Chapter 12 - No Second Thoughts
If given the chance to redo just one thing from tonight, Raoul had decided, he never would have let go of Christine's wrist. Stopping her from fleeing the room had been a good start, but he lacked follow-through. Rather, he should have pulled her to him, should have held her tightly and kissed her deeply — that would have been a demonstration of the passionate determination expected of a hero. It's what the Raoul of a few years past would have done, not run from his wife like a chastened dog, slinking away with its tail tucked between its legs. How could he possibly inspire confidence acting like such an unmanly coward?
It was yet another way he'd botched this whole thing; he added it to the list he'd been keeping in his head. What was he at now, thirteen? Fourteen? He'd easily cleared a dozen, that was for certain.
Raoul pulled the quilt up around his shoulders. The temperature had continued to drop, but waking a servant to start a fire seemed like just another humiliation he couldn't stomach.
There really wasn't any excuse for not turning on the lights, though.
The moon was a thin slash of silver in the sky, framed within a massive window hung with heavy velvet curtains. It gave off just enough light to see, but rendered the richly colored wood paneling and jewel-toned rows of books in bleak gray tones. It felt fitting.
The "moment" Christine had requested had become an hour. Raoul shut his eyes, suddenly exhausted. Would this end up being cataloged as number fifteen on the list of his failings? An entire night sitting alone in a cold, dark room, waiting on someone who had no intention of joining him? He supposed only time would tell, because even so much as imagining his hand poised to knock on the bedroom door made Raoul's palms sweat.
God, he really was pathetic, wasn't he?
He was halfway to convincing himself that stretching out for a quick nap would not mean he was giving up, when there was a sudden flare of light, glowing blood-red through his closed lids.
Thankfully, waiting around like a pitiful fool wouldn't be making it onto the list after all.
Blinking spots from his eyes, he found Christine standing near the doorway across the room, haloed by the golden light of a gas lamp. Her eyes were rimmed in red, her arms hugged tight around her ribs. Small white teeth pressed into her bottom lip.
Raoul leapt to his feet, landing a little unsteadily after so long on the sofa.
Christine's eyes flicked over to the sideboard, taking in the empty bottles and untouched glasses. She looked back at him, her brows knitted together in confusion.
"I, ah, watered the plant," Raoul confessed, with a sheepish half-smile. "Not a drop for me, though. I promise."
Her face relaxed, with enough of a smile on her lips to encourage Raoul to take the opportunity to launch right in. He took a breath and spread his hands. "Christine, I'm so sorry, please forgive me. I realize now how indecent the whole idea might seem, and I truly didn't mean to imply that I think you of easy virtue." The words came easily now; he'd had time to think, and this time, he would get them right. He had to. "And, more importantly," he continued, "I'd never want to make you feel that I've ever doubted you." That was a bit of a misrepresentation, but it wasn't technically untrue; whatever doubts he might have, he certainly hadn't wanted her to be aware that he harbored them.
She hesitated a moment, chewing her bottom lip. Then, with a soft sigh, she crossed the room to where he stood and slipped her hands into his. Raoul held them tight, an anchor to keep him moored despite the swelling waves of dread threatening to sweep him away.
"It's all right," she said, her voice sweetly subdued. "I understand. I know your heart was in the right place." She sighed again and settled down on the sofa; he followed, their hands still clasped between them. A memory surfaced, tender as a bruise, of standing before one another, hands interlaced, as they made their marriage vows — swearing eternal love and unbending fidelity. Nausea turned Raoul's stomach, and he gripped his wife's hands tighter still.
"And I'm sorry, too," she added. Her eyes were on his, and truly, they were filled with sorrow. "This has been so hard on us both. We had our lives planned out. I thought I was meant to be a mother, and now…" She glanced away and Raoul was left breathless from a near-fatal stab of guilt, a fine-pointed dagger slid swifty between his ribs. Her hands tensed. "I've not handled this well, I know. And I admit, I've been…lost...and I've been trying so hard to find my way..." She trailed off, the words trembling on her lips, and Raoul's heart thudded to a stop. Her eyes flew back up to his, pleading. "But I swear, I've never had any intention of leaving you." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Is that what this is all about?"
