A/N: Merci beaucoup for the delightful reviews! Loved them! You guys are great! :)
And now…
Chapter XXXVIII
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Christine took a seat in front of the vanity, brushing out her hair then adorning it.
These last hours had felt surreal, what would soon happen more so. But she was resigned to her fate and felt no misgiving with regard to her sacrifice. A white lady knight who had done what she must to fight off the dragon that threatened her loved ones. She smiled at the parallel, wondering how she could feel so composed. Within hours, she would be married to that dragon. Her calm outlook made no sense.
Nor did her conflicting reactions to be near him these past weeks.
One moment she feared what he might do, the next she felt safe in his presence.
She failed to understand her erratic responses, in particular the shocking effect he had over her emotions, which at first she blamed solely on his music, and there was a lure there. But the music wasn't always playing.
It had not been playing the night he found her near the lake and, though he'd been enraged, had tenderly ministered to her wound…
It had not been playing hours ago, when he held her against his solid body as they stood dangerously high in the air upon a dangling catwalk and she felt as if they were the only two people in existence, observing an inconsequential world of unreality below…
It had not been playing during those instances he moved with quiet animal grace in a predatory circle around her, solely to intimidate but strangely seducing her mind to covet his nearness…
And it certainly had not been playing late last night when she received more than a maidenly eyeful of what lay beneath his elegant attire - the incident and its memory unnerving, intriguing …and better left ignored. Though forgetfulness had been impossible to achieve upon seeing him hours later, and awkward that her feckless mind kept jumping back to those moonlit moments, she'd been unable to sing or meet his eyes, stretching the cord of tension more tightly between them.
She was loath to admit it, even if only to herself, but in these past weeks there had been lucid moments, absent of her dreams, when she desired his touch…when he touched her and it felt…right. It astounded and confused all logic that she should wish for such a thing from such a man - a murderer, her abductor, who was clearly a little mad - and it left her making whatever excuse she could at those times for that flaw in her behavior. Which was surely also crazed to wish, even briefly, for what should never be. What never would happen - by his word and owing to her history. She was damaged because of Erik, ruined because of Henri, and wished for no relationship other than the safety of the platonic that the Phantom offered.
Did. Not. Wish. For anything more…ever. With anyone. And certainly not with him.
Winding a ribbon through her hair, Christine stressed the words in her mind while she stared somberly at her reflection. She thought about their earlier confrontation, before Raoul fell into the trap. With regard to her panic when he drew near and his resulting outrage, she had told the Phantom it wasn't "just him," and it wasn't.
On occasion, his sudden movements reminded her of that last day in England, though she knew he would never assault her. He distinctly told her he had no interest in anything physical with her and gave her little cause to think otherwise. Still, she could not help those involuntary reactions when he would so swiftly move her way, which would sometimes bring a sudden flash of that terrible afternoon when Henri did the same and what remained of her life, then, had crumbled around her.
Strange, she had never experienced the reaction during those last hours with Raoul, when his movements toward her had been just as swift in planning her getaway. But he was always gentle and calm with her. The few kisses they shared more than two years ago never once made her body feel so alive, so warm and needy. Never made her dream scandalous dreams or think indecent thoughts she was mad to entertain with the manner of man the Phantom was. That also confused her, that in one month of knowing him he should be the one to have instigated such unnerving occurrences, such wickedly urgent feelings…
When he had never even kissed her.
With Erik it had been all-consuming fire.
With Raoul it had been pleasant warmth.
She wondered what the Phantom's kiss might feel like…
Realizing the forbidden trap to which her mind had lured her, Christine quickly brought it to higher, safer ground.
Despite her violent contradiction of exasperating emotions, she had come to consider her time in his underground tomb of caverns as the resurrection of her existence, a second chance to live, to give breath to dying dreams and life to her voice. To dwell in the music once more. He had made that possible, no matter that his objective was selfish.
The training was difficult, no doubt would continue to be, the long days of scant endurance often plodding into fretful nights. And as she sat there and waited for him to come for her, Christine dwelled on past lessons of learning to sing his opera.
