Unmasqued

And when she ran off the stage and hurried her way through the wings of the backstage, Raoul was already there to meet her. Somehow, he managed to slip an arm around hers and whisk her off into an empty wardrobe closet before she reached the foyer de la danse and any of her other admirers could get to her.

In the small, close room, lit by one single lamp, they were surrounded by racks of glittering gowns and feathered headdresses, props of swords and shields and belts and girdles. Lacy corsets, flowered hats, gloves, and silky, beaded skirts pushed them together so that they stood very close in the narrow aisle of the closet.

'Christine, my love, you were brilliant!' Holding her hands, he gazed at her fervently, his shadowed blue eyes gleaming with pride and emotion.

'Thank you, Raoul,' she cried, hardly able to contain herself, and dropped the roses at their feet as he drew her into his arms.

His kiss was brief and gentle, sweeping reverently over her parted lips. 'You are so beautiful,' he whispered against her mouth, drawing her flush against him. 'And you sing like a perfect angel. You are perfect, Christine.'

She pulled away, resting a hand against his handsome cheek, excitement still raging through her. His skin glowed golden in the yellow light, his butter-colored hair tipped with a nimbus from the illumination behind him. 'I am not perfect, Raoul, but it is kind of you to say so. Indeed, my tutor says I still have much work to do.' Christine smiled up at him, her attention on his slender, elegant lips. How lovely it was to see the man in front of her, to touch him and to look at him… Still exultant and bold, she stepped forward into him and raised her face to kiss his delicate lips.

His arms wrapped around her as though suddenly loosened from bounds, pulling her roughly up against his body. Their mouths fought to taste the other, to sample and lick and nibble. His shoulders, high and broad, felt sturdy under Christine's hands… so different from her encounters with Erik, where she had never faced him… never felt the length of his body pressed up against her breasts, her mons… never fulfilled the need to touch him, to trace her hand over his body.

'Christine,' Raoul muttered, and he was moving along her jaw to her neck, his mouth wet on her skin. She arched back, pushing her chest into his groping hands, wanting to feel those fingers over her tight nipples.

Her breasts pulled free and he bent to take one into the warm cavern of his mouth. Christine arched against him as he sucked, her hand trailing down to the bulge between his thighs.

Suddenly, the door just behind Raoul's shoulder opened.

Christine pushed him away as she recognized the erect black figure of Madame Giry. 'M-madame,' she stammered, hastily thrusting her breasts back into their confinements.

'Christine. You are keeping him waiting.' Her black eyes scored over her and then over Raoul as she waited, arms crossed over her middle, for Christine to put herself to rights.

'Of course, madame,' Christine replied, suddenly overcome with remorse. How could she have kept Erik waiting? Of course he would want to see her… after her performance tonight, he would want to be with her… to touch her. To make her feel.

As she was making a final adjustment, Raoul had turned politely away, but as she stepped out of the wardrobe closet, he was waiting for her.

Just as Erik was waiting for her.

How could she have forgotten Erik, even for the moment? The excitement of her second debut, the thrill of conquering the audience yet again… of being the beautiful lady of her dreams… and then Raoul had appeared to sweep her off her feet before she knew what he was doing.

But only her angel could make her feel… truly feel. Only with him was she able to leave the grief and emptiness behind her.

It was for him that she sang.

Perhaps… perhaps tonight, she would be able to see and feel him at last. 'If I've pleased him,' she whispered to herself as Raoul took her arm with a proprietary air, following Madame Giry down the busy passageway.

'Pleased who?' he asked, slipping a finger down beneath the edge of her now-in-place bodice to smooth over her areola.

'My tutor,' she replied, pulling gently away.

'Tutor? You did mention a tutor. Who is it?' asked Raoul, his brows drawing together in an annoyed fashion.

'Do you remember when my father used to tell us about the Angel of Music? He promised to send him to me… and he has. My tutor is the Angel of Music! He will be waiting for me. And if I have pleased him…' Her heart raced in anticipation.

'What is it you are talking about, Christine? Waiting for you? Who is this man?'

She stopped in the hallway, pulling Raoul to the side so that the bustle of stagehands, dancers, and musicians could continue unfettered. 'He is the Angel of Music, Raoul. He… he lives here at the Opera House, and of course he will be waiting for me in my dressing room. It is because of him that I am able to sing as I do.'

'He lives here? He's not… he isn't this-this thing that they call the Opera Ghost?' Raoul looked horrified. 'The creature who ran Carlotta off the stage tonight? Did he put some sort of spell upon her?'

Christine reached for his cheek. 'Raoul, he is not a ghost. And he is a friend to me… and a teacher.' A lover. 'He's been my tutor for more than three months, and since he has come to me, I have been so happy. You should be happy for me too. Since I lost Father, I have not been able to find peace… until my ange.'

'But Christine… a man? In your dressing room? Why, that's improper!'

Christine smiled fondly up at him. 'Improper? I am an actor, a singer… I live in the world of the theater. And you were in my dressing room as well.'

'Christine, you cannot see him anymore.' Raoul was greatly agitated. 'You must tell him that he cannot visit you.'

Now she dropped her hand from his face, her heart beating faster. She could never agree to that. 'But why? Raoul, I would never do that.'

'Because… because my future wife cannot be meeting with strange men in her dressing room.'

Christine stared up at him in shock, but before she could respond, a strong hand gripped her arm. It was Madame Giry, and she had a most urgent, annoyed look on her austere face. 'Christine, you will anger him if you tarry further.'

'Yes, of course,' she said, and started off down the hallway, bringing Raoul along with her.

'But, Christine…you…'

'I must go, Raoul. The angel is very strict and I do not want to anger him. It is because of him that I have had the success that I have. You saw what happened to Carlotta tonight when she failed to follow his instructions.'

'But… you will dine with us tonight, will you not?' Raoul looked at her so pleadingly, his blue eyes as desperate as the grip on her wrist. His hold caused her to stop just outside her dressing room door, and he spun her from her path to look at him.

She couldn't turn him down. 'I will. I must speak with the angel first… and then, yes, I will be pleased to have dinner with you, if he permits.'

'If he permits? Christine, what are you saying? That he is in control of you?'

'Raoul, no, not really… but he is a strict taskmaster. I will never reach my greatest potential if I do not follow his instructions. And… if I do not follow his instructions, he will cease to visit me. I could not bear that.'

'But, Christine, I do not understand. How can you allow this-this creature to control your life?'

'It is simple, Raoul. Without him, I would not be singing as I am today. I would still be simple, shy, lonely Christine Daae. Under his tutelage, I have blossomed at last. Do not lie and say that you do not find my voice and my talent part of your attraction to me. I have seen it in your eyes.'

'Christine, I do not deny that my love for you is even greater with your success. But if you stopped singing tomorrow, I would still love you.'

'But I would not love myself. I find the greatest joy in my music, and he has helped me to find this joy. Please understand, Raoul… It is a joy, a freedom… a special beauty that I have not experienced since Papa died. I