite sheepish, she muttered, "Not at all."
"Then I can put your mind at ease that you shall awake to presents on Christmas morning. As will our daughter."
She wanted to inform him that Catherine would never remember anything she received at such a young age—that presents for him would be far more important—but when she considered the stance, she realized that it was in fact important to him that he provide gifts for his daughter.
As any other father would.
So properly chastised, she remained silent.
When the time came for their shopping trip in town, Christine did however find it very difficult to determine how she was to go about procuring his gift. When she had determined it necessary for him to be given a wedding ring, she had given up the prospect of surprise and simply took him into the shop with her.
Such would not be the case now.
But she was not feeling quite so strong as to face the shops alone, and Erik had made it perfectly clear that no trinket was worth her safety.
Therefore, his gift could not be purchased.
For all his formality, Erik was an intensely sentimental husband, and it was more than likely he would appreciate something made by her own hand far more than a store bought ornament in any case.
She suddenly felt intense regret at not spending more time in the Opera's costuming rooms where she might have fostered more useful gifting skills.
So as it stood, she was currently perfecting the only thing she possessed that Erik seemed to value so completely.
Other than her body of course.
A week had not been long to properly retrain her voice into the ethereal quality Erik had finely crafted—and in truth she knew it did not remotely compare.
While they had restarted her lessons—Erik having been overjoyed that Catherine seemed to approve the instrument as well as her mother's singing—she was not able to focus as intensely on the subject as he would have liked. Meals had to be prepared, both for herself and for Catherine, as well as escorting Armand home from his own lessons as Christine did not at all approve of him walking along the icy lane by himself.
But she was determined to spend the week before Christmas embracing the methods her husband had employed when coaxing her voice to its fullest abilities.
She was out of practice with her breathing exercises, but she happily noted that due to no longer relying upon corsetry for support, her stomach muscles still proved strong even after housing Catherine for all those months.
And surely Erik would appreciate the effort she was exerting in pleasing him.
The most difficult thing proved to be cutting sugary delights from her diet without Erik's notice. Her beloved tea was terribly bitter without its traditional teaspoon of sweetness, but she dutifully sipped it so as to not arouse his suspicions.
Finding space to practice was surprisingly simple.
Erik had taken to disappearing a few hours every afternoon, never telling her precisely where he was venturing. But the way his eyes begged her not to inquire made her quite happily kiss him on the cheek and wish him a pleasant journey—though not before ensuring he would be home for dinner.
And so she found herself and Catherine in Erik's music room finding it very odd indeed that she should be singing without her husband.
She had chosen a piece from his collection of compositions dedicated to their daughter, and she was grateful for the few hours he had left her alone as he tended to private business.
Christine was almost positive he would notice some small difference in the piano as she fumbled through the piece, but if he did, he made no mention of it.
For which was eternally grateful, for she very much doubted she possessed the ability to lie to him convincingly.
It was impossible for her to attain the highest notes that she once reached with such ease, but she felt confident if she could infuse enough emotion in to the lower range, Erik would be satisfied with her performance.
And so it was on Christmas morning, Christine intended to bring Erik in so she may remind him of how they had first become acquainted.
Things however did not go exactly as she had designed.
On the eve before Christmas, just as Christine was clearing the dinner plates away, Erik appeared with a very large box in hand. "I believe it is sometimes customary to give a gift the night before, but I suppose that might be simply for the appeasement of naughty children."
Perhaps such a description was not particularly flattering when given to a wife, but at her widened eyes and ever growing smile, she would happily accept it.
Erik chuckled as her greedy hands grasped the package, and it was a momentary pang of regret that she had only her one gift to bestow on her generous husband, but she quickly stifled such feelings. Erik wanted her to be happy—not lamenting over how few presents she had for him.
She gasped when she lifted the lid.
Christine was reminded of the gown she had worn when first she desired his touch, as it was made of the finest velvet and was equally as soft as the last. But instead of the color of champagne, this gown was a winter white that shimmered in the candlelight.