Of late, all she could do was silently curse him for his imperious and stern criticisms and instruction. Now she recognized that in his relentless fashion he was pushing her to excel beyond what she felt she had to give. In turn that sharpened her determination in their little war, to prove herself as the victor, better than he thought, and these past few days she had regained a morsel of her fledgling confidence that gradually had begun to flourish. His praise, rare like the find of a unique diamond, had stunned and delighted her when he gave it, pushing Christine in her desire to gain more of the same. No matter that she still didn't particularly like his opera story, he had offered her his beautiful music and given her back a part of her soul she once thought forever lost.
She owed him her gratitude. She owed him her loyalty. She owed him her voice.
Every aria, every ballad and hymn she once sung had been for Erik. But as the days progressed, she found herself singing for the Phantom, wishing only to please her teacher...
...who in the strangest irony of all had become her Angel of Music.
She heard no step on the stones, no rustle of a cloak, but the awareness that she was not alone had her look over her shoulder.
The subject of her thoughts stood in the doorway, his golden eyes wide and glowing beyond the mask. Setting down her hairbrush, she stood to her feet. He followed her movements with an unwavering gaze.
"You look like an angel," he said quietly, taking in the shimmering folds of ivory and the manner in which satin and lace gracefully molded her form, twin sections of her ringlets woven and pulled back with a matching ribbon. It was the one gown that did fit and she wondered if he had made recent adjustments but didn't ask. His clear approval startled her and she could only stare.
"The dress suits you well," he added more gruffly. "Where is Jolene?"
"She never returned."
"You dressed yourself?" he asked in surprise.
She lifted her chin. "I have had some experience. I've been doing so since I learned to walk."
The corners of his mouth tilted in a slight grin, stunning her. She had never seen him smile in true amusement and without mockery. Her eyes remained on his well-sculpted lips, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top. A strange sense of the familiar shook her…
"I will seek her out," he said. "I shall return for you soon."
Before she could ask the reason for his interest in the girl, he left. In confusion, Christine sank back to her chair. The rumble of a purr sounded below and she bent to take her cat in her arms.
"What do you think, Mozart? Am I mad to have agreed to this? Yet what other choice did I have...? Often I've wondered if losing Erik brought a state of madness. Our souls were linked, and I descended into my own darkness during that first year he left me. You brought me out." She cuddled the cat close, pressing her cheek to his fur before setting him down again. He rubbed against her skirts, his topaz eyes looking up at her. "Now, once again, I live in a world of darkness and with a man who's as much a mystery as the shadows, but I have none of the fear or the dread I should be feeling. Or perhaps, with all that has happened to me, I'm no longer able to feel?"
The cat had no answer, but it seemed almost as if he smiled.
x
The Phantom soon returned, his jaw set like stone, his eyes snapping fire. "That damned girl is nowhere to be found, nor is the boy. Come! Don your cloak. We must go without them. I haven't the time or the patience to search these caverns endlessly!"
Christine quickly fastened her cloak at her throat. She didn't resist as he blindfolded her then took her hand and pulled her along.
The way seemed different but took the same amount of time as their earlier journey. They stopped walking, and she felt the black scarf stripped away. Before her stood an arched wooden door, which he unlocked with a brass key and opened. She blinked in surprise to see the exit led out to a street paved with cobbles. A closed black carriage sat before her. It was her first breath of the outdoors since he'd taken her beneath the earth a month ago and eagerly she inhaled deep gulps of the fresh night air. He escorted her to the waiting carriage and helped her step up inside. A cloaked figure approached and swiftly the Phantom shut the door. Though she could not see, Christine could just hear his deep voice outside the carriage.
"Jolene disappeared," he told the newcomer. "Can your daughter be trusted…? Very well. I need you to find and bring her as a second witness. Hire a cab and follow quickly. Pay the driver with this. Do not have him wait."
The woman's answer came muffled and too low to make out.
The door soon opened, startling Christine who had craned closer in an attempt to hear. Flustered to be caught eavesdropping, she pretended great interest in arranging the folds of her skirts. The Phantom climbed inside the confined area, closing the door behind him. He took a seat across from Christine then knocked on the roof of the carriage. It took off with a sudden jolt.
Throughout the drive, he remained silent. In the dim interior, with the only light coming from outside a ridiculously small window that looked onto the street, she could see little of his form save for a faint glint of his eyes watching her. Casting her nervous gaze to the window, she kept it there, watching the city pass by.
"Why did you not scream?"
"Pardon?" His unexpected question had her look at him in surprise.
"At the opera house. On the catwalk. You did not call out for help. Why?"
