This chapter is rated M for MATURE.

Chapter 31

It was October 11th, and it was her birthday.

Christine wasn't usually one to get excited about her own birthday, at least not until she got cancer. Her mother didn't put on a big production about the day, and she didn't often have many friends to help her celebrate. Cake and maybe a movie, with a present or two, were how she rocked the day.

After her diagnosis, her mother made a big deal about the first birthday that passed. Christine supposed she understood why – for a while, she hadn't been sure what her future would look like, or if she even would have a future.

This was her first birthday post the whole debacle, diagnosis, treatment, surgeries, recovery. She was completely healed, at least as much as she would ever be, and she could finally start thinking about where her life was headed.

She was turning twenty-five, a quarter of a century old. Here she was, living with the first man she had ever loved – the only man she wanted to ever love – in house together in another country, for goodness sake! She felt more like an adult than ever, even though she knew over time she should start looking for some kind of job. Maybe in singing now that her voice had improved and she was beyond her mother's control about her career choices?

She woke the morning of her birthday with her mind spinning with possibility. The bed beside her was cold, showing that Erik had been up for a while.

She found him in the music room, plinking away at the piano. He ceased his playing as soon as she appeared in the doorway, still in her rumbled pajama bottoms and t-shirt, the sudden stillness of his fingers causing suspicion to rise within her. Obviously, he was working on a piece he didn't want her to hear… yet?

His face was relaxed when he saw her, though she saw a glint in his eyes. He closed the cover of the keyboard and rose, crossing the room swiftly and embracing her with a hug that took her breath away for multiple reasons.

"Good morning," he said, his voice carrying an edge of something she couldn't quite name.

"Morning. You're composing early."

"When the music calls." He trailed off, stroking her hair for a moment before pulling away. "You have plans for the day? A trip into town?"

She didn't like how hopeful he sounded. Maybe he didn't know it was her birthday today? She hadn't told him, but he had read her medical file! He should know, right?

"I don't know," she said, trying not to frown. "I guess so?"

"Perfect!" He took her by the shoulders, his revealed eyebrow arching up expectedly. "The art museum has a new gallery, and they are starting preparation for the fall festival next weekend, the one you mentioned for which you wish to volunteer. Spend the day in town, and we will meet together at dinner."

He wanted her away for the whole day? That hadn't been along her line of thinking at all. She opened her mouth, about to tell him it was her birthday and she'd much rather spend the day with him, but she closed it after reconsidering. He must have a new piece he was working on, and that was why he wanted more hours to himself. If she bothered him now, he might very well lose his train of thought. That had happened once before, a few weeks into their move here, when she barged in on him while he was composing with his violin. He had cut himself off, had an extensive conversation with her, and been unable to pick the threat of music back up where he left it. She had felt guilty for days.

Swallowing her disappointment, she nodded. "Why not?"

As she went up to shower and get dressed, she could vaguely hear the piano start back up again.

Was there any way that Erik didn't know today was her birthday? She had dropped hints all week, which Erik had mostly ignored. A week ago, she had even joked that she didn't know how old he was, to which he responded deadpan that her guess was as good as his.

That comment had brought her up short and made her wonder – if he didn't know how old he was, did he even know his own birthday? Unlikely. And if he didn't, how could she dare make a big deal about her own?

Like Erik predicted, the town was abuzz with fall festival preparations. She met up with the older woman in charge and tried to follow her directions the best she could without understanding the language. A few townsfolk spoke English, but she never presumed first that they did.

Luckily, because she was so busy, the day passed quickly. After lunch at one of the cafes, she toured the new art gallery like planned. She also visited the local bookstore and purchased a couple novels in French for Erik to read to her.

Even though the weather had turned cooler lately, she had worked up a sweat. She knew another quick shower was in order before she met up with Erik for dinner. She wandered around the town for another hour, killing time until she thought it was late enough to return to the house without interrupting Erik's work.

Erik had purchased a small car for her to use on her trips into town. She walked the few blocks back to where she had parked the black vehicle, then drove the twenty-minute-long trip back. Grabbing her couple bags of purchases and her purse, she headed inside.

In the waning light, the house was dark. She could hear music coming from the piano room, but she ignored it for now, thinking Erik was probably still finishing up. Heading upstairs, she dropped her things near the entrance to the bedroom and stared at what she found.

Upon the bed lay a white garment bag, several shoeboxes next to it.

Immediately, her mind flashed to those two days in New York. The dark blue dress with the plunging back, the jewels he had bought her, the night that had ended in the worst moment of her entire life. For a second, anger rose up like bile hot in her throat, but it vanished just as quickly. Erik had been so careful with his gifts since they had come here, so obviously trying not to upset her.

She should at least see where this path would lead.