"Oh Erik, it is beautiful!"
As soon as she had spoken, Erik expelled a breath and for the first time she realized he was nervous of her reaction.
Silly man. What wife would refuse such a gift?
"You will wear it then?" He was looking at her expectantly, and she began to understand there was more to his gift than the dress itself.
"Of course!" When she removed the dress, another amazed breath escaped her lips when the matching cloak appeared as well. She wanted to bolt to the bedroom so she could fully experience the luxurious fabric, but she found herself to wait and go to Erik's side. "Thank you, Erik, they are perfect."
He touched her cheek softly. "Only perfection for my Christine." Erik smiled with his withered lips and Christine was hard pressed to find something that brought her more joy. "Now go change, wife, or we shall be late."
She required no further persuasion.
If possible, the gown felt more lavish on than when she had touched it in the box. It was of a similar line as her other dresses, but it was tailored to her current measurements perfectly. The sleeves went to her elbows, and with her new cloak and a pair of gloves she found herself quite prepared to face the winter weather as they travelled to Erik's undisclosed location.
After she had tided her hair in the powder room, Erik had quite adeptly dressed Catherine in her own warm clothing, and had also prepared the carriage in an equally speedy manner.
It was too cold to force their poor little enfant to sit next to her father, so rather reluctantly Christine prepared for their separation as Erik drove.
That was until the gardener appeared from the stables. "Are you ready, monsieur?"
Christine looked at Erik confusedly, but obeyed when he gestured for her to enter the tight confines of their small covered carriage, and she found herself delighted when he followed behind her. "But who shall drive?"
He gave her his customary reproach when she doubted his methods, which looked far more like an imperious glare than an actual reprimand. "Maurice of course. But we have one small stop to make first." Erik looked rather apologetic for a moment. "He would not agree to drive unless his wife was allowed to come as well."
Christine had yet to meet the woman, and though Erik seemed worried she would be displeased with the interruption, she was in reality quite pleased to finally be able to thank the woman who prepared some of their meals when she was unable.
Erik tucked a blanket around her, and when he made to sit across from her she quickly gave him a glare. "You are cold too. Come sit with us."
He merely rolled his eyes in response, a gesture Christine could only surmise due to his faintly glowing orbs, but she happily accepted his sarcasm when he came beside her.
He would not however permit her to leave the carriage when Maurice made to retrieve his wife, but when she protested, he assured her she would have the opportunity to greet the woman later—at the illusive location she was sure.
The rest of the drive was extremely pleasant as Erik murmured lovely things in her ear as she rested in his arms and he petted her hair. She wondered if such gestures would ever become commonplace as she still felt the same welling of contentment and want of more that she always did at such affections.
She wondered if he felt similarly.
And for the first time, she felt like she could ask. "What do you think of in moments like these?"
His hand stilled as he considered her enquiry, but after a slight pause his soft voice resumed in her ear. "That you and our daughter are far more than I deserve. That I love the feel of your curls running through my fingers enough that I am not at all sorry to remove my gloves even though it is cold. I think that even though you look like an angel in your gown, I would much rather see you without it." Erik's voice had grown so low she was forced to nearly strain in anticipation of hearing his final words. "But most of all, I think of how much I adore you."
Christine could not imagine a better Christmas gift than his words alone.
She snuggled further into his side and he pressed his lips to her temple. "Was that answer satisfactory, wife?"
Though she told herself with was simply the cold, she sniffled all the same. "Perfectly satisfactory, husband. I find myself feeling the same."
He hummed in response, and busied himself once ore with her hair as the tiny carriage continued its way to the unknown spot.
So comfortable was she that when it came to a stop, Christine very nearly requested for them to continue on so she might remain in Erik's embrace.
Until she saw their destination at least.
The little chapel that housed so many lovely memories was bathed entirely in candlelight, and Christine was enraptured by the amount of people within the small structure.
Her darling husband had taken her to Christmas Eve mass.
She had not asked. She had not cajoled or pleaded or even used her feminine wiles in an effort to convince him it was important.
