"Talk?" His gentle voice betrayed curiosity and mild surprise. "On what subject?"
She rolled onto her left side to fully face him; resting her temple against the heel of her left hand, she raised sparkling blue eyes to the trees surrounding them. "Tell me about your enchanted forest. Talk to me about your magical kingdom and your mysterious lake." She lowered her left hand and stretched out on the blanket, her cheek coming to rest on her out-flung arm. Her rosebud mouth smiled up at him beguilingly. "Talk to me about anything and everything, Erik."
For a timeless moment, he stared at her, so innocent, so trusting before him. If she thought this forest enchanted, it was only because of her presence. She was magic, just as he had told her. She transformed his dark world into a paradise. In this dawning day -- because of her -- he tasted heaven for the first time. And he knew it would always be this way between them; together, safe from the cruel world above. Safe within the magic that was her. Cradled within magic and music...
Before she ever entered the Opera, he had dreamed of her, dreamed of the light and love she would bring into his life. He knew his dreams were true, they were all true; he existed to love this woman, this priceless gift from the gods.
He met the warm, bottomless blue eyes of his sun-dappled angel and did as she requested. He could refuse her nothing.
Because she had asked about his home, he began there, telling her about the lake and the house he had built to overlook it. As he spoke, she slowly closed her eyes and lazily rolled onto her back, lifting her peaceful smile to the light and faint birdsong that filtered down from the leafy canopy. He drank in the sight of her without fear of being caught while staring. He watched the delicate trembling of her eyelids, the way her lips softened as her face relaxed, the way her hands -- crossed upon her breast -- rose and fell with each slow breath. Never before had he known such happiness, such peace. He wanted nothing more than the chance to be near her, the opportunity to watch her like this, always.
Words died in his throat as her lashes fluttered open and she blinked up into the light sifting down upon her. She turned her head to look at him, her gaze languorous, yet wistful. The slow smile blooming on her face faded as her eyes slid from his to the picnic basket sitting between them. With an impatient frown, she pushed it aside, then patted the now-empty spot on the blanket. His chest constricted with bittersweet longing, yet he hesitated. Did she truly want him to move closer?
She smiled up at him, warm and welcoming. She patted the blanket again.
Slowly, so she wouldn't see the faint trembling of his hands, Erik rose to his knees. She pulled her hand back as he moved toward her, pressing it against her side. He dropped his eyes, unaccountably disappointed by her gesture. She wanted him close, but not close enough to touch her. Perhaps it was too soon for that. The magic of the moment had caused him to hope for too much too soon; he must not forget that some things take time.
Her voice stopped him as he reached the spot she had indicated and prepared to settle himself beside her.
"No. With your back to me."
His throat tightened and a hard lump formed in his chest. What had he done to give offense? Did his regard disturb her? He risked a quick glance at her face, but she revealed nothing more than a quiet expectaction. With a sinking heart, he turned his back and stared sightlessly at the far edge of the blanket.
He jumped when a hand came to rest on his shoulder. The fingers tightened, then tugged, tilting him backward, pulling him off balance. He caught himself, bracing his arms behind him. What was she doing? He twisted to look at her, but whatever she intended was hidden behind a smile of utter tranquility. She again tugged gently at his shoulder. Giving in to her urging, he allowed her to draw him down, his arms beginning to tremble as he realized what she intended.
She gave a soft sigh of satisfaction when the back of his head touched her stomach. Her left hand remained on his shoulder as she raised her right hand and brushed her fingertips over his hair. He stiffened against her. She quickly dropped her hand, belatedly realizing why her touch might alarm him.
"Do you mind?" she asked quietly.
"Mind?" His voice was low and tight.
"My...touching you. I have no intention of disturbing your mask, as you have not yet given me permission to see your face. But I wanted to..." She trailed off, embarrassed.
"No." His response was quiet, nearly a whisper. "No, I do not mind."
Tentatively, she touched his hair again, gently combing her fingers through the ginger strands. It was so soft. She swept her hand over the silken waves, burying her fingers among them. Slowly, over and over, she drew her fingertips down the back of his head, savoring every feathery-smooth brush against her skin. She felt the tension gradually leave his shoulders as she continued her leisurely caresses.
He reached up, across his chest and claimed her left hand, pulling it down from his shoulder until her palm rested over his heart, her fingers cradled in his.
"Christine, I knew you would bring me joy. I just never could have imagined how much." He paused and she felt the next breath he took, felt him hold it for a moment before finally speaking, his voice husky. "I love you, Christine."
"I know, Erik," she murmured. "And I love you."
He squeezed her hand and she smiled, blinking back tears of happiness. Soon, she would have to go back up and convince anyone still searching for her that she had not been abducted. Then she would leave the Opera -- alive and well and of her own free will -- never to be seen again. It would not take long -- a few days at most -- and Erik would be with her the whole time. In his Opera, he could move as he pleased; he would always be nearby.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would return.
She knew Erik would agree to her plan. She did it for her safety as well as his; she had no desire to wake in the middle of the night, fearful that the gendarmes had discovered them, fearful that they would be torn apart.
Once suspicions were allayed, she would return to the underground lake and the masked ruler of the enchanted kingdom on the far shore. She knew that one day Erik would trust her enough to reveal his face to her without fear. But she knew it wouldn't matter what his face looked like; it was his heart she knew and it was his heart she loved.
Her gaze swept over branches and leaves criss-crossing above her. Erik had told her that she belonged here. In that, he had only been partially right. This forest -- this underground kingdom -- did not hold her; Erik did. He held her heart. He was her heart. And she was his.
She was his.
