Chapter 47: Useless Titles

i worry you
i worry me
will i be
the best you see

mother
father
all around
useless titles
on the ground

you worry you
you worry me
will i run
far from thee

sweetheart
lover
under me
useless titles
i hope to be

"useless titles" By Nyasia A. Maire © 2007

Hours later, Erik lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling, his wife's sleeping body draped and cuddled atop his chest. The faint scent of their earlier lovemaking still hung in the air around them.

"I shall never know what I have done to deserve this, but merci, mon Seigneur, merci beaucoup."

He ran a gentle hand through his wife's wild mass of curls, brushing a few errant strands from her face. Smiling, he placed a soft kiss upon her forehead, which caused her to stir slightly.

"Erik?" She mumbled.

"Hmmm?"

"Erik?"

Her voice lowered an octave as her hand descended down his chest. She paused as she encountered the light dusting of coarse curls that began just below his navel before following it to the obvious object of her desire. His manhood lay nestled in the thick patch of hair at his groin. He moaned as her hands closed around his partially aroused member and firmly gripped it. She began to stroke him steadily and he gasped as his hips thrust involuntarily forward in excitement. He arched his eyebrow, narrowed his eyes and turned to look into her eyes with a smirk.

"Christine! Again?"

She gave him no response, but a throaty chuckle as she released him. He groaned, thinking that she meant to tease him. Instead, she firmly gripped his arms and pulled him atop her. She ran a string of wet kisses up the column of his neck until her hungry mouth met his. Eagerly, she joined their lips and ran a questing tongue over his lower lip seeking entrance. He happily deepened their kiss and allowed his hands to join hers in their renewed explorations of one another's bodies.

He paused only for a moment.

"Christine?"

"Oui, mon amour."

"Je t'aime, ma chère. Je t'aime."

She smiled and pulled him back to press her swollen lips against his.

"I love it when she smiles while we kiss. It feels like a little bit of heaven."

"Now, tell me again ... why do we need to go to this luncheon today? I mean ... after all, Raoul is a grown man. He is going to get married for music's sake! They are his parents after all."

Erik walked to stand behind Christine as she sat before her vanity. He watched in awe as she twisted her hair and deftly secured it into a loose chignon. Then she smiled at her reflection as she pulled a few odd strands to hang free. She gave Erik a mock frown before rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

"Erik! He is your best friend and he is one of my oldest friends as well. He asked us to be there today, to stand with him and provide him with support. In light of his parents' disapproval of his decision to marry Meg, he needs all the friendly faces there he can muster. It is the least you can do, seeing as he asked you to be his best man. Meg asked me to be her matron of honor and she said that we make a most handsome couple. I do believe she is correct."

She inspected their image in the mirror before turning to face Erik. She caught him shaking his head.

"What? Do you not think we are a striking pair?"

Erik noticed a slightly dangerous glint in her eye and decided not to challenge his wife's opinion.

"Oui, ma chère, indeed I am the most fortunate man in Paris to have such a radiantly beautiful creature as you on my arm."

He answered quite truthfully.

"Flatterer," she muttered.

"Perhaps, but it is the truth."

He met her gaze with his own, his mouth wearing a soft smile and his eyes shining sincerely.

The perilous look in her eyes softened and receded. Erik almost thankfully noticed that she allowed the conversation to return to its previous topic.

"Oh, Erik! Come now! Raoul needs you. Surely, you do not mean to abandon him to that beast that masquerades as his mother and the block of ice known as his father. You could not possibly be that heartless, mon amour."

With an over exaggerated look of surprised and insulted innocence, he responded.

"Moi? Heartless? Hardly..."

"Hommes!" She said, shaking her head.

"Que veux-tu dire?" ¹

"You know perfectly well what I mean, but you are so sweet that I will let you get away with it ... this time."

He sighed.

"Christine, it is just that I have been to more than a few of these luncheons and they can be quite uncomfortable. I find it difficult to feign enthusiasm when I can think of other ways I would rather spend the afternoon ... ways that are much more enjoyable."

He leaned down and nuzzled her neck as he placed soft kisses behind her ear.

"Erik!"

He paused and raised his eyes to meet hers in the glass. After taking in her determination, he relented and looked away.

"Very well, I shall attend, but I know that I shall not enjoy it."

"Oh, really, Erik, just think of all of the things that you shall hear that you can use to tease Raoul. Besides, Phillipe shall attend as well, so that ought to detract some of their fury over Raoul's engagement. I hope..."

Shaking his head, he met his wife's beautiful amber eyes.

"You, ma chère, are the eternal optimist if you believe that and that is one of the reasons why I love you so very much."

She smirked as she batted her eyelashes at him and then rose from her seat.

"I know, mon amour."

"Oh, Maman, I am so nervous I do believe I am going to be sick."

Silently counting to five, Antoinette smiled and spoke consolingly.

"Just breathe ma petite. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Slowly ... that is it ... watch me ... yes ... again ... and, again ... one more. Excellent, now how do you feel?"

The girl nodded and gave a tremulous smile.

"I feel a little better. Merci, Maman."

"Good."

Antoinette smiled encouragingly.

"Because, we are here," she spoke soothingly, but her daughter gave a small shriek and proceeded to begin hyperventilating all over again. Antoinette sighed. "Megan Giry! You stop this nonsense this instant. Just remember that these people are no better than you or me and just be you. Do not try to put on airs. Be proud of whom you are and you have absolutely no reason to feel anxious at all. You are my daughter and the next prima ballerina of the Opera Populaire. Stand tall and be proud!"

Meg dipped her head and bit her lip to hide her grin.

"Yes, Maman." She mumbled.

Antoinette gave her daughter one last appraising inspection. She allowed her lips to form the vaguest hint of a smile. She nodded.

"You will do. Come. Let us go."

As if on cue, a servant rushed to the carriage door and opened it. A second servant hurried to offer them a hand down from the carriage and a third escorted them up the stairs to the manor's imposing front doors.

Seeing Meg pale at the ostentatious signs of wealth around her, Antoinette hissed under her breath.

"Megan Marguerite Giry, you would do well to remember that green is gold! ²

With a slight nod of her head to acknowledge her mother's words, Meg cleared her throat and steadied her breathing. She relaxed her body and allowed her natural dancer's grace to flow through her. Her feet gracefully carried her to the front door, where another servant held it open for her. She inclined her head and without hesitation, stepped inside the de Chagney Manor.

"I cannot believe that woman is Mademoiselle Giry's mother. Is that the harridan of whom La Sorelli spoke? Was she at the wedding? I do not remember seeing her there, but I was more than slightly distracted with Erik's nervous questions. She is formidable, but definitely intriguing. Such grace, beauty and intelligence, I have never before encountered this combination in a woman before now. I do believe I must get to know her better."

Phillipe quietly observed the statuesque woman sitting across the table from him. She held her long, pale hands steepled before her, resting on the edge of the table. The woman radiated a poise and confidence that captivated the older de Chagney brother.