"You told me to be silent." Her words came without thought.
"And when have you ever willingly done as I ordered?"
She almost smiled at his dry tone. "Since the moment I made a vow to you to honor your wishes for me." She hesitated. "I didn't wish anyone harmed. You fulfilled your promise. I could do no less."
In the resulting silence, she again turned her attention to the outdoors, hungry for the sight of sky and trees and wishing to feel the wind on her face.
They left the city, the trees soon closing them in, until she could see nothing else. Once the carriage stopped, the Phantom helped her down. A small church sat nestled in the woods. Welcome light glowed from the tall, narrow panes. It had been a long time since Christine entered a church and she wondered if the Phantom had ever stepped foot in one.
Her faith, instilled in her with fearful and stern tenacity as a child, had been cast aside as insignificant after her father died, only to be revisited during her years of convalescence with the de Chagnys. She had found a measure of peace within the sanctified citadel, usually when it was empty and she'd been alone with her thoughts, the minister's recurrent fire and brimstone orations not conducive to serenity. But she had put matters of faith aside upon her return to The Heights, the situation there requiring her full attention with no time to attend morning services. Though Berta had always managed it, and perhaps Christine should have tried harder.
"Wait here," the Phantom said once they stood in the vestibule. She watched him move down the aisle and approach a robed figure who knelt in prayer at the front of the candlelit sanctuary. The priest stood to his feet. Both men became involved in discussion, the Phantom's deportment tense, as if he was asked questions he would rather not answer. She watched him withdraw a small pouch from his cloak and hand it to the priest, who gravely nodded.
The prolonged creak of the door alerted Christine to company and she turned. Madame Giry walked in followed by Meg. The ballet dancer's mouth dropped open.
"Christine! Maman didn't tell me you would be here! Wherever have you been? Did the Phantom take you as they've been saying? Oh, but it's nice to see you again!"
Christine quietly smiled at her effusive greeting. "Your Mother didn't tell you why you're here?"
The fair headed dancer shook her head. "Only that she needed me for an errand. Does the errand involve you?"
"I think you're to be a witness."
"A witness?"
"Meg, enough," Madame Giry said, joining them. She looked intently at Christine, her blue eyes piercing yet oddly calm. "I have only one question. Is this your choice? Or are you being coerced by him?"
"No, it's my choice."
"What's your choice?" Meg asked. "Coerced by whom?"
Madame gave a relieved breath and a nod. "Then we should proceed."
"Proceed with what?" Meg insisted, looking ready to stamp her foot and whistle for attention. "Will someone please tell me why we're here?"
"To attend my wedding," Christine answered calmly.
"Wedding?" Meg's eyes grew wide as she just seemed to take in Christine's elegant attire. "You're getting married?! But - to who?"
"To me."
All eyes turned toward the tall masked man who stood in the entrance of the sanctuary. Meg's eyes grew even rounder as he approached.
"Mademoiselle Giry, we have yet to be introduced. I am -"
"The Phantom of the Opera," Meg whispered, clearly stunned to stand face to face with the living legend of which she'd been curious for so long. Her disbelieving gaze flicked to Christine, then back to him.
"In the flesh," he said wryly. "Now that you have seen me, I must insist that tonight's ceremony remain in confidence. You were never here. We never met. Is that understood?"
She nodded, clearly enthralled. "Who would believe me?" At his narrowed eyes, she hurriedly added, "The Vicomte and his cousin came to the opera house and asked about Christine. I told them nothing about you. You can trust me, monsieur."
He gave a slight, courteous incline of his head. "I am grateful."
It did not surprise Christine that the independent Arabella had also traveled in search of her, and recalling his conversation she overheard with Jolene, Christine felt assured that The Phantom would extend his vow not to harm to include her bosom friend, since he never once mentioned any umbrage toward the Vicomte's cousin.
With a frown, Christine watched the captivated young dancer and the cynical dark ghost. She found herself again wondering if Meg had been one of those to wander the corridors late in the night…
The Phantom turned to Christine. "Shall we, my dear?" He held out his arm.
