Love Is Yours

(This is the final chapter of this story. It seems appropriate. I published my first chapter of my first fan fic on 4/20/18 – so it's an anniversary of sorts. This is my 5th multi-chapter – 3 are POTO, 2 LND. If you have liked this, please check out my Gift stories, beginning with A Gift from the Past. Am going to try to have a new story next week, but have to see how it will go. Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing and the support.)

"Are you awake?" Christine whispers, not wanting to rouse Erik if he is indeed still asleep. Despite his assurances of having more rest sleeping with her than quite possibly in his entire life, she is still concerned at the fits and starts that describe his slumber.

The sun has barely risen. This is her favorite part of the day, watching the blazing orb rise over the water. Today the cerulean sky is cloudless…a scene she doubts she could ever grow tired of. This morning is not as pleasant as some – the events of the previous night's festivities left her with something of a headache…too much champagne…and staying up later than she has become accustomed to.

Once she begins performing with the orchestra, her schedule will shift once again and these mornings will be few and far between – the nighttime will once again be her active time of the day, harkening back to her days at that Palais Garnier. Coney Island offers entertainment for both day and night timers – although Phantasma does appeal more to the latter.

At the moment, however, morning is her time of day and this day being the most significant of any in her past. She is to be wed to her Angel of Music.

"No," he mumbles, flopping over onto his back.

"So you are talking in your sleep?"

"Were that only so. The way I feel can hardly be called awake." Lifting himself onto his elbow, his head resting on one hand, the fingers of the other play with her russet curls. "I feel as though I could sleep a hundred years like Rip Van Winkle and still need a nap. Whatever possessed our so-called friends to have a shower…is that not what they called the raucous combination of spicy food, champagne and music so cacophonous I am certain everyone's eardrums are permanently damaged?"

"Meg said it was traditional to hold showers – a showering of gifts on a couple soon to be married to be certain they have everything necessary to begin their married life."

"Thus the assorted pots and pans and serving platters?"

Christine laughs, and snuggles close to him, nuzzling his ear. "We shall be able to host any number of dinner parties. I do think, however, those who observed the duplications will make things right."

"I do not want our employees to be spending their hard earned money on gifts for our household."

"They wanted to do it – you would be insulting them if you said you did not want their gifts."

Erik holds up the duvet, examining her before draping it back over both of them. Gathering her close. "No nightgown?"

"I might say the same for you," she remarks, eyeing the discarded clothing lying over or next to the furniture. "It would appear we both succumbed to the excessive amounts of alcohol provided in celebration."

"My God," he barks, sitting straight up, eyes frantically searching the room. "Where is Gustave? Did we abandon him in our inebriation and…lust?"

"No, silly man," she giggles. "However out of sorts I might be, I shall always be a mother. Miss Fleck was kind enough to offer to take him last night. She will bring him here to dress for the wedding and to assist me."

"That is a relief, I shudder to think what he might think about…us…this."

"I suspect he has some idea – I noticed he was perusing your library for anatomy books."

"I do not know if I should be annoyed or relieved."

"I, for one, would prefer he have at least a modicum of knowledge before he begins asking questions."

"You realize we are not supposed to even see one another the day of our wedding, much less…"

"Much less what? You are not supposed to see me in my gown. I never heard anything about being naked or enjoying our conjugal rights before the legalities are completed?"

"You truly are a wanton woman, Christine Daae." Relaxing back onto the pillows, he leans into her. "Well, we have pretty much scoffed in the face of social morality so far – why not on our wedding day?"

His mouth finds hers, lips slightly parted, turning his head slightly, so as not to press more of his distorted lip against her rosebud lips than might be comfortable.

For her turn, she shifts her own mouth to take his lower lip into hers, nipping gently at the soft cushiony flesh.

A low moan escapes his throat, "Who would have thought my mouth would be so seductive to you or so erotic for me?"

"Even with your mask, I could always see them and wondered what it would feel like to kiss you."

