Your Voice

Chapter 22

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1 year later
Christine

The sea breeze whips through my hair, the honking of ships in the distance audible. Despite the grey clouds above brewing a thunderstorm and the chilly air, I feel warm in Erik's arms. His face pressed against my cold-reddened cheeks, we gaze at the waves of the azure sea leaning against the fence.

"This is really nice, Erik," I say softly.

"Being indoors with some music and wine is more of my kind of thing, but yes, this is quite pleasant."

"No, not that we're spending our anniversary by the sea, but that we're here, just you and me. We've been haunted for so many years, it's just an immense relief to finally be free."

"I don't think we'll ever be truly free - not me, at least." His mumbling is carried away by the wind and he remains silent. It's during times like this when I feel helpless; I can't change his horrendous past. "But. You're here, and that's some kind of escape." He smiles and a want in me grows. I want him: I want to hold his hand, caress his face, I want to feel him beside me, kiss him fiercely, be with him. And I do. I tiptoe and fit my mouth on his. He gently holds my flushed face and I do the same, losing consciousness of everything around me.

***

As I put on my earrings, I feel like a queen. My dress is a shimmering white like the moon in the sky, my lips painted a dark red. I check my appearance in the mirror one last time and head downstairs.

"Is that you, mother?" Gustave calls from the couch in the living room.

"Yes, dear," I reply. He sits, a braille book rested in his lap. "Papa and I going out for dinner."

"I was wondering if I could have a friend come over."

"Who?" I inquire, wrapping a shawl around myself.

"Samantha. She lives next door. I was playing the violin outside and she asked if she could hear more."

"Sure, just don't stay up too late," I tell him, happy that he's making friends again - it's been troublesome for him to interact after his injury. At that moment, Erik comes into the room, suited up in a sharp tuxedo.

"You look splendid, Angel." He compliments me, offering me his arm.

"So do you," I grin, adjusting his bow tie and taking his arm.

When we get there, the clink of wine glasses and soft giggles fill the air along with the aroma of delicacies. Golden balls of light illuminate the entrance. A waiter greets us at the massive glass doors and shows us to our seats, a fairly small rectangular mahogany table with plush chairs on either end, located in a private room at the back of the restaurant.

"Good evening, madam. Sorry, do I know you?" The cheery waiter asks after pouring sparkling champagne into our glasses.

"I am quite certain that you do. There is barely anyone around here nowadays that hasn't heard of my Angel of Music, my wife, Christine Destler, nee Daae." Erik pompously introduces me, then takes a sip of his drink and I nod courteously towards the waiter.

"My, what an honor it is to have you, the Parisian songbird, in our restaurant! You and your husband are here for your anniversary? I'm guessing?"

"Yes, we are, and thank you. I do like this place." I look around at the warm lights and classic paintings adorning the walls.

"Oh! Happy anniversary! I shall be back very soon with your food." He walks of, a look of incredulity splashed across his face.

"Since when have I been so popular?" I ask, turning back to Erik.