Characters & history aren't mine, but the content is! ©2011!

Chapter 2: Deceptive Cadence

My heartbeats were quicker than usual as I stood upon the stage, waiting for my cue. Would I make him proud of me this night? I wondered. I heard my cue and stepped out onto the boards. I began to sing, driving him from my mind in order to concentrate on making the notes full and lovely.

My aria ended, and I waited for my partner to enter the stage. I heard slight whispering behind me as the orchestra music concluded, and I saw – Oh, sweet stars, I saw Erik deftly passing a wad of money into my partner's hands and come onto the stage himself – without the mask. He looked like any other man, though much more handsome in my eyes. He began to sing, better than I had ever heard him before. Or perhaps it was just my blossoming admiration. In any case, the audience heard the emotion and depth of his voice and loved it just as I did.

We combined our voices, my sweetness and his passion, in a melodic vibrating harmony of sound. Like two ribbons fluttering, entangled, in the wind, we fulfilled our roles within the opera as well as in our own hearts. I scarcely noticed as the scenes flew by, feasting my eyes upon him and likely awing our audience with our "acted" affection.

At the finish of the last act, as I lay quietly in his arms, "dead," the audience roared its applause. Erik raised me up and we both showed our appreciation in our bows and curtsies. After the suitable amount of time, I turned to leave, but Erik grasped my wrist and held me to him. As the audience stilled to see why we had not exited the stage, his natural voice boomed over them. I could have fainted for the sound of mastery within. "Ladies and gentlemen, just as you have seen Violetta die this night, so do you see Christine Daäe leave the world of the unclaimed maidens, for yesterday, she consented to become my wife. Because of…present circumstances, we regret to inform you that we will be unable to marry publicly; so, mark this as our announcement."

The crowd began to murmur, shock and curiosity threading through their tones as they hastily checked their programs to review the name of my partner and realized that he was not the man standing beside me. I heard a whisper offstage, probably from one of the dancing girls. "Another scandal! Can't Miss Daäe be content to be great? Does she also have to have two men claim her on stage as well?"

A man hushed her, muttering, "We signed a contract never to speak of that! You could shatter her mind if she heard you." Two men? I echoed in my thoughts. I had a quick mental flash of a red and black scene, flickering with fire, a warm masculine body – but then it disappeared. Was this a premonition?

My head began to ache.

"Ms. Daäe's partner has most kindly consented to let me introduce myself in his stead: I am Erik, and you shall see more of me as my wife continues to perform. Ladies and gentlemen, Christine Daäe." At the growing volume of the crowd ("What is his last name? Why haven't we heard him before this?" "There's a curious resemblance to his voice, don't you think? What will the Phantom have to think of another claiming his prodigy?"), he turned to bow to me, and as he did so, he vanished. I gasped and ran off stage to find him.

I was mobbed by my well-meaning friends and by the patron, but ran away from them. "Where is Erik?" I sobbed. "Where is he? Let me go!" I broke away from them and stumbled away into the darkness. I crashed into a velvety curtain, and suddenly, arms made from steel were around me.

"Let me-" I started to scream, but a hot hard mouth had claimed my last word.

He raised his head for a fraction of a second to murmur, "My Christine, do not fight me. You sang the best I've ever heard you this night, and I can't help but wonder: was it for me?" He didn't give me a chance to answer before he kissed me again, and because I knew who he was, I responded with all my heart. This night would be my wedding night, and the man who held me in his arms would forever be mine.

Ballerinas scurried past us as we swayed in the shadows. He maneuvered me against a hard stage wall and clutched handfuls of velvet curtain as he kissed me with a ferocity that did not disappoint. My arms wrapped themselves around his neck as I clung to him like his shadow. The feathery material of my dress twisted around his legs and the hoops protested weakly against the pressure of his body.

With a groan, he wrenched his head away from mine and held my hips within his large hands. "Come, let us go to my home, dearest. No one shall contest that you are mine, now, and our new life has begun."

He led me to my dressing room through a hidden passage and bolted the door against anyone else. "But first, you must be presentable to traverse the streets, lest you be too conspicuous." He gestured at me. "May I?"

He turned me to face the mirror, an angel and a dark wraith in the reflection. Standing bravely, looking at my face in the glass, I saw every minute unconscious expression flit across my face as his nimble fingers found the first knot in my corset. I saw my chest begin to heave as his hands whispered against my skin, and Pop! went the first cross. Snap – snap – snap – I took deeper breathes as the tension lessened and the dress began to slip off my slender body. Once the white material had no more claims upon me, his fingertips took the frothy edges of my sleeves and pulled down – down – my shoulders and arms were bared, but mercifully for me, everything below was hidden in ruffled undergarments.