Instead he had taken it upon himself to make it a special evening surprise for her, even providing a gown that properly fit when she had grown so used to the slightly oversized maternity dresses or the too snug versions of previous wares.
It was frivolous and unnecessary, but oh so very much appreciated!
He escorted her to a pew at the back of the chapel, and though the room was warm in the glow of the candles, they were still shadowed enough that their entrance was not noted by many. It did not escape her notice that this was the very same spot she had danced all those weeks ago when awaiting Erik's confession to Father Martin.
She smiled at the memory.
Maurice and his wife shuffled much further into the chapel and settled near apparent friends and for one small moment, Christine was sorry they had no such relations. She could see Marie, Jacques and Armand a slight ways forward, and she wondered if she would ever feel the great companionship with Marie as she had thought would blossom.
But perhaps they were simply too different.
Before she could ponder more on the subject of friendships beyond her little family, Father Martin began the service and the Christmas choir began their hymns and exaltations to the season. It was a compilation of simple country folk, and while she knew Erik would find it terribly dull and wanting in technique, she found it absolutely delightful.
Catherine however mimicked her father's scowl, but Christine steadfastly ignored them both.
She was distressed when Erik passed their little enfant into her arms, and she told herself firmly not to jump to the conclusion of his abandonment. He seemed to sense her struggle however and bent quickly to place a kiss upon her cheek and slid silently from their pew before he disappeared.
Silence had befallen the congregation as well as the service except for the scattered coughs of those with winter chills who still braved the cold for the blessing of the church.
But suddenly the air was pervaded by something far sweeter than anything it had been shown before.
Erik was playing.
It was not one of his compositions, but it was without a doubt one of the most beautiful things she had ever heard—that any of them had heard. Haunting in its simplicity, and compelling through its tones and his own flares as a violinist, Cantique de Noël left Christine feeling breathless.
This was his gift.
He had brought her to their little church amongst all the villagers and the priest who had grown to mean so much to her. He had not mocked the choir for their Christmas cheer, and had not even attempted to shame them through a garish display of his own genius.
Instead he had simply participated to the best of his abilities.
And so it was to a sniffling overjoyed wife that Erik returned. "Now Christine, I cannot play if you insist upon crying whenever I do so."
She grasped his hand tightly in hers as they watched a rather teary Father Martin complete the service. "Then perhaps you should not play so beautifully, Erik."
He looked offended by her suggestion but remained silent.
Christine did not in fact get the honor of meeting Maurice's wife that evening, nor did she wait to greet Marie or Father Martin—though it was Erik who maneuvered her away from that exchange.
But it was just as well, as Christine wanted nothing more than to get her husband home.
Home where the dreadful mask that covered too much of his loving features was banished. Home where she could show him through her touch how much his performance had touched her, both in his playing and through the simple act of bringing her here.
And Erik was more than happy to oblige.
He deposited her in the carriage before taking a moment to enquire if Maurice was intending on staying longer with the mingling families, and thankfully for all their sakes it did not take much persuasion that they began the journey homeward.
Christine however was rather despising Erik's strict adherence to no outward displays of affection within Catherine's eye line.
The infant had already long since fallen into slumber, and amongst her cocoon of blanketry there truly was no danger of her witnessing anything untoward or that could mar her delicate sensibilities.
If such a small baby could in fact be considered to have sensibilities of that nature.
But his attentions were driving her mad.
For all his insistence they refrain from kissing—aside from the more innocuous of pecks as a proper husband and wife should give—his hands did not seem to be of the same mind.
They were touching her there.
She had intended they return home so she could show him her gratitude through her own ministrations upon his person, but upon his own entering of the carriage he had settled her alongside his body, and laying Catherine securely in her nest of blankets on his other side, he had begun stroking her side gently.
Until it was no longer her side that was being seen to.
Erik was never one for obscene gestures. It was only after he had prepared her body in terms of optimum arousal that he allowed his hands to drift to her most intimate of spots, but this time—before she had even determined she wanted him there—one of his hands cupped her womanly place, allowing one of his fingers to nestle amongst the folds of velvet.