Raoul sat back, feeling almost punch-drunk. His thoughts were racing, and he couldn't make any sense of them. She seemed so genuine. When she'd looked him in the eyes and declared that she wouldn't leave him, his heart had swelled with complete conviction, yet her words still did not deny what he knew to be true: she had been up to something with another man. Raoul had provided her with everything she could ever want, except for this one thing, so what other possible reason could she have to meet with a man, if not to find a replacement who could provide it?
What did it all mean? How could he untangle this mess?
Asking her directly would be a start.
Raoul exhaled sharply, covering the laugh which had leapt into his throat. He was too far gone and in much too deep now, even if it were possible that he could find the nerve to ask. And, he reminded himself again, what did it matter? At the heart of it was this: Christine was not happy and it was his fault.
He couldn't help that. But he could make things right.
He fixed his eyes on hers. "Christine, do you want to have a baby?" he asked again, and this time it was no longer a question, but a gentle invitation to answer honestly.
Silent tears slid down her cheeks, giving him the answer before she spoke it. "I do, but—"
"Then that is what this is all about," he said, placing firm hands on her shoulders to steady them both. "I couldn't live with myself knowing that I was the cause of your regret, or that you resented me. You told me the same thing, I know you must understand."
"But Raoul, I—"
"I mean it," he spoke over her quickly; he wouldn't give her the opportunity to attempt to deny it for his sake. "And even if you think it's true now, you can't know how you'll feel in a few years. Or even farther down the line, when it would be too late." He squeezed her shoulders. "I want you to have everything you want — nothing unfulfilled, nothing to regret."
Christine's hands went to her lap, her fingers twisting at the sash of her dressing gown, grasping and pulling until Raoul thought for sure the fine fabric might tear. Beneath a deeply creased brow, her eyes darted back and forth, distant, yet thoughtful, as if examining a picture only she could see.
A full minute passed before she spoke, her voice hushed and undeniably hurting. "And what do you want?" she asked, not meeting his eyes.
"All I want is for us to be together, forever. To be a family, like we'd always dreamed." Raoul brought his hand up to cup her cheek, hot and damp with tears, and she nestled into the cradle of his palm. "Remember?"
She nodded, just slightly.
Raoul swallowed. "Then, if we're to stay together...how else could we have a child?" He let his fingers slide down her cheek in a soothing stroke.
Christine jerked away, turning her back to him and covering her eyes with her hands. "Oh, I don't know, Raoul…" she moaned. "It just seems so wrong! And there are so many ways it could go badly."
There wasn't really any way for Raoul to respond — she wasn't wrong — so instead he reached out to lay a comforting hand on her back. At his touch, she dropped her hands and twisted around to face him, her face a mask of incredulity. "You really think you'd be able to look at me the same way after such a thing? That you'd accept and raise another man's child as your own? You wouldn't feel jealous? You wouldn't feel resentful?" she asked, and she might have made some good points, but all Raoul could hear was that her words were not an outright refusal. His pulse began to race.
Raoul took her hand again, pressing it to his heart, urging her to feel how its every beat was for her and her alone.
"Could you doubt me?"
Judging by the look she gave him, she certainly could.
Raoul softened his eyes. He softened his voice. "If you truly don't think this is something you could do, I understand completely. We can forget I ever said anything. But," he lifted her hand and brushed a kiss against her knuckles, "I want you to know that I've meant every word."
Christine pulled her hand from his grip, leaving Raoul's fingers grasping at the air. She stood, squinting down at him, arms crossed. "You honestly believe we could make it through this," she said, and a little thrill of victory ran through Raoul as he realized that, despite her acid tone, she wasn't asking. She was listening. The ice he was traversing was thin, but finally, there was at least some ice, instead of only an endless expanse of murky water, cold enough to paralyze. He nodded, afraid to chance ruining the small gain by saying the wrong thing.