He looked thoughtfully at me as he saw my virgin blush against the snowy drawers. "I shall have to take up painting and try to reproduce this flush," he commented, running a calloused finger beneath my soft jaw. "Could you stand posing before your lover in such attire?" His insinuations were too much.

I couldn't help it; my knees gave out and I stumbled backwards into him. His strong arms caught me beneath mine, his hands automatically clasping my ribcage. This was the most intimate contact I had ever had with a man, and my eyes rolled upwards to see his expression.

He looked rather like a panther regarding a young doe.

Survival instincts lent me strength to climb back to my feet, and he chuckled at my embarrassment. Quitting the teasing prelude to our evening, he draped an unremarkable pink dress over me and swept his own cloak over my shoulders.

"We aren't staying in the Opera House?" I asked in dazed bewilderment.

"Precious angel, would you think for a moment I would take you where the coarse voices of others would disturb our own opera?" he asked slyly. No more words were spoken as he led me through passages I was only half-aware of walking.

He sang to me softly, and my eyes were wide as much from his words as from the complex harmonies. Few people knew how truly difficult it was to make a new melody fitting within the rules set up by the great masters, yet Erik did it as if it came naturally to him. I ventured a few notes, happily surprised to find I could harmonize with the melody.

I began to dance with happiness. At first, it was just the increased grace of my footsteps, then a random twirl as physical celebration of an ornament in his song. He let go of my hand, amused, and watched me. His lyrics were lighter now, more joyous than his desperate ballads of before. There would be time for that flavor of music later, I thought with an uncharacteristic impure thought.

I caught myself and laughed aloud. Erik, my phantom, swept me up in his arms and kissed me resoundingly. "What has been graced with the good fortune to inspire one of your rare laughs?" he asked.

"I'm as good as married, aren't I?" I asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "What is a marriage but a public declaration of eternal love? What is a marriage contract but a piece of paper? We have declared our affection in front of a greater number than would attend a ceremony, and a piece of paper is a mere formality."

I somewhat disagreed, but I fear, Listener, that my heart had a louder voice than my conscience. "Well, then – I no longer must guard my mind from improper thoughts, since they are not impure in marriage. I can think whatever I like, and –" I suddenly remembered to whom I was speaking, and blushed furiously. Now my dignity had acquired the louder voice.

His blue eyes glittered with delight at my newfound revelation. "I shall take great pleasure in discovering these thoughts, mon ange. You have been inspiration for me many times; I trust you shall not disappoint me now."

But, ashamed into silence before my teacher, I looked down at the floor. My dark angel smiled and led me on.

His house was a mansion in the depths of the French countryside. It was night, of course, by the time we arrived, but I could tell that with morning, the sun would caress the golden field surrounding it until flowers bloomed. The architecture was grand; shadows twisted upon the terrace. A fractured light spilled like gems through the stained-glass barriers.

He and I walked, quiet, through the meadow until we reached the doors. A maid unlocked it from within – a young child, not more than thirteen – and took our mantles with practiced ease. "This is Clarice," Erik told me as the child hung the material. "She is the daughter of a dear friend who could no longer support her. I promised him I would provide her with a good home and teach her a respectable trade."

I glimpsed the numerous rooms as I followed him as a wife should, though my glances would have revealed that inside, I was still a child who loved to explore. Though I knew my teacher's character, I knew little of his tastes, and I exceedingly looked forward to remedying this ignorance.

Presently, the Phantom stopped before a door and opened it to me with a flourishing bow. The room was red. The carpet was red, drapes were red, and the walls were crimson fabric. The bed- The Bed!

It was circular, similar to his swan-nest in the cellars below the opera house, but much grander. Curtains were tied back at six bedposts, sheer gauze that revealed the red blankets within that tumbled over the edge. I had to hold my breath to keep from squeaking as I realized that the next time I left this room, my teacher and I would know each other fully, and I would no longer be a maiden.

I stopped just inside the doorframe, and surprised him as he turned and found me staring beseechingly at him. "Yes, my dear?"

"You know that I love you deeply, don't you?"

"Was there any doubt?" he murmured, and he brushed his lips across my forehead; I trembled at their hot, moist touch.

I grasped the lapels of his black shirt and leaned against him. "When did you first figure it out?"