And then he proceeded to place the softest kisses against the back of her neck, and with his free hand he gently pulled the pins from her hair until it once more reached her back.
She never knew how the same gestures that had once been so comforting could now be completely arousing. The sensations of his mouth coupled with the firm pressure against her womanhood led to the familiar tensing of her womb.
Christine tried to contain her moan, honestly she did, and when Erik's scolding voice echoed in her ear that it was imperative she remain silent, the tickling sensation of his breath did little to quell her desire.
He was not coaxing. His hand remained motionless in its unyielding position, and it was she who was desperately seeking him to continue with the ministrations she knew he was so fluent in.
"Erik please, do not tease me!"
The husband in question had the audacity to look entirely innocent. "Whatever do you mean Christine, I am simply holding you as I did on the journey here. But I do so love the feel of your pretty dress."
And then his fingers were caressing the velvety texture, but not so much the hand that was still playing with her hair and sending tingles down her spine every time his fingers trailed her spine. No, it was the hand that was positioned just so and when she could not longer keep silent at his caresses, his mouth was covering hers until she was breathing heavily; entirely languid in his arms.
She would wear velvet every day if this was to be the outcome.
When they returned home and a groggy Catherine kissed soundly and placed in her room, Erik and Christine continued their Christmas greetings only this time removing the hindrances of clothing.
Erik's mask had been the first to be removed.
For how wonderful the pressure of his fingers against her had felt, there was nothing quite like the shuddering sigh he gave as he filled her, and that sound alone was joy enough for her—though Erik did not seem to be in agreement.
It was well past midnight when they were finally spent, and as they lay in each other's arms, still deliciously entwined, Christine murmured the traditional salutation to the holiday. "Merry Christmas, husband."
He kissed her temple softly in response.
"Though I must say, you put my gift to shame with yours. Yours were wonderful."
Erik shifted uncomfortably. "I am quite sure I will be satisfied with whatever you see fit to give me."
She rolled onto his chest so she might look at him fully. "Would you really? Even when it is not perfect?"
His eyes softened, and though she could quite plainly see the notion of her giving him anything made him uneasy. His touch on her face was tender and she felt warm even as his cool fingers skimmed her cheek. "It shall be perfect because it came from you, Christine. It need not be anything more than that."
She should have kept it a surprise, but suddenly it did not seem like so wrong it be disclosed. So shyly she confessed her gift. "I learned a song for you. I am afraid I am not nearly as good as when you were helping me, but…" It was difficult to confess how far she had fallen in capabilities. "But I tried."
He pulled her to him quickly, and his lips were fervent on hers. "Then the angels shall weep at your efforts."
Her dearest husband.
"Merry Christmas, Christine." He slid her gently against his side until she was settled comfortably against his chest once more. "I shall awaken you quite early for my present."
She chuckled. "Of course you shall."
-X-
January proved to be one of the coldest months of Christine's remembrance, and February was proving to not be much better. When Armand had arrived for the fifth time shivering and sneezing because of the snow, Christine had requested Marie begin sending extra sets of clothing so he would not be forced to remain in sodden trousers for the entirety of his lessons.
Erik was beginning to complain that the first hour of their day was spent sitting the child before the fire with a cup of hot chocolate in his greedy hands.
He usually quieted when Christine smirked and presented him with his own mug.
Catherine had grown rapidly and she and her father had begun a trick fashioned from one he played with félin Christine—seeing how long her eyes would hold the movement of his finger.
Christine greatly protested the game, citing that surely he would cause blindness the way he mesmerized her, but he patiently retorted that their cat had yet to suffer any ill effects, so it was imprudent for her to jump to such conclusions without evidentiary backing.
She still did not approve, scientific support or not.
On this particular February day however, Christine was most preoccupied with lamenting their lack of friends capable of watching Catherine for an evening.
It was not that she wished to leave the infant—heavens no. But the notion of an evening alone with Erik—guaranteed to be free of interruption for feedings or diaper changes seemed blissful, tonight of all nights.
