Well, folks, you wanted to hear what happened on the wedding night... be careful what you wish for.

Chapter 10. April, 1887. The wedding night.

"Oh, Christine. Christine."

Erik had seemed unable to say anything but her name now, as he lay with his face buried in her hair, shaking. After a long time he muttered, "Thank you," and then was quiet. Christine stared at the ceiling, thinking that as mortifying as that afternoon's conversation with Adele had been, things would have been far worse without it.

When they entered the church, a priest was located without difficulty. However, Christine had been noticing several sideways glances which Madame Giry had been giving her along the way, and once the priest agreed to perform the ceremony and accepted Erik's money, the box keeper had stepped boldly forward and said, "Father, the bridegroom has not been to confession for quite some time. He must remedy that before you can marry them."

Erik cast the widow such a scathing look that Christine herself wanted to cower, just from witnessing it directed at someone else. But the redoubtable woman just looked blandly back at him, and when the priest said with concern, "Indeed? Yes, it must be seen to first. Come this way, my son," the yellow-eyed glare had shifted in his direction. The clergyman took a step backwards instinctively, and then visibly tried to recover his composure. In another minute, thought Christine, he would cross himself.

"Erik," she said rebukingly. The demonic stare lessened infinitesimally, but he hissed, "Are you quite sure, Madame? Father? We shall be in the confessional a very long time. I should not wish to leave my bride waiting out here."

"Not to worry," said Adele cheerfully. "I shall take Mademoiselle Daae into the powder room and help her tidy her hair and dress, and arrange her veil. I am sure you want her to look her best for her wedding! Now, off with you. We ladies need some time to ourselves." She made a shooing motion with her hand. Erik had stood stock still for a moment, dividing his glare between both women, before turning on his heel and stalking away.

Once the two women had retired to a dressing room, Adele shut the door firmly behind them and turned to face Christine. "My dear, you have told me that you want to get married without delay."

"I – I – yes," said Christine, ducking her head as she realised what the widow was likely asking. Sure enough, Adele's next words were, "Are you with child? Is that what this is about?"

"No!"

The older woman cocked her head to one side. "No?"

"No."

"You are sure?"

"Yes," whispered Christine, mortified. "It is…an impossibility."

"Good," said Adele with satisfaction. "I was worried. Then, why all this rush?"

"Because…my decision has been put off too long. I…could not choose – " Christine greatly regretted the times she had rapturously talked to Madame and Meg of her feelings for Raoul. Now she had to eat her words and the taste was bitter. "I…could not choose between them, for too long. Now…I have. And so I wish it to be settled as quickly as possible, so that we can…begin our life together." She was fully aware that her stammering was not helping her case.

Adele regarded her sceptically. "Well, it is your decision, that is true. You are of age. But Christine, marriage is permanent."

"I know," Christine answered wretchedly.

"It is not a game like the one you had with the Vicomte."

"I wasn't playing a game with him!" said Christine with indignation.

"Well, I could never be sure of whether you were serious about marrying the Vicomte."

"It didn't… it did not seem real sometimes… we were keeping it a secret, after all. At least I hope we were…"

"If you didn't want everyone to know of it, you might have refrained from swanning about the corridors of the Opera with him, bold as brass. But I know most things that go on in that Opera House," said Adele, and then added, with a wry smile, "Though not as much as your fiancé."

It was the first time that anyone had referred to Erik that way, and Christine quailed. Only a little, but enough that the perceptive Madame Giry noticed it.

"Christine, you are sure? You can not do this otherwise."

"Y-yes. I am."

"Erik will not be an easy man to live with."

"Yes. I am sure you're right."

"He has been damaged, possibly permanently, by the life he has led. You will have to have the patience of a saint to manage him. Much, much more so than the Vicomte, who would be putty in most women's hands."

"I'm not going to marry Raoul!" said Christine impatiently. "I never really – " She stopped, realising how coldly callous it would sound to say, "I never really loved him that way anyway." Raoul had thought she did, and her abandonment of him would undoubtedly hurt him to the core. He was so naïve, and so trusting; still very much a boy, and she had taken no heed whatever of that, in order to satisfy her own selfishness and capriciousness. She would have to confess that to the priest. True, once she realised belatedly that she was using Raoul as a way of insulating herself from her feelings for her teacher, and that the Vicomte believed himself to be in love with her, she had tried to pull him up short. But by then it was too late. Really, her behaviour had been abominable. She would not blame Raoul if he hated her forever. Guilt filled her, and she said hastily, "I never knew till just last night that I could not be parted from my teacher." What a good thing Adele had no idea of what had transpired after Erik kidnapped her off the stage. "But he – he came and found me, and we – talked, and – well, then I realised it."

