14When Christine woke, the house on the lake was quiet. There was no music playing, no pounding of piano keys, no organ pipes bellowing through the walls. She had stayed in Erik's house enough times to guess the unnatural silence meant he was gone.
Curious to see if her instincts were right, she wrapped the afghan around her and left her bedroom, testing her knee as she went. It felt better than it had a few hours ago. Erik's ministrations had clearly done the trick. If she'd been left to her own devices, she probably would have been writhing in pain.
Christine wandered from room to room, her bare feet noiseless on the carpeted floors. She paused in the open doorway to his bedroom. Everything was dark and silent. The kitchen was also empty. In the sitting room, the candles burned low. Erik was not in the house. It was late, the middle of the night, as indicated by the antique clock on the mantle. Wondering where he had gone off to, she had a fleeting thought, dismissed it and then considered it again.
She had a hunch where he could be, but did she dare disturb him there? If she left the house, Erik would be angry at her. He would not like her going such a long distance on her own, putting unnecessary pressure on her knee. Then again, if she was seeking him out, perhaps he would forgive her just this once? Considering what had happened between them, she really had no choice. She wanted to know his frame of mind. What was he thinking? She hardly knew.
Her mind made up, Christine dressed and left the house on the lake, certain she knew her way. She climbed higher and higher until she was back in the upper levels of the Opera House. She followed the path they had taken earlier that day at a slower pace, beyond the painted dome of the auditorium and the ballet rehearsal rooms, until she reached the long gallery with the lone piano.
She hesitated, glancing around. The Opera was peaceful this time of night, beautifully slumbering like a great fairytale kingdom until the dawn would come and disrupt the quiet with its onslaught of people and activity. Of course, it wasn't completely calm and silent. Like everything else in this seemingly enchanted place, the silence was an illusion, for there was a solitary figure sitting at a piano waiting for her to break that serenity; she was sure of it.
As she opened the door to that forgotten room, she heard the music. It was beautiful and poignant, such a perfect pitch to how she was feeling that she stopped and inhaled with wonder. The sweet sounds his hands were creating on the piano keys touched her with profound recognition, as if he were pulling from her very soul the desires she had long kept hidden from him. The ebb and flow of the stirring notes echoed the events of earlier that night. It made her blush with remembrance.
Erik halted his playing when he heard her enter.
"I suppose there's no point in me lecturing you," he said dryly, his back to her. His white shirt glowed in the candlelight. His tailcoat lay across the back of the piano bench beside him. The magic of the music lingered in the air despite his ironic tone of voice.
"No, indeed," she agreed with him. She went to stand behind him at the piano.
"You should be resting," he reproached her mildly.
His posture was casual. He wasn't angry with her, she thought with relief.
She gave a little shrug. "I wanted to see you."
He glanced around at her, his golden eyes shining with love and concern.
"How is the knee? Will I have to carry you home?" he asked with a touch of humor, though she didn't doubt he would do it, if he had to, rather than see her suffer. It was comforting and alarming to know she had such an effect on him.
"It is feeling much better. Thank you," she replied sincerely, not wanting him to worry.
She had noted his use of the term home and its implied intimacy. His house on the lake was as much her home as it was his; that's what he was telling her. This should have made her nervous, but it didn't. She filed the thought away where she could examine it later.
Erik adjusted the sheet music on the piano stand and flicked his wrists, rolling down his shirtsleeves in two quick motions. The ink on the page looked wet; she was certain she had caught him in the middle of composing. She knew she'd never heard the piece he'd been playing. It had been too honest a reflection of her feelings – and his apparently, she thought with a tremor. A part of her longed to hear more of it.
"What were you playing? It was beautiful," she said. She dared to touch him then, lightly rubbing his shoulders in appreciation. A day ago, he wouldn't have allowed it. He would have flinched away from her. Now, he leaned into her touch. Tonight, they were breaking all the rules.
"I made it up, just now," he said quietly. "I was inspired."
He looked at her reverently.
Her cheeks flushed, and she hung her head, wanting to turn away in embarrassment, but she was unable to move. He turned and grasped her around the waist, pulling her to him. He held her tightly, embracing her against him, burying his head against her.
"I love you," he breathed. "You don't have to say it in return. But I want you to know it. I need you to know it."
She touched the top of his head, running her fingers through his dark hair. Her body shivered in his arms.
"I know," she said. "I've always known."
She leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips. She wanted to tell him what she was feeling but didn't know how. This was where she was lacking in maturity. Her inability to express her true emotions hindered her time and again. Perhaps that was why it was easier for her to speak to him through music. But she didn't want to run away from him. She felt she owed him more than that.
"Erik?" she started tentatively.
"Yes?" His voice was husky as his hands caressed little circles up and down her back. She almost forgot what she wanted to say in this sudden assault of physical bliss.
"I think… I mean… I know…" she faltered.
Oh, his hands! If he didn't stop, she would be utterly lost to him, and what she wanted to say would fade away with the night. She put her hands on his arms to still him. It helped to calm her mind.
"Whatever the future brings, whatever comes… You—You matter to me," she said sincerely.
His hands tightened imperceptibly where they rested on her.
Be brave, Christine, she told herself. He needed her now. After tonight, she couldn't desert him. He had given her the gift of a beautiful day, and she wanted to give him something equally precious in return.
When she spoke next her voice was strong and sure, "And I love you too."
A glorious sound escaped his lips, incoherent but lovely in its utterance. He wound his thin arms around her and held her for a long while, the silence of the room peaceful, a kind of music of its own.
He released her at last and turned back to the sheet music.
"Let's sing, shall we?" he suggested. She nodded in assent. She had never seen him look so happy.
"And what should we sing?"
He pursed his lips as if this were the most important decision in the world.
"You decide," she told him, moving around the piano to face him.
He shuffled the music so the song on top was buried beneath several others. Christine sighed wistfully as it disappeared in the pile. She hoped she would hear it again someday.
When Erik's fingers struck the keys with sure and steady strokes, he turned his head and gave her a radiant smile.
"Ready?" he asked, lifting a graceful hand in command.
Lovingly, she smiled back at him, eager to give him her all, this time with no hesitations, slip-ups or mistakes; all her doubts were gone. As the music played, she was transported back to the little garden on the rooftop, the sun shining down on her, Erik holding her in his arms. Everything felt warm and right with the world.
"Now, sing!"