She quirked an eyebrow. "You mean for me to be intimate with another man, repeatedly, and you have no worries at all that feelings might develop?"
"Well..." Raoul hesitated, uncertain of how to proceed. He was making progress, but he was still only halfway there. He supposed it was time to take a few tentative steps to test out the strength of the newly-formed support beneath his feet, fragile and slick though it was. He sat up a little straighter. "That's why it's important to choose that man very carefully."
Christine tilted her head, regarding him through narrowed eyes.
Raoul took another step, praying that the brittle ice would support the weight of a few gently-leading suggestions — ones he'd spent the last few nights committing to memory.
"There's so much to consider," he began, "but I think the most important thing is that it be someone we could trust to keep this secret, no matter what. This child would stand to inherit a title, a fortune, and a respected family name, so it's imperative that this person understands the need for absolute discretion." He paused to take a quick breath. "And, of course, paramount to any lineage considerations is that your good name is preserved, and that there would be no worry that we would ever face the embarrassment of any...intimate details being shared."
He stopped to give Christine time to process, watching her face closely. So far, so good: her eyes were still narrowed, but she hadn't objected.
Time to sharpen simple suggestion into pointed insinuation.
"Which means…" Suddenly Raoul's nerve began to waver. He shifted his eyes to the door, hopeful that it would appear he was simply concerned about any possible interruptions. "It would need to be someone who wants what's best for you...who respects you and cares about you...as much as I do."
At the edge of his vision, Raoul could sense Christine go still. Very still.
The ice had now thinned to a razor's edge. Raoul touched down an exploratory toe, trying to ignore the creaking and groaning of the splintering ground beneath his feet. "Someone who would rather die than hurt you or betray you." He swallowed, and risked a glance at her face.
The utter blankness he saw there was unexpected...and deeply unnerving. Raoul shifted in his seat.
"Maybe…" He inhaled, filling his lungs in preparation for a final sprint to shore. "Maybe someone who has already proven that they would put what's best for you before any feelings of their own?" he finished, his voice lilting upwards, gently leading her toward the only possible conclusion.
"Raoul," Christine said, quietly, her tone as expressionless as her face. "Why did we go to the opera tonight?"
"I won't lie to you," he said, spacing his words carefully. Hammering heart be damned, he would remain calm and confident through this; it would be the only way to convince her to see reason. "Yes, I did have an ulterior motive." Raoul could see the muscles in Christine's jaw tighten. He extended a reassuring hand, as if he were approaching a stray dog, uncertain of whether it would roll over or draw blood. "I needed to see what sort of feelings might be stirred up. I had to know if it was all still too traumatic, or if maybe there might still be some...positive feelings there. Which I would say was the case, no?" He raised his eyebrows slightly.
A red flush bloomed across her cheeks, but her expression remained frustratingly unchanged.
Christine took a deep breath and closed her eyes, a stick of dynamite waiting for its fuse to be lit. "Tell me who you're referring to. I need to hear you say it."
Raoul sat forward, gripping the edge of the sofa cushion for support, bracing for impact. "Ah…"
He struck the match, let it flame.
"...Him."
For a moment, there was only silence between them while the fuse sparked and hissed.
The explosion was expected — inevitable, really — but that didn't make it any less awful to experience. The force with which Christine's two little hands connected with his shoulders, sending him reeling back to bounce off the backrest of the sofa, was quite a surprise. He'd anticipated some push-back, but didn't think it would come in a literal sense. She stepped back and glared down at him with blazing eyes. "You HAVE gone mad!"
"I have not," Raoul replied as evenly as possibly, struggling to right himself. "If you'll just think it over a bit, you'll see he's actually a perfect candidate."