For today was their very first anniversary.
She knew there were plenty of other couples who had nannies or even grandparents who would gladly spend the evening with the child, thereby allowing the parents the opportunity to spend their evening in confinement, but Erik and Christine were not such people.
She supposed she could ask Marie, but her heart clenched at the thought. She was too willing to allow Armand to brave the snow for his lessons—too quick to agree for an extra day or two a week if Erik should wish for more extensive studying to be done by the boy.
Christine did not want Catherine to be watched in such a place.
The groundskeeper and his wife were the next obvious choice, but Christine very much doubted Erik would agree to the arrangement. When she had first met Maurice's wife, she was surprised how much younger the woman was than her husband—but it occurred to her that she and Erik would eventually face a similar situation—though the other couple did not have nearly their age difference.
She had successfully raised four boys and proved delightful company both in the kitchen and for the occasional tea time visits when Erik sequestered himself in the music room, and Christine was confident that Chloe would care for Catherine impeccably.
Many times she had spoken of how she longed for a daughter of her own.
But Erik surely would not approve given the happenings when he was away from his little family, and he would most likely think her an unfit mother for wishing for some time for them alone.
She would merely have to content herself with the blessed hours when Catherine slept through the night.
There was one thing to be said for their daughter, and it was the amount of time she spent devoted to slumber. Quick to learn the benefits of a full night's sleep—especially when her mother was prompt in providing an early breakfast simply to alleviate the tenderness of full breasts—Catherine determined the doting she received during the day to be highly sufficient and allowed her parents the respite of sleep as well.
But there was always the niggling feeling of doubt as to Catherine's contentment, and that was hardly conducive for romance.
It was a quiet day, and Christine could feel herself becoming more sulky than a proper wife should allow herself. Catherine was fussing more than usual, and it seemed whenever she placed her daughter down her whimpers of abandonment would reemerge.
This was the twelfth of the month, and for just a moment she would like to be alone with her husband.
Erik said not a word about the day, and she spent the better part of it deciding whether it should be mentioned. He was never one for dates so it stood to reason he simply did not know that today was of any significance.
Or he was waiting for her to refer to it—show him that it was of as much meaning to her as it was for him.
It was not terribly late, and she had already put Catherine down for the night when she decided to seek him out.
The gesture was proven unnecessary as when she turned to exit the nursery, his figure loomed in the doorway. "I am afraid, my wife, that you have placed her in error."
Christine was in no mood for such games. She felt tired and alone and wanted nothing more than to return to her bed for a good cry.
Perhaps that at least would improve her spirits.
When Erik moved to the bassinet and made to remove Catherine she protested. "No, please do not, Erik. She has been in a temper all day and I would just like her to sleep." The plea for an uninterrupted evening—either for sleep or more pleasurable activities remained unspoken.
But Erik did not heed her and it was rapidly becoming clear she was in no such mood for any sort of celebration.
She was about to abandon them both in favor of her bed when Erik's hand gripped her wrist gently. "Christine, please."
And she could deny him nothing, so she waited.
It was only when he passed by her that she noted his heavy cloak, as well as the large blanket he was carefully wrapping around his pouting daughter.
Were they going somewhere?
But he had procured no cloak for her and informed her of no such plans, so she quickly stifled the growing feeling of excitement.
"Say goodnight to Catherine, my love. She will not be joining us until the morning." He was looking at her beseechingly, and it was quite plain he desired her compliance and good will.
And the smile that was threatening to erupt certainly belayed her acceptance. "She is going to Chloe and Maurice's?"
He stopped on his way to the exit. "If you have no objections."
She shook her head emphatically. "None."
Erik nodded and had almost exited into the chilly night air when he paused. "Perhaps you would like to change into something more comfortable, and then be so good as to wait for me in the music room."
Then he was gone.
Any irritation she had felt building throughout the day easily gave way to the excitement of her husband's nightly plan, and so she hurried to her bedroom in search of more comfortable attire.