Without touching the items, she first showered and decided to let her curls air dry after applying a bit of cream. Erik preferred her hair down anyway, often tugging the heavy dark brown mass free at the end of the day so he could sink his fingers within. She applied a tiny bit of make-up, then headed over to the bed.

She unzipped the garment bag, revealing a gorgeous dark red silk gown. The skirt was full due to a crinoline built into the several layers of satiny fabric. Like before, he had ordered that a seamstress build bra cups into the front, and the detail brought a smile to her lips. She still stood naked, so she slipped into the dress, zipping up the side seam. The thin straps rested on the edges of her shoulders, the front and back plunging into sharp Vs, though not deep enough in the front to reveal her scars. The bodice was form-fitting until below her hips.

Like the dark blue dress before it, the gown was exquisite and high-quality, and again, she felt rather pretty in it. She chose a pair of rhinestone-crusted, strappy heels from the selection, and sat on the bed to put them on.

That was when she noticed the small note lying folded on the coverlet.

Dearest Christine,

I hope you will allow me the pleasure of treating you like royalty once again, on today, the day of your birth. Even if you choose not to wear such a garment, join me nevertheless. Please come downstairs when you are ready.

Yours, always,

Erik

She pressed the card to her lips, inhaled the slight lingering sandalwood and smoke that was uniquely Erik.

Then she went downstairs.

She heard the sounds of violin mixed with piano, a combination that couldn't possibly be Erik playing alone. The corridors were dark, nightfall fully risen, but a yellow glow highlighted underneath the door leading to the piano room.

She opened the door and gasped.

Dozens of candles lit the wide expanse of room in warm, dim light, placed on the floor, on tables, hanging from the ceiling. A small table covered with a white tablecloth was set with two place settings. Low music poured from a speaker system near the back of the room. The floor glowed. Christine felt light-headed.

Erik stood in the center of the room, dressed in a modern-cut tuxedo, the black fabric tailored perfectly to his tall, lithe form. His waistcoat was a rich burgundy, complimenting her own dress.

She held back her grin. "I could have joined you in pjs."

"In all ways, you are beautiful," he replied. He crossed the room, his strides graceful, purposeful, self-assured. "And when you wear these clothes, your beauty is only celebrated, not enhanced."

She flushed, her long eyelashes lying flat against her hot cheeks for a moment as she stared at the hem of her gown. She met his gaze again, marveling at the strong emotion she saw in those amber depths.

"You didn't forget," she said.

He scoffed lightly and extended an arm for her to take. "Of course not. I even have a candle for you to blow out later."

She giggled a bit at that and indicated the multitude of flickering flames around them. "I should think so."

He led her to the table, helped her into a seat. Then he uncovered a large dish, revealing a lovely dinner for two. "I made this myself, in case you wonder." He filled her plate, then gave himself a smaller portion. Pouring them both a glass of red wine, he folded his body into the seat opposite her. "Eat, please."

She did, and every bite was delicious. She didn't want to fill up too much in case he had dessert (he did, a fudgy chocolate cake that was so rich that goosebumps rose on her arms). Even though he offered, she declined a second glass of wine, wanting to keep her wits about her.

They talked back and forth, enjoying each other's company after a day spent apart. Now she understood why he had sent her away, so he could prepare for all of this. She waved off his singing, but happily blew out the candle he had tucked into the cake.

Sometime after they finished, Erik rose, crossing to the sound system in the back. He fiddled with the selections, choosing an easy-going waltz full of string instruments with a touch of accordion. She laughed, recognizing the folksy Swedish tune, and took the long-fingered hand he offered her.

"Dance with me?" he asked, pulling her close.

She didn't have to say yes, showing her eagerness by settling one of his hands to the small of her waist herself and resting hers on one of his shoulders. Their other hands clasped together, suspended in the air next to them.

Sensing he was about to ask, she said, "I have a bit of training in all sorts of dances, but the least amount in partnering."

The exposed side of his mouth curved upward. "And I have studied the art extensively, but never had the pleasure of practicing. Shall we?"

The music swelled as he swept them across the floor, the dark wood shining from the candlelight. For all his lack of experience, his steps were perfection, and he glided them both with the same mastery he achieved in all things. She stepped on his toes twice, and the second time, he tossed his head back in a rough laugh that took her breath away. He jerked her close against him and spun them in a dizzying arch that made her join him in laughter.

He slowed their pace, guided both her arms to his shoulders so he could flatten his palms against her back, the tips of his fingers playing with the ends of her hair and making her shiver.

"We need to dance every day," she said, a bit in awe of him.

Suddenly serious, his eyes glittered in the low light. "For the rest of our lives."

Her eyes widened. "Erik-"

"Come." He broke away from her, pulling her toward the piano with one hand. "I wrote a song for you. Tell me what you think."

She followed him to the far boundary of the room, watching as he cut off the music. They both took a place on the piano bench, her at his side. She just knew he could hear the way her heart had started beating furiously.