Thrown by the unexpected endearment, she hesitated before doffing her cloak to give to Madame to hold then wrapping her hands around his coat sleeve that shielded lean, hard muscle. Her fingers tightened for support as she walked with him down the aisle, at last aware of the significant moment at hand. Her existence would soon be forever changed. When she walked out of this chapel, she would be bound to this dark, mysterious man for one lifetime. Even in that revelation her sudden apprehension wasn't enough to eliminate the deeper, elusive knowledge that this was as it should be. As it must be…
…even without Raoul as a bargaining chip.
Her breath stalled in shock at such a bizarre notion but she maintained an outward expression of calm. Her nerves must be playing tricks with her mind that she would think so strangely.
The elderly man in clerical robes nodded solemnly to her, his eyes kind. She should release the Phantom's arm but, afraid her knees might give out if she did, Christine clung, her entire body now trembling. She gasped when his gloved hand moved to cover hers in quiet reassurance.
The priest proceeded with the ceremony in rapid French. Christine felt as if she moved within a dream, none of this real. She knew very little of the language from her former lessons with Jolene and could only pick out a few words. The Phantom looked her way.
"Tell him you will."
"Will what?" she asked breathlessly.
"Agree to uphold all that is within the traditional vows. To obey, honor, and love, as long as we both shall live."
"Yes - I mean, oui - I will," she said swiftly with a short nod to the priest, having no wish to hear more of the Phantom's low, derisive explanation. He was receiving all he ever wanted of her. Why must he continue to treat her with scorn, even mild as it was now?
The priest continued the sacred rite, and the Phantom responded with his part in French. He unfastened one of her hands from around his arm and slid a ring onto her finger. Christine stared in awe at the chill band of gold flashing diamonds, her eyes wide when they lifted to his. He gave nothing away by his expression. More French was spoken, and the priest made the sign of the cross with his hand in the air. The Phantom looked at her.
"It is done."
"Oh…"
She stared into his eyes, feeling lost. How could an exchange of words, in a foreign tongue no less, so drastically alter the course of her existence? Within seconds, she was recognized no longer as a maiden but as a wife. How was that even possible?
"Are you not going to kiss her, monsieur?" Meg piped up. Her mother quickly silenced her daughter. "But Maman," she insisted more softly, "everyone knows that such vows are not sacred without a kiss to seal the pledge!"
The Phantom's steady golden eyes flickered at the candid, idealistic words. Christine let out a soft breath, wondering what he would do, feeling both panicked and expectant.
"Well then," he said quietly, never taking his eyes off of hers. "I left no stone unturned to make this lawful. If it is a kiss that is required to bind such vows, I will concur. Permit me?"
Christine felt somewhat lightheaded as she gave the slightest nod of assent.
The Phantom stared into her eyes a moment more, his expression inscrutable, before moving his finger and thumb beneath her chin and tilting her face upward. She watched his head descend, her lashes fluttering closed when his mouth came within inches of her own. His breath faintly warmed her lips, mingling with her breath in the moment before his lips pressed to hers. His touch was soft, his manner gentle, the edge of his mask just brushing her cheek. A violent jolt shuddered through her, the manner in which her heart quickened and her body swiftly grew so warm beyond anything anticipated though she had not known what to expect.
And then, it was over, and he gruffly said they must go, leading her down the aisle and out of the church with the Girys following. Her mind in a daze, Christine hurried along beside him.
With no more said to the priest, a glance over her shoulder showing that he remained where he stood and gave her a silent nod of acknowledgement, she assumed now that he had fulfilled his purpose he no longer remained of interest to the Phantom. Though in remembering the small pouch exchanged she assumed he had been duly compensated.
The Phantom helped her into the carriage, then offered Meg and Madame a hand, both women sitting opposite of Christine. He then gracefully moved inside and took the empty place beside her. The feel of his arm and thigh pressed against hers on the short seat made it difficult to breathe with his kiss still so prevalent in her mind. She barely followed the conversation as Meg shyly questioned him on several issues, most of which he remained vague, though he did admit to being the creator of the traps, to which Meg enthusiastically praised as morbidly genius, earning her a chuckle from the Phantom and a stern "Meg!" from her mother. Christine could only be grateful that the girl didn't ask about his infamous nocturnal trysts in the corridors, or worse, if Christine had also been a victim.
Her mind turned back to the kiss…
"Christine?"
She came to the present with a start, looking at Meg. To her embarrassment, she noticed that Madame Giry and the Phantom looked at Christine as well.
"I'm sorry?" she asked faintly.