"HOW?" she shrieked, loud enough that she appeared to startle even herself. She dropped her voice to a furious whisper. "Raoul, he kidnapped me! He tried to force me to marry him by threatening to kill you!" She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead. "Have you forgotten all that?"
"I most certainly haven't," Raoul said, and for a moment he felt the ghostly sting of rope around his neck. He shook his head to fling away the inconvenient memory. "But I also remember that he did the right thing in the end." He stood and Christine skittered away, shielding herself behind Raoul's leather armchair, her eyes flashing a warning. He had a feeling these initial protestations might be more reflexive than anything; all he needed for now was to give her time and space to calm down. He spread his palms to indicate that he would keep his distance. "Weren't you the one telling me all about how he's changed? About his capacity for good?" Raoul could see that the corner of her mouth trembled, just slightly. "Don't you believe that?"
"No! I mean, I think so... I don't know!" she cried, and somehow she made it sound like an accusation. She looked down at her hands, braced on the back of the armchair; they were clutching the smooth, burnished leather hard enough that they would almost certainly leave marks. "It's all so complicated," she said, much more softly. She looked up, and Raoul could see that tears had begun to well up in her eyes.
A sudden shiver worked its way up his spine, shuddering into his shoulders as a quickly-suppressed convulsion. It caught him off guard, leaving him flustered, until — of course! — he realized he'd forgotten all about how uncomfortably cold he'd been in the unheated room. His eyes went to his wife, concerned for her comfort, but if she was affected by the chill, there was no indication.
Raoul rubbed his hands up and down his arms, letting the friction generate some warmth in his bones. He used the pause to assess the situation.
So far, this wasn't actually going too poorly.
Of course she would have some concerns; he'd had them himself. In fact, he'd counted on it. He'd come prepared with an answer to every objection, knowing that she would only need a gentle hand to steer her towards reason. The intensity of her reaction, however, was far beyond what he'd prepared for.
He shook his head. "Honestly, I'm a little surprised that you're this opposed. I thought he might be who you'd choose yourself."
Christine's eyes widened. "Don't you dare put this on me!" she hissed, stabbing a finger at him. "I showed...empathy for him, and you- you took that to mean I want to do that with him?"
"Well, you kissed him," Raoul said matter-of-factly.
"I did that so he'd let you go!" This time, the blush reached her collarbone.
Something twisted deep within Raoul's chest. "The first time, perhaps." He could taste bitterness coating his lips as the words tumbled out. "What, exactly, was the point of that second kiss?"
Christine's mouth fell open.
If she was shocked, she was not alone: Raoul hadn't known that question was within him until the words were coming out of his mouth.
Though...that wasn't exactly true, was it?
At one point, very early on, the thought had been there, but between her frequent floods of tears over the event and her clear and unwavering demonstration of love for him, Raoul had decided it wasn't of any real concern, and he'd banished the unspoken question from his mind. Or at least, he told himself he had. In reality, he was now forced to admit, he'd pushed it down, down, down, as deep as it could go, never giving it the light it would need to grow and flower into something real. Vaguely, he wondered what other seeds might be down there, waiting for their chance to germinate. He hoped he'd never find out.
"Raoul," Christine snapped, dragging him back to the present, "you will not force me to defend the things I did to save your life." Her voice shook with emotion, but her blush had only continued its journey down her chest; almost all of her uncovered skin was a feverish red.
There was another twist in his chest — Raoul could feel something unfurling, trying to reach for the light. Perhaps the wise thing would be to let any doubts surface, to make sure he was going into this with open eyes and no second thoughts...but the wise thing and the right thing weren't always the same, were they?
Had it been wise to descend into an unfamiliar, pitch-black labyrinth in an attempt to single-handedly rescue his beloved from a man who'd wanted him dead, without either a lantern or a weapon with which to defend himself? Maybe not, but it was what was right, and it went—- well, it all worked out in the end, anyway.
Raoul clenched his jaw and swallowed hard, willing the tender, toxic shoot to wither and die.