He began to play, and the song that flowed from him was unlike anything else she had heard him produce. The music enveloped her with its beauty, the notes both light and deeply passionate, rising and falling in time with her own emotions. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap for fear they would try to reach out to him and interrupt. When he came to the last notes and rested his hands on his thighs, she wiped her tears away.

"The melody still needs the right words to go along with it," he said a bit gruffly, handing her a handkerchief.

Shakily, she said, "No, it doesn't. Everything is already right there."

Dropping the handkerchief to the floor, she stood and slid between him and the keyboard, much like she had over a month ago when she had confronted him in this very room. Her full skirts rustled against his knees, folding around those bony points of his legs as she stood between them. Unlike before, when the move had angered him, he raised spindly hands to her waist once again. Were his fingers trembling? With a breathless groan, he pressed his forehead against her chest.

She caressed his head, wishing she could remove his wig and touch his real scalp. She detested these barriers between them. Hadn't they been close in some way every almost every day since coming here? And yet, she had never stood undressed before him, and he had never allowed her to see him intimately in any significant light.

Why was it such a big deal to see what their hands had already mapped?

Now was not the time for such exposure. Even so, she needed to touch him, to see what he was willing to give her of him. Her fingers floated to the line of skin at his neck, continued to his chin where she lifted his face. The look in his eyes sent heat racing through her, and his normally cool lips were already heated when she pressed hers to his.

Instantly, the kiss seared. Thinking for a brief second that the room was dim enough that he wouldn't protest, she swept the mask from his face so she could slant their mouths fully together. He rose to her challenge, meeting her new hunger with his own intensity. She gripped what she could of him, digging her fingers into his collar, grasping the broad lines of his shoulders, sliding her hands between his vest and shirt in her struggle to get closer to him.

His hands dug into his hips as he lifted her, his rising body nestled between her legs, her skirts pillowing around them. The keys of the piano gave a discordant protest beneath her. His mouth broke away from her for a moment as he stretched over her. Swiftly, he had lowered the lid of the piano, and then he was elevating her further, sitting her atop the shiny black cover of the instrument. More notes sounded as her heels found purchase.

She tugged him close again, seeking lips and a dance of tongues. He was already yearning for her, the evidence against her belly, but he batted away her seeking hands. He bent her backwards against the top of the piano, looming over her until her back pressed flat upon the hard surface. Then he began to kiss his way down her body, his lips hot upon her neck, her collarbone, the bottom of the v of her gown in the middle of her chest.

She sighed and whimpered his name, lovingly stroking both sides of his face until his head traveled too far down for her to reach.

"E-Erik?" she intoned, trying to see where he had vanished.

"Hush, my love," he murmured.

His love? He had called her his love.

She relaxed back upon the piano, her heart swelling, her mind unable to still. The ceiling was painted a beautiful sky blue, cast in a sunset glow by the candles.

She felt the bottom of her gown stirring, and Erik's hands found the slender bones of her ankles, parting the hem of her multiple skirts. He pushed the silky fabric up as his hands trekked from her ankles to her calves and lingered there, long fingers curling around her legs that had begun to quake in suspense. Then he continued, ghosting across her knees, and she felt cool air hit her legs as her gown billowed about her thighs.

While his fingers began to dance across the sensitive skin on the backs of her upper legs, she felt his lips upon her knees, and then on the inside curve of her thigh. He coaxed her to open to him, the piano sounding off random tinkling notes as she obeyed. She was unable to see him beyond the piles of dark scarlet fabric, and she twisted her fingers into the silk to still their shaking.

As he revealed her to him, she felt his lips grin against her skin, felt the bite of his exposed teeth. He clicked his tongue, licked the trembling flesh of her upper thigh.

She realized why – in her haste to try on the dress, she had forgotten to put on anything underneath.

In sudden embarrassment, she tried to bring her legs together, but his hands were on her legs, his shoulders surging between her knees. She gasped at the first touch of his lips upon her, kissing her nakedness in ways she had never been kissed before. Even though his lips were thin, firm, they felt oh-so soft upon her tender skin.

A swipe of hot, wet tongue along her most intimate place, and she was lost to his mercies, writhing upon the piano he played as deftly as he played her now. His bare face pressed against her, and her existence centered on tongue and lips, his feasting upon her, her thighs quivering around him, the piano rumbling notes beneath her body as she unconsciously angled her hips, asking for more.

He gave it, a long finger delving inside, curling in that way that drove her to the brink of madness. His unwavering tongue flitted in steady swipes, and she drove herself against him, needing more friction, needing something, and he groaned against her enflamed flesh, and she came in a burst of heat and overwhelming sensation.

His tongue continued to lap at her, even after he eased his finger free. Her belly heaved with heavy breaths, her eyes squeezed shut, her legs relaxing.