Meg looked at her queerly. "I asked when you might return and I might see you again?"
"I'm not certain," Christine hedged, "when my teacher feels that I'm ready, I suppose."
"Your teacher?"
"What my wife is trying to say is that she will be the new diva. Once I feel she has learned all she must, she will join the rest of the cast, and upon my pronouncement."
Christine felt a tingle of unreality to hear him refer to her by that title and to see Meg's eyes widen in profound shock a third time that night. "You" she silently mouthed, and Christine gave a slight nod.
At last they arrived at the opera house. The Phantom spoke with Madame Giry outside the door they had earlier exited, and Meg took Christine aside.
"I knew the moment you walked onstage that you were different, that he'd chosen you for something special," she said. "But I never suspected this! I thought you couldn't sing?"
Christine shrugged. "I lost the desire, but he gave it back to me and has taught me so much," she admitted.
"And now you're married to him - and so soon!" Meg shook her head as if still unable to grasp the concept. "Tell me, have you known one another before? You must have…"
Christine shook her head. "We never met until the night he took me from the dressing room."
"But - why would he do such a thing! If he knew nothing about you?"
"He overheard me sing late one night, in the theatre, when I thought I was alone. He wished to speak with me about making me a star."
"Really…? And you've been with him all this time?" Meg looked as if she wasn't sure what to believe. "You realize you're living out a fairy tale? Many from the chorus would give anything to be in your place. To train for the lead and know the Phantom…? He's just as I thought he would be. Tell me, was it love at first sight for you?"
Her words brought back his towering image framed in the mirror, captivating and mystifying…how she had then swooned at the sight of his golden eyes behind the black mask…
She averted her attention to where the Phantom spoke with Madame Giry. "Something like that."
Christine let the young woman believe the false romantic tale she devised, loath to tell the true story of abduction, intimidation and submission. After seeing Meg again, one thing was clear. She had played no active role in her capture, and Christine was grateful, having once hoped they could become friends. Perhaps that was still possible.
"Meg, we must go," Madame Giry approached, the Phantom behind her.
"We'll talk more when you come back," Meg said, squeezing Christine's hands.
Christine nodded with a smile of farewell. "Of course."
The two women disappeared around the corner, and the Phantom covered Christine's shoulders with her cloak he held then again used the blindfold after taking her through the door. She didn't know why he bothered. The area was dark, though clearly he could see well enough, and she wondered if a life underground had altered his eyes to distinguish shape in such deep shadows.
They traveled in silence, her mind a clamor of thoughts with regard to all that had happened that night. At last he stopped and removed the blindfold, and she found herself at her bedchamber door a second time. She clutched the rock edge of the entrance, not certain what he would now do. He had told her he had no interest in her, but those past words seemed to hold no substance as they stood several meager steps away from her bed and she realized she was now his bride. The ring seemed to close in around her finger and pinch like a narrow band of iron as she stared anxiously into his steady eyes.
He inclined his head in a parting nod. "I will leave you to your rest."
Her heart tripped and she watched him walk away.
"If you thought I would scream, why did you not gag me?" she asked suddenly.
He stopped walking. It was a moment before he turned to look at her.
"I wanted to know what you would do."
"Then it was a test?"
Her heart beat in staccato while his flame-colored eyes felt as if they seared into her soul.
"It is late. Get some sleep. I will expect you for your lesson in the morning."
Hardly daring to believe he had let her go so easily, Christine watched him walk away and disappear before moving into her bedchamber. Looking at her reflection, she noted her wide, luminous eyes and flushed skin surrounded by the filmy veil crowned with a garland of white roses…noted the consummate beauty of the gown that made her look and feel like a storybook princess. He had spared no expense. The design, cut and quality of satin and lace was something any noble would be proud to wear and suited her form and features to perfection.
Sinking to the chair, she studied her wedding ring for the first time. A shimmering band of gold encrusted with a sprinkle of diamonds, it was far from ostentatious, elegant in its simplicity, the craftsmanship magnificent. And exactly what she might have wished for, the most beautiful ring she had ever seen.
Her eyes lifted to the mirror, her expression bewildered.
Nothing made sense. It never did, it never had, and likely it never would. She felt as if she truly did live within her own spectral and magical fairytale…
With a dark musical prince who, to her, was becoming less of a wicked ogre, and she could not begin to envision how their story would end.
.
xXx