His request that she wait in the music room instead of their bed suggested he had something to show her of the more musical variety before giving way to their more visceral appreciations, so perhaps something not too revealing was in order.
Or perhaps not.
Nothing in her drawer of chemises and nightdresses seemed special enough for the occasion of celebrating their first year of marriage, and she found her eyes landing upon the trunk from so long ago. After finding Erik's compilation of works hidden inside, she had determined it would be preferable to wait for him to show her what things were important to him—what things he deemed necessary to save instead of repurchase.
And perhaps one of those items was nightly attire for her.
It was on the bottom of the trunk, though she tried desperately not to look at the other items held within. This was not the time for distraction—it was the time for preparation.
She nearly cried at the lacy garment.
The nightgown was entirely foreign to her and she wondered why he had not shown it to her before.
But perhaps that was not such a difficult thing to decipher after all.
It was the same lace as her wedding gown, and was quite clearly made by the same expert hands who had created the respectable counterpart.
The one that had been so viciously destroyed.
How could he give this to her when surely it would have only caused her pain?
Except that now, as her hands drifted tentatively over the delicate details that mimicked her wedding gown, she wanted nothing more than to slip it over her head and await her husband.
Conceivably she should have felt the murmuring of horrors past—either from her memories of the actual night of her wedding, or that the man she had not yet loved would have prepared a nightgown of such beauty in anticipation of their consummation.
But she only felt sadness at her poor, unhappy husband. She knew that everything they had endured before they had achieved their contentment was necessary, but she still felt sorrow for denying him what he so deserved.
Dwelling on the past would do little however, and as she slipped the gossamer material over her head and brushed out her curls, she was determined to remind him how much he meant to her.
And how much she appreciated a few stolen moments for just the two of them.
She contemplated a dressing gown, but found that she disliked each of them with her new nightdress, and that each detracted from the fragile material. But it was terribly cold, though she did not fear that Erik would tarry long in warming her.
He did not disappoint.
Garbed in her wedding nightgown and warm shawl that was easily divested, she was seated upon the piano bench when he entered, and it thrilled her that his mask and cloak were already quickly being removed in favor of his more approachable self.
"Such an obedient wife I have."
She was not an obedient wife. She was simply one who knew when listening behooved her, and the teasing glint in his eye told her that he was well aware of her natural tendencies.
There had been a pause between the opening of the front door and his appearance in the music room, and while she had chastised herself for her inclination to call out to hurry his approach, she bade herself be patient in allowing him to come to her in his own time.
And it was well worth the wait.
It was true, he had used the time to remove his more intimidating exterior, but he had also somehow procured a most delightful chocolate concoction, with mounds of whipped cream oozing onto the plate.
She did not have to inquire if it was for her.
The dessert practically called to her, and she was helpless to resist the pull she felt to rise from the bench and go to her husband—to the cake.
Erik only chuckled in response, and led her to the toile chair he had permitted enter the sanctuary of the music room. "Alright, sit my Christine and listen to what your husband has made for you."
Christine would have gladly sat in the snow if it meant he would allow her access to this special dessert, so she eagerly accepted the seat.
And though by no means did she doubt his abilities as a composer, she highly doubted anything would distract her from the sinful decadence of her chocolaty delight.
She had never been so wrong.
The pure sound of the piano was something she was still not entirely used to—especially not when she had been raised to the sounds of orchestra and pipe organ for accompaniment.
But as Erik began to play, she found the simplicity only lent further reverence to the sound, and it was one she had not heard in very nearly a year.
It was the fourth movement of his original composition of their marriage.
The one when he had sworn to her their happiness could be tangible once they were fully joined as husband and wife.
But only when she allowed it.
He had told her she would understand it then—that it would be a reflection of their lives together and the happiness they shared, and as she listened, still with the sweet taste of chocolate upon her lips, she understood it fully.
For it was their life.
And it was beautiful.
By the time he had finished playing and was looking to her for acknowledgement of her understanding, Christine had already placed the forgotten treat upon the side table and dropped her shawl unceremoniously upon the floor.