When the wriggling in his chest had ceased, he unclenched his jaw and put on an expression of earnest remorse. "I'm sorry, Christine," he sighed. "I can't get anything right. I only meant that I'd thought you might be more comfortable with someone you already had...some level of rapport with."
She scoffed, but the daggers she'd been staring at him had dulled, Raoul noted with undisguised relief; they no longer appeared so lethal. He pressed on.
"And I truly think that for all his flaws — of which, yes, I know there are many — we couldn't find someone who we could trust more to keep this confidential or to treat you with such...reverence. Don't you agree?"
For once, her silence was exactly the response he'd hoped for.
Raoul watched Christine closely. Her mouth, which had been pressed into a firm line, began to soften; her eyes lost their hard-edged gleam. Finally, her hands relaxed their grip on the armchair's tufted back and her shoulders slumped. "What does it matter anyway?" she asked, shaking her head. "We have no idea what's happened to him." She turned and walked the few steps to the window, touching her fingertips to the dark glass. Her face had lost its flush, and now, bathed in the faint glow of moonlight, it was unearthly pale. "I know this sounds silly, and I can't explain it, but I think— I feel like he's still alive." She let her forehead fall forward to rest against the window, eyes shut.
With a brief — but surprisingly strong — squeeze of his heart, Raoul suddenly realized that Christine must be terribly tired; it was closer to dawn than to sunset by now, and without a doubt the conversation had been quite draining.
"But...it's been so long, and there's been no sign of him. He's never—-" Her voice wavered and trailed off, strained with exhaustion. Abruptly, she stepped back with a huff, shaking her head, presumably to revive herself. "He must be in some far off place. There'd be no way to find him," she added decisively. She looked back at Raoul, her expression resigned and undeniably...tired. He needed to wrap this up, and quickly.
Raoul took a careful step toward his wife. "About that…"
Christine froze, her eyes snapped open wide and wary, waiting.
"Please believe that I did this out of love and consideration for you," Raoul said slowly, closing the distance between them one hesitant step at a time. This was the final bit of surprise for the evening, and whether she'd want to fall into his arms or slap him, either way, he wanted to be right there for her. "I thought it best that I have an idea of where he was — just in case — so I found a way to keep track of him." Raoul paused; he was within an arm's reach of her now. "And I can confirm that he's neither dead, nor in a particularly far off place."
Christine's mouth opened like she wanted to speak, but all that came out was a small, sharp exhale.
"The information wasn't all bad," Raoul went on, "but it turned out that he knew what I was doing, and was playing me from the start." Not for the first time, he silently cursed that damned Giry woman; still, he had to admire a woman who was shrewd enough to use such a situation to her advantage. "Oh, the gloating..." Raoul made a disgusted sound in his throat. "I do believe you're right about him being a different person now, but that aspect of his personality is still intact," he added bitterly.
"You've seen him?" Christine asked, her voice little more than a breath. "When?"
"Well...yes." Raoul shifted his feet on the thin rug. "Not long ago. I thought I should talk it out with him first, get a feeling for things?"
"'A feeling for things?' You— I can't believe you!" If Raoul thought he'd seen shock on his wife's face earlier tonight, it was nothing compared to what he saw now. He ducked backwards, suddenly not so keen to be slapped after all. Mercifully, though, it seemed his transgression was forgotten in the face of more pressing questions.
"He's here? In Paris?" she demanded.
"Not currently." Raoul gave a little shrug. "He comes and goes."
He didn't notice that Christine had begun to wobble until she flung out an arm to steady herself against the chair. He rushed forward, taking her by the elbow and guiding her to sit.
"Darling, we really should get you to bed, you're ready to fall asleep on your feet!" Raoul said, kneeling beside her.
She nodded absently. "How— how is he? Is he...well?" Her forehead was wrinkled in confusion, as if she wasn't sure what she was asking.
"He seemed...fine, I suppose?" Raoul answered.