"You wanted to kiss me – even then? Those early days?"

"It was your voice that drew me, of course, but I was fascinated with where the sound came from. Your mouth fascinated me – from the beginning."

"I have been in love with you my entire life. Ever since the day I first met you."*

"That is not your entire life – we would have met at our births and, well, Erik, you are a bit older than I am."

"A bit, she says, decades, but my life did not really start until I met you, so I can honestly say those words."

"I will better you then…as to when my love began."

"How so?"

"When my father spoke of the Angel of Music – my love began. To have someone, some being in my life who would love music as I do – who would touch my soul as well as my heart."

"But I was not your Angel of Music."

"You most certainly were. How can you deny that?"

"I deceived you – you said that yourself – you gave your mind blindly."

"I said that? No," she exclaims, caressing his face with her finger tips. "Oh, Erik, I never meant…"

Pressing his hand against hers, he smiles, "But you did trust blindly – it gave me the hope, albeit foolish hope, that you could love me – as undeserving as I was."

"I remember now – it was a plea…for Raoul…for our lives."

"Yes."

"Then I kissed you."

"Twice – you kissed me twice and it was not blindly – not blindly at all. I shall never forget."

"I do love you…and I did then – or realized it then. At first, though, I did not trust the Lord works in mysterious ways. Who was I to say how an angel would appear to me?"

"There are stories in other than Christian faiths how the Buddha would appear as a grotesque monster to test the acolyte on how he would treat someone who appeared to be not only not a Buddha, but someone who could cause great harm. It was the wise person who helped the so-called monster."

"There is the story of the Good Samaritan in the Bible," Christine adds. "It is about a traveler who is stripped of clothing, beaten, and left half dead alongside the road. First a priest and then a Levite comes by, but both avoid the man. Finally, a Samaritan happens upon the traveler. Samaritans and Jews despised each other, but the Samaritan helps the injured man."

"I suppose that the message is about judgment."

"You might have died because of the lack of judgment by many, including myself."

"Christine, my Christine – it is time we put all of that to rest," Erik says, pulling her on top of him. "Here we are lying in bed naked and we are speaking of religion – is this what marriage does to people?"

"I say it makes us free to do whatever we wish with our time – it that means discussing the Bible or Buddhism, then so be it."

"In truth, my love, I should like to take advantage of our particular circumstances in a more corporal way."

"I can attest nothing I do now is blindly. So I must ask…you do not think it bad luck…our seeing one another?"

"I would venture to say it is a little too late for that to be a concern. Perhaps we should create our own traditions," he chuckles, running his hand over her hips, squeezing her buttock. "Sight is a wonderful thing."

"The ceremony is not for a few hours yet, that is true." She presses herself against him, finding his member ready, waiting for her. "How fortunate we did not don our nightclothes. So much more time to sin."

In light of their conversation this morning, there is something almost mystical about this moment – if Erik were to ever experience a sense of God or heaven or simply being blessed…this is the time. A wave of peace washes over him, something unknown until now, as he watches Christine, on the arm of a dashing Dr. Gangle, preceded by Miss Fleck in becoming pale pink tulle, walk down an aisle created by adjusting the chairs and tables in the banquet hall. The room with its floor to ceiling windows chosen to accommodate the ceremony, dinner and, with a few more table adjustments once dinner was over, a small dance floor. Squelch beams as he stands proudly beside him, the burly body straining in the black tuxedo all the men in the wedding party wear.

Such an odd family, yet so right. Well, this is where I live.**

Happiness in his life was rare – most often experienced as a child with his beloved Sasha or when he was engaged in music or immersed in his architectural drawings. Those fragments of time could help him forget the rejection of his mother. In some very unusual way, Christine's love and acceptance of him – his face, but more significantly the sins of his life – the self-hatred he carried with him, even as he attempted to atone – finds him healing. Certainly not healed entirely, if that should ever happen. If anyone understood evil, it was he. Recollections of certain acts continued to haunt him in his dreams, yet, even those were becoming fewer and fewer. The comfort of Christine's body next to him each night calms and sooths his torments.