She only hoped he remembered what her gown signified.
His breath caught as he beheld her, and she could clearly see his fingers twitch as they longed to feel her.
"Dance with your husband, Christine."
He looked frightened even as he asked, but rose all the same, drawing her into his arms as he did so. For all his critiquing of the ballet girls for performance and accuracy, he had never had the opportunity to learn himself.
This was their first dance as husband and wife.
"We have no music."
They was no steps other than the gentle swaying of their bodies as he held her close, and his head rested against the top of hers. "Are you certain?"
The melody he had played still echoed in her mind, but as her head rested upon his chest, the steady beating of his heart made the perfect accompaniment to their dance.
"Perhaps we should continue this in our bed."
And who was she to deny her husband on their anniversary?
There was nothing hurried in their movements as she gently took his hand and led him up the stairs to their bedroom, and she made no protest when Erik began shedding his own garments more rapidly in an effort to begin the appreciation of her clothing.
It was not the first time she cursed his many buttons, nor would it be the last.
"I had hoped you would wear this on our wedding night." His fingers were skimming the ethereal lace in ways he had not dared touch her in her bridal gown. She had been so cold to him then, and she had cried so very hard when they had made their way to the altar.
It had not been much improved on the journey home.
"It does not trouble you to see it?" He looked to her carefully. "It does not make you remember?"
Christine brought his hands to her breasts, daring him to be bold in his passions. "I think of how it is perfect that I wear it tonight, when I am ready to be your bride in every manner." Her voice grew low as she leaned further into his touch. "When I love you so completely, my Erik."
He understood. She had been his bride for many months now, and confessed her love to him not long after, but there was a certain symbolism to celebrating their marriage to the day in all her finery.
And Erik seemed to agree.
For a moment she feared he would tear the fabric in his haste to access her, but he seemed far more fascinated in watching her flesh through the translucent material—as her breasts rose and fell with each breath that pushed his hand closer to her sensitive tips—as her hips began to quiver in their own unfulfilled need.
But it was her lips he saw to first as his mouth found hers, and she shuddered at the cool invasion of his tongue, until he retreated with a chuckle. "You taste of chocolate and cream, my wife."
She smiled at his tone. "I can think of far worse things, husband."
He only hummed in response, and his lips were tormenting the exposed expanse of breast, it sent a delicious shiver to her womb.
Erik's movements were slow and cautious, and for a moment she was reminded of their first encounter—when he was terrified of harming her, and first loved her with his unpracticed hands.
But there was nothing unintended in his ministrations now, but as he gently slid the gown from her body and laid it reverently to the side, she understood the significance.
He was giving her a proper wedding night.
Only this time there would be no pain, and both were experienced enough in the art of passion and love making that both would find fulfillment.
And as his naked flesh met hers, always colder than her own heated skin, she would change nothing of their years together. Every trial had brought them closer to this blissful moment, and for all the tears and horrors she had faced in the pursuit of such happiness, all of it was worth this past year of excitement and contentment.
His hands held hers and his head was buried in her shoulder, but instead of hiding his flesh from hers as he had their first time together, he was still teasing her flesh in the most delicious of ways, every so often nibbling as a reminder of his tenderness.
He would never hurt her.
When both were spent, Christine felt a sense of peace wrap around her even as she felt Erik's settle upon her for the night.
"Are you happy, Christine? Truly?"
She turned to face her husband, and even though she should be thinking of retrieving Catherine from Chloe's, or perhaps of the abandoned dessert upon the side table, all she could do was kiss her Erik upon his withered mouth, and whisper her response.
"As long as I am with you, I am the happiest of women."
Erik merely tightened his hold in response.
Sooo… there you have it! While none of you complained over the traditional length of my chapters, how did you like over 11,000 words? The next one is not even close to complete (just enough for snippet giving) so please be patient with me as I write, and I'm very sorry that I cannot give you a posting day.
But do not fear! I have never forgotten about this story, and until there is a complete sign I shall not!