I felt his chest shaking slightly, and I knew he was laughing without sound in that peculiar way he had. I suppose when one spies on the affairs of the opera keepers, it is advantageous to learn to contain one's mirth. "When I came through your mirror the first time. The look in your eyes…" He played with a brown ringlet of my hair. "You looked like a dove that had just seen its nesting place, or a mouse that had realized the beauty of a cat. I can never decide which emotion was in greater abundance."

"I felt like I was drowning in your eyes," I confessed. "You had harvested my love through your lessons and your patience…with the knowledge that you were a physical being, one whom I could hold and to whom I could show my appreciation…"
"It gained a physical dimension?" he supplied.

"Yes."

"I'm not sure when I first realized I loved you," he said reflectively, stroking his chin for a moment, then crossing the room to shut the drapes. He removed his outer coat, throwing it over a chair, and loosened the cravat at his throat; I gulped, torn between wanting to watch him and knowing I needed to listen. "I felt great affection for you from the first. I cannot fix exactly when I began to long for the day you would become a woman, and would undoubtedly" – he fixed me with knowing grin – "long for me as well."

It was times like these when I wished I were a more spirited woman, for something in my subconscious told me to be a little offended at his confidence. But, the rest of me accepted his words without protest. How could anyone help but love him? I wondered. It was natural that to know him was to love him.

"But, enough of this. You must be hungry from your performance." Shocked at the change of thought, I stared at him, then followed the gesture of his hand to a plate of strawberries and grapes at the bedside table.

"I thought –" I began in confusion. I stopped, then began again. "Is this what is done on one's wedding night?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "A prelude is not the love song, but merely something to incite the appetite."

Ah. So, my hopes were not to be disappointed. I made my way to the edge of the bed closest to the table and let my body sink into its depths.

I squealed – I couldn't help it. "Your bed has water within it!" I tried to sit up until I realized that my struggles would make me look undignified. It was a strange feeling, floating on water and slick sheets.

"I designed it," Erik said fondly, and he looked down at the mattress with pride. He was now unclothed to a white shirt and black pants. My heart leapt into my throat. "It is…comforting…like being held within an embrace. Do not fear; it shall not burst." I felt the bed dip and shift as he lay down behind me on his side. He pulled me down to mimic his pose, and my acrobatic heart began to flutter wildly. It has begun, I thought. His large, rough hand rested against my neck for a moment.

"Calm yourself, dearest." He reached over me and picked up a grape between his thumb and second finger. The cool, rounded end brushed across my lips, and I nipped at it, thinking he was to feed me. Instead, he squeezed it so that the pulp exploded from its skin and the juice dripped into my mouth.

I licked my lips and made a quiet noise of satisfaction at the taste. Because of the ability of the waterbed to reveal every movement, I felt him pause, his hand suspended over my mouth still. "I wonder…" he said. His other arm moved beneath my head; he turned me to face him, our bodies facing. Keeping his eyes on my face, he rolled another grape into his palm, and with one quick movement, had crushed it.

My eyes wide, I watched as he opened his hand to me as if in offering. I perceived his request and gasped, my body flushing. How I would have shrieked in proper, ladylike indignation if someone had told me two days ago that my teacher and I would be doing this. But now, he was my husband, and my tentative attempts at affection could – and would – be realized.

With uncertain glances at him as I bent over his hand to make sure I hadn't mistaken him (he would later tell me he found my hesitation most endearing), I held his hand between my own and ate the fruit from his palm. It was sweet, and he tasted of salt and the scent of rain-washed grass. I heard him groan, and my body, inherited from many mothers, loved it. I had pleased my husband in this one way; I had brought him delight.

Once I had cleansed his palm, I raised up my head and saw that his blue eyes had darkened once more. A few strands of dark hair had fallen across his thin nose, and I brushed them away as I tilted my head to meet his lips of my own volition. They were warm and soft, like the tender underside of a kitten's paw pad; he relaxed under my ministrations. He rolled onto his back and pulled me to lie on top of his stomach as I kissed him and explored his mouth. The water purred beneath us. His fingertips trailed across my shoulder blades, causing me to shudder atop him.

When my kisses slowed, he caressed my face. "You've had enough to eat?"

"I desire you, not food," I said, surprising myself with my honesty, but meaning it.

He smiled sinisterly. "Very well." Without looking behind me, he began to undo the rows of buttons on the back of my dress.

In spite of myself, I became lightheaded. "My teach-Erik? Aren't you hungry?"

"I shall satisfy myself upon your bounty," was the reply.

Ohhhh, yes please!

Please Review!