Christine's eyes drifted from his, gazing, unfocused, at some point more distant than Raoul could see. He covered her hand with his; it felt as cool and motionless as if it were carved from marble. He gave it a squeeze. "You know, you could ask him yourself."
She blinked hard, looking around at Raoul like she'd just realized he was there. "He said he would do this?" she asked, and if there was an emotion to be read in her tone, Raoul could not sense it in the least.
"So long as you agreed," he replied — he figured that was close enough to the truth. He raised his eyebrows hopefully. "So...does this mean you'll think about it?"
Raoul hadn't expected her to reply right away, and he certainly didn't want to rush her, but a minute or two should have been long enough to at least give some indication one way or another. The minutes kept ticking by, though, as Raoul shifted on knees that were quickly becoming rather uncomfortable. Still Christine stared down at her lap, a little crease between her brows.
"All right," she said, finally.
"Really?" A fizzing rush filled Raoul's head and chest, like he'd just knocked back an entire glass of brandy in one go. He wanted to shout to the heavens — Oh, thank you God! — and he nearly did before he bit his tongue. Countless hours of planning and plotting, of isolation and humiliation — it had all paid off. "You'll think about it?" he asked again, in desperate, almost delirious need of confirmation.
"No," Christine shook her head. "I mean let's do it."
"You...what?" Raoul could feel his face go slack. He tried to speak but found he had no air left in his lungs; he sucked in a deep breath. "You'll do this? Truly?" His mouth was trembling, inching its way into a wide, stunned grin.
Christine reached out her hand to stroke Raoul's cheek, giving him a small half-smile that softened her eyes. "Yes, Raoul. Now, can we please go back to bed? I really am quite tired."
Raoul was on his feet immediately. "Certainly, my love! Just give me a minute or two, and I'll join you straightaway." He helped her to her feet and then he pulled her to him, held her tightly and kissed her deeply.
Just like the hero he was.
…
As soon as Christine had left the room, Raoul had set to work. He dashed over to his desk and withdrew paper and an envelope. He scratched out a message that he would hand-deliver himself to Madame Giry, first thing in the morning:
She agrees. Meet to discuss?
He would ask Giry to forward it to Erik, after they'd had a few words about where, exactly, her allegiances lie...and whether tripling what Erik was paying might have any bearing on that answer.
As Raoul slipped into bed — his bed! — with his wife — at her request! — he wondered if he'd be able to sleep a wink tonight between the giddy fluttering of his heart and the stupid smile he couldn't stop from twitching on his face. He needn't have worried; he was weightless now that he'd been freed from the last of his secrets, drifting on a cloud of optimism, rosy pink and intoxicating. He gazed down the length of the now clear-cut path he'd worked so hard to create and could finally, finally see a golden light breaking on the horizon. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into sleep.
He enjoyed approximately ninety seconds of bliss before his eyes flew open, a thick, cold lump of dread sliding into his stomach.
Wait a minute…
His heart drummed an ominous, vaguely familiar rhythm.
Why did she agree so quickly?
OH IT'S ON, BABY.
Hi hi! Everyone good? Though I do have a very full plate in my real life, I'm also realllllllly starting to miss, you know, everyday human interaction, but this has helped to fill the void. I've loved each and every message and comment and review from you all, thank you so much!
And as usual, thank you, readers, for staying with this over the months/years! I'm writing at every opportunity I have (which isn't a lot), so you can continue to expect 1-2 chapters a month. Already on my way with the next two chapters, which will be a lot of fun. I think we're like ¼-⅓ of the way through, and there are plenty of twisty-turns on their way. Up next: time to hash out some logistics with our two favorite delusional men.
Again, eternal thanks to NN for helping me out so much on this, and helping me finally figure out how I want to end this thing! You're the absolute best.
PS - I realized after like a week or so that in fixing a little typo in Ch 2, I accidentally replaced it with a duplicate of Ch 3. Whoops. So if you were a new reader who encountered that issue and missed out on some important set-up, I've fixed it. Sorry about that!