Between Mirrors and Roses (A Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction) ✓

31: Erik the Husband

Erik smiled at the ground. "I often forget," he said.

"There must be some things I can do," I insisted. "Please let me try."

Erik leaned forward until our foreheads were touching and breathed in deeply. "I will. I've forgotten how independent and capable you are. I'm not used to sharing my work with others. It may take some time to get used to having another person with me, but I promise you I will."

It seemed like he was talking about more than just his work, and I tried to convey with my eyes that I understood and would give him all the time he needed. "There is one more thing," I said as he pulled away. "Sleep with me, even on the days when I have seen you no other time. Especially those days."

Erik glanced away. "I didn't want to wake you."

I touched his arm. "I know, but I want you to. Even if I don't even wake, even if you only are sleeping for a few hours and leaving before I get up, I want to know that you feel comfortable always coming back to me at the end of the day."

"I will," he said.

Erik made good on his promise, allowing me to assist him where possible and joining me in my room every night.

Hardly noticing it, we slipped into a routine. Erik worked on the weekdays, and I popped in and out of his study as he needed me. On the weekends and in the evenings, we played chess, went on walks, and had long conversations over meals. We sang and played instruments. He continued my violin lessons, and I was pleased to say I progressed from sounding like a beached dolphin dying of rheumatic fever to sounding like a drunk ex-cellist who had only the barest acquaintance with a violin.

In my free time, I read, learned to sew, and helped Jennette around the house whenever I could. She was initially annoyed by my insistence on doing chores, but she came around. She was teaching me to cook and passing on tidbits of acquired wisdom that, as a novice mistress of a household, I was happy to accept.

In a month, she moved permanently into the small servant's quarters in the upper levels of the house. I was glad to have her so near all the time. We'd struck up a friendship that was quickly strengthening, despite our difference in age and her tendency to serve me whenever I let her.

I met with Meg and her mother often for tea and chatter, both in the city and at our home. Erik occasionally joined us but usually excused himself early, not quite comfortable in anyone's presence but mine. Nadir was another frequent visitor, and Erik seemed to enjoy his company, though he would never admit it.

Paris began to melt; spring was near in coming, and half-frozen slush filled the street. With Erik's help, I started a miniature vegetable garden behind the house. I told him I couldn't wait to replenish our stocks of herbs with ones I had grown myself. "But these seeds had better sprout quick," I said.

"Why?" he asked, falling into my trap.

I fought back a grin. "Because we're out of thyme," I said.

He laughed out loud.

After the hype about the opera ghost had worn away with time and no more incidents, I presented myself at the opera house, informing the management that I was fine and had disappeared because I was getting married. The newspapers printed in a small column something along the lines of, "The missing soprano from earlier this year is alive and well, and always has been. Our bad."

One day, as Erik and I were walking and talking in the flower garden, he said something in what sounded to my untrained ear like French.

In all my time here, I had never heard a word of the native language. I stopped in my tracks, forcing Erik to turn around to look at me. "Say that again," I demanded.