Events could not possibly be glossed over any more than that, she reflected ruefully. Madame again appeared distinctly sceptical, but finally shrugged and said, "As you wish, then. But Christine – are you aware of what a husband's rights are?"

Christine gasped.

"Are you?"

"Y – yes," murmured Christine, her throat closing up with embarrassment and apprehension.

"You are marrying him as a man, Christine. He is no angel, and no ghost. You must be willing to treat him as your husband. It would not be fair otherwise. This is no longer a game."

"I – I know," Christine stammered. "I know – he is a man. I learned that a long time ago."

"Have you?" asked Adele, looking at her searchingly. "Well, if you are determined to go through with this, I am going to see to it that you at least have some idea of what your duty to him will be."

It had been the most uncomfortable conversation that Christine had ever had, as she was firmly sat down in a chair before the little vanity table the room contained. She'd known generally what Adele was referring to, but to actually talk about such things with her – it had been one thing to have whispered, giggling talks with the other chorus girls, but this…

She hadn't even been able to meet the widow's eyes in the mirror, wishing she could sink through the floor as Adele stood behind her and redid her hair, talking as steadily as if she had been explaining a knitting pattern. Calmly she slid each hairpin back in and arranged the wedding veil, all the while speaking more forthrightly than Christine could ever have imagined someone could on this subject. Finally the older woman tweaked one last silk flower into place, stepped back, and then said tartly, "You are as white as a sheet. I suppose you are going to back out, now, having not stopped to think of this until I made you do it?"

"No!" snapped Christine. She already felt guilty about the way in which she had used Raoul; under no circumstances was she going to let the widow see her do the same thing to another man. She was mortified and smarting. Everyone doubted her. Erik; Madame. They both thought she didn't possess the courage to go through with this marriage. Well, she would! And did Madame have to have spoken so frankly? She turned away and marched haughtily out of the room, and toward her new life.

She had, however, thanked God that she'd been made to listen when, on their wedding night, Erik approached her hesitantly, obviously terrified of rejection. She'd clasped his hands in hers and said in his ear, "I mean to be a proper wife to you, my dear. I married you intending to do so."

That had been enough, apparently. He'd taken her in his arms and finally let his terrible need take control of him, fumbled with the unfamiliar closures of her clothing, clutched desperately at her body, and eventually, after it was all over, wept against her shoulder. She'd been uncomfortable then, in pain from his claiming of her and more than a little shaken at the sheer physical immediacy of it all, but she hadn't let him see that, as Madame Giry had instructed her.

"It will get better," had been the advice. "Soon, you may even enjoy it more than he does. Women can experience release again and again, far more times than a man can at one time. It will hurt at first, but not so much as to be unbearable. Still, you must not let him see that he is causing you pain. It would cut him too deeply."

So, remembering this, Christine now merely lay there next to her prostrate husband, unwilling to move or speak for fear of inadvertently showing her real feelings about the whole business.

Is this it? she was thinking. Is it true that it will get better, or will it always be like this? How could any woman like this? How could the other girls talk as though they enjoyed it? It's so…so strange, and it seems so undignified.

I think maybe Erik didn't like it either. He... he groaned so, at the end, as though it hurt awfully, and then he just…just lay there, like he was disappointed!

No, wait, didn't Madame say that would happen? Yes, yes, she did. I remember now.

"Behaving as though one's spine has abruptly evaporated is a excellent indication of male satisfaction. Not very gentlemanly, I suppose, but there it is."

"Really?" Christine said doubtfully.

"Yes. Don't squirm out from under him too quickly either, or he'll think you've been revolted by the whole thing. Which you may well be, but don't let him see that either, for God's sake."

"It seems…it seems like there are a lot of things he shouldn't know. About what I think of this, I mean," Christine ventured timidly.

"There are," Madame Giry said frankly. "Men always want to know what a woman thinks about the marriage bed. But heaven forbid they should ever actually find out."

"Is it…well, is it right to keep such things from one's husband?" asked Christine. "Shouldn't a marriage include honesty?"