There is no relationship with god for him to call upon. Christine, his angel, is the closest thing to heaven he suspects he will ever reach. He will do his best to live up to her belief in him and his redemption.

The gown he designed for her, the fantasy of her as his bride all those years ago, is coming to fruition. Style determined adjustments to the gown – the train is gone, the skirt layered, but without the overabundant petticoats, the ruffles on the sleeves removed, otherwise she maintained the design. How generous of her to keep it at all. He is not certain he would have been so gracious. No, that is not true – he would not be so gracious. The dress would have been burned at the first opportunity. What a miracle this woman is.

A crown of white rosebuds with just a hint of veiling topped her curls, worn loose down her back, again reminiscent of days past. Her bouquet of white roses and anemones complete the bridal ensemble. Just before leaving the apartment, he gifted her with necklace with a single square aquamarine – the color of her eyes, set in a bed of small white diamonds.

Forcing his eyes away from her, he watches his son…their son…play his grandfather's violin in duet with Maestro Rudolph. The boy, looking, thankfully, so much like his mother, so handsome in a junior version of the tails the older men are wearing, concentrates on his music, lips pursed in determination, letting the notes soar – at one with his instrument. Another gift from Christine.

"Who would have thought," he murmurs to himself.

"Not I," Nadir replies, his words a whisper, eyes front, the glimmer of a smile on his face.

"Harrumph." The word contradicted by the smile breaking across Erik's face as Christine takes the hand he holds out to her. "My dearest love."

"Are you two squabbling again?" she asks, stepping up on the raised platform, decorated with an arbor of yet more white roses, bowing in thanks to Dr. Gangle as she removes her hand from his arm to take her place next to Erik.

"Never," they respond in unison.

"I see," she laughs. "Since that is the case, shall we make our union legal?"

"If not blessed…"

"Oh, we are blessed, my love, never doubt that."

Nadir clears his throat, "Shall we? Erik would you care to speak your vows?"

"We shall sing our vows…in duet," Christine says, turning to Gustave, who watches his parents, a toothy, absent one, grin on his face. When she nods at him, he responds with the introduction to Erik's composition.

Facing one another, holding hands, their eyes locked, the couple sings:

Love, love changes everything

Hands and faces, earth and sky

Love, love changes everything

How you live and how you die

All the rules we made are broken

Yes love, love changes everyone

Live or perish in its flame

Love will never never let you be the same

Love will never never let you be the same***

Erik attempt to kiss Christine, is interrupted by the daroga, once again clearing his throat. "I must ask if you take one another as husband and wife."

"We do."

"Oh, well, then, by the power vested in me by the State of New York, I pronounce you…husband and wife," he concludes. "Now you may kiss the bride…"

His words are unnecessary.

Gustave and Rudolph join their instruments again to play a raucous Mendelssohn. The guests burst out in applause and cheers, while tossing handsful of rice at the laughing couple.

"Much better than the last time I wore this dress."

"Infinitely better, although I am not certain how enamored I am at having small pellets thrown at me."

"It means good fortune and fertility," Nadir says, rushing past them, off the platform to escape the mock rainstorm.

"Happy?" Erik asks his bride.

"Supremely," she answers, touching her forehead to his. "You?"

"More than I ever hoped for," he says.

"I love you."

"I finally believe you."

"Well, then, I suggest we celebrate…our friends await us."

"Friends. Wife. Son. Blessed."

"Yes, we are," she says, taking his hand.

"Yes, we are."

*Tumbler writing prompt #58 "I have been in love with you my entire life. Ever since the day I first met you." Thank you helloitskrisha.

**Tumblr writing prompt #68 "Well, this is where I live." Thank you monster-bait.

***Abbreviated lyrics from "Love Changes Everything" by Andrew Lloyd Webber, Charles Hart and Don Black