His head rose as he cut with his lips his way across the bodice of her dress. She heard the rustling of his own clothing, and then his hands were on her hips again, sliding her across the shiny top of the piano to him. Languidly, she folded her arms around his neck, her knees finding purchase on the bench to either side of him.

Her skirts pillowed around them. His hands were now in her brown curls, fisting great handfuls of her hair as he buried his face into the curve of her neck. She shifted on her knees, helped him find his way, and he slid into her in one unencumbered glide that caused them to cry out in unison.

They moved against each other in a back and forth grind of hips against hips, the friction almost too much for her oversensitive flesh, until he heaved her atop the piano once again and drove himself deep. Her heels dug into his ribs through his clothing, encouraging him onward, and he was bending over her, filling her over and over in that delicious way she could never put to words afterward.

His name was a cry on her lips, and he moaned hers into the shell of her ear. When she felt herself lose control once again, her core spasming around him, he called her name again, a sweet sound. His fingers entwined with hers, his grip tight as he brought them just above her head, his fingers embracing rather than threatening. His lips slanted over hers as he claimed her in more ways than one.

Moments later, their heartbeats began to slow, both of them spent. Erik pulled her upright upon the piano, enveloping her within his arms, still buried within her. She whimpered at the sensation. Oh how she loved this man.

She told him that aloud, kissing her words into his neck. In response, he gave her another fierce kiss, caressing her hair back from her face. Then he leaned back, easing himself from her.

"Your birthday gift still awaits, dearest," he said, a glint in his eyes.

"That wasn't it?" She couldn't help but feel cheeky, her body still thrumming.

He bent and caught her earlobe between his teeth, making her shiver. "Let us clean up. Meet me here in five minutes."

He helped her down from the instrument, making sure she was solid on her feet before letting her go. Lingering, reluctant to leave, she did, heading to Nadir's bathroom further across the house so Erik could use the closer hall bathroom.

In the mirror of the bathroom, her face was aglow with delight, her cheeks tinted pink. She finger-combed her hair, cleaned herself up the best she could, and headed back into the music room.

Erik hadn't turned the music back on. He stood in the center of the room, his gaze turned far away, and he hadn't yet noticed her return. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, grasping the edges of his jacket, smoothing his wig, folding and flexing his wiry fingers. He hadn't replaced his wig, and sometimes his palm hovered just above the exposed skin as if to contemplate covering it up.

She cleared her throat, and he jerked around to her, the lines of his face smoothing. A smile flittered across his lips and was gone as he crossed to her. He seemed… nervous?

"Happy birthday, my love," he said, taking her hands and raising them to press kisses to both knuckles.

That endearment again! She gave his hands a squeeze, about to thank him for such an amazing evening, but she had to swallow her words-

-as he knelt on both knees before her.

Oh God!

He spoke, voice clear and full of conviction. "I love you, Christine."

A buzzing filled her ears, centering on those beautiful words. She forced herself to focus on what he said next.

"I have waited a long time to say those words, hearing them upon your lips and wanting to return them in kind. Know these words to be true, dearest Christine. I have waited, wanting the first time I spoke them to be in a moment when you would know they are true, free from being caught up in any plight. I have known I loved you since those first days within my home beneath the opera."

He shifted upon his knees, in a position upon the hardwood floor that had to be uncomfortable. The amber glow of his eyes darted away for a brief moment, his head tilting to the side, considering.

"Ah, right," he murmured, seemingly to himself, and one of his hands delved into an inside pocket of his jacket.

He pulled out a small black box, and that is when she began to tremble.

He opened the box to reveal a white-gold ring. A single round diamond rose from the center, of modest size. Several tiny diamonds studded the sides of the ring, and designs were etched completely around the setting.

Erik cleared his throat. "I know this ring is a bit simpler, but you seemed to reject my more… affluent tokens of affections. I thought this one would catch your eye." He shifted again, holding the ring out to her. "I bought this using profits from the restaurant in New York, wanted you to know I can provide for us separately from the funds I stole. We can live anywhere, go anywhere, and we can live separately from my past as much as possible."

His eyebrows, one smooth, one misshapen, drew together. He shifted a bit closer on his knees. "I can make myself an honest man for you, Christine. I could be a true husband for you." For a brief second, she saw the tremor in his hands, heard the crack in his normally smooth and composed voice.

He drew himself up, looked her full in the face. "If you would do me the honor of becoming my wife."

His wife.

She beheld the man before her. Her imperfect, beautiful, flawed, clever man. She wanted him with every part of her being, and her heart ached from his words. She had waited patiently to hear him return her expressions of love, and now she had them.

His eyes were slightly widened, white around his irises, as he anticipated her answer. She didn't make him wait long, couldn't do that to him, hated herself for what she would say now.

She took a step back, gave a little shake of her head even as tears spilled down her cheeks in a rush.

"I can't."