"Of course it should, when it's helpful," her impromptu mentor answered, "and by all means tell him if it continues to hurt you, or if you want him to do something specific. But not just at first. It will be overwhelming for him, and he will be terrified of hurting or repulsing you, for obvious reasons. Overcoming his past is going to be hard for him; he will be expecting you to reject him as others have done. You must help him all you can."

"I'll – I'll try."

"This will not be easy. He is no normal man and never can be."

"I know."

Christine's thoughts were dragged abruptly back, as Erik was finally stirring. He raised his head, looked at her searchingly, and then propped himself up on one elbow. In utter silence he gazed at her body, and then ran a hand slowly down the length of it. She steeled herself not to shrink away, or grab for the sheet. Lying stark naked with another human being, and a man at that, was something completely unfamiliar, and shocking. It was difficult to get her head round how much things had changed between them, and how quickly.

"Will you not say something, Erik?" Christine eventually asked. He was unnerving her. When he spoke, his voice was low and raspy.

"Did I hurt you very much, Christine?"

"Oh, no, no!"

He looked surprised, and pressed, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Erik."

"Really?"

"Yes, Erik, I'm perfectly fine. Don't worry."

He appeared very thoughtful, and murmured, "Hmmm." He ran a hand up the inside of her leg, and cupped her lightly. She fought to restrain her body's instinctive pulling away. Surely he wasn't going to want her again so soon? Wouldn't he give her a little time to recuperate? But his fingers were already sliding inside her, and she clenched her teeth so as not to cry out at the pain.

"So…" he said, "This does not hurt you at all?" Why was he pushing this? She girded herself up to lie once more.

"No, it doesn't hurt me."

Something changed in his face then; she saw it. A hardening, a smouldering; and then the embers caught. He whirled away from her and jumped out of bed, and she was too shocked to move for a minute. What was going on? She blinked, shook her head, and sat up. He had dressed amazingly fast, and was already yanking his shirt over his head.

"Erik! What's the matter?"

"Nothing, my dear wife," he seethed, snatching his dressing gown and shoving his arms into it. "Only that you must forgive Erik for his stupidity in thinking he had married an innocent."

"What?! Erik, what on earth are you talking about?"

"You fool, Christine. Did you honestly not know enough to at least pretend you were virginal? Or did you enjoy it so much your first time that you had no idea it was supposed to hurt?"

She couldn't make sense of this at all, and stuttered, "What – what – "

"So, who did have the honour, Christine, tell me! Was it the Vicomte? Did he overcome your weak protests eventually? I always knew he was a cad."

She managed to cry, "No! Raoul never touched me, I swear it!"

He came closer to the bed, his yellow eyes wild, nearly foaming at the mouth as he raged, "Oh, so it was someone else then? Who? Carolus Fonta? One of the managers? A stagehand? Or did you give yourself to someone before you even came to the Opera House? Ah, yes, that must be it, for Erik would have known if you had anyone while you were here. How old were you then, sixteen? My, you started early. But I suppose a whore is a whore no matter how young?"

At that last offensive word, she finally found her voice.

"How can you say such things to me?" she wailed. "How can you even think them?"

"How could I not, with such proof as I've just had?" he bellowed back. "If you'd been a virgin, it would have hurt you! And yet you swore again and again that you weren't hurt at all!"

Oh God, what a terrible mess this had become! She hadn't wanted to lie in the first place, and now it had made him think this of her!

"No, no, you're wrong, you don't know – "

"I don't need to know any more," he ranted, looming over her. "That was enough. I have all the information I need. Please, do not regale me with the tales of all your conquests. I doubt I could stand it."

"How dare you!" she screeched, at the top of her trained lungs. Furious, she snatched a book off the nightstand and flung it at him. But he leapt effortlessly out of the way of the projectile, and there was a sudden sound of shattering glass. The pieces of the broken dressing table mirror cascaded down and all over the tabletop and the chair.

They both jumped. Then Erik turned from the sight of the bits of glass on the carpet, and sneered, "Now look what you've done. I bought that mirror just for you! God knows I don't want the damned things in my house!"

"What I've – How could you – I've never, never – " She was spluttering with rage, unable to form a coherent sentence, and he interrupted her rudely.

"Forgive me if I can not believe you, Christine. As I said, it is you who must forgive Erik for being so stupid." He turned and rushed out of the bedroom, slamming the door so hard the walls rattled. In another moment angry chords began ringing through the house.

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