Phantoms, Ghosts & Other Heartbreaks

Chapter 21

ERIK FELT LIKE DEATH. His head was pounding, almost bursting inside of his skull—the result of his recent habits. He’d thrown his schedule in the shredder since that night approximately two weeks ago and let his whims control his actions, whether that meant angrily pounding on the piano all night or drinking bourbon at eight o’clock in the morning.

Christmas? What was Christmas? He’d barely looked at the tree except to unplug the lights and let it sit in the corner of the room, slowly dropping needles. If Wendy cleaned them up, he was unaware. Sometimes his phone would ring—Reza called every few hours until Erik angrily texted him to back the fuck off. He hadn’t heard from him since…he didn’t know when.

It was the holidays, so work was quiet. He logged on daily for a few minutes to take care of any urgent business, then shut down, relieved he didn’t have to put up a facade for anyone. He was more exhausted than he could remember being, even more than in those early days after the accident when pain medication had the days blending together.

Christmas Day passed in a blur of bourbon and the movie Die Hard on repeat. When his bottle of Woodford Reserve fell off the coffee table, Erik got on his knees to pick it up. His eye caught on something hidden under the tree. Reaching for it with one long arm, he grasped a thin package.

It was a Christmas gift from Christine. The square gift-wrapped parcel was clearly a record, and he opened the paper without thinking. The paper fell away to reveal the face of his old friend and mentor. He was astonished to see the album of works by Gus Derring. A thin card fell out of the album cover.

This is a reminder that no matter how far apart we may be, we’ve always been connected by love. He would want you to have this. I love you, Christine.

He staggered to his feet, his fingers clutching the album, the bourbon momentarily forgotten. The noise of John McClane throwing Hans Gruber off Nakatomi Plaza was a dull throb in the background. His desperation to see Christine hit him like a tsunami—each wave sending him reeling.

Clutching the album, he looked for his cell phone, finally finding it buried beneath a pile of dirty laundry on the floor of his room. It had three percent battery life left, a clue he hadn’t cared enough to charge it for several days. Hands shaking, he plugged the phone jack in and hesitated.

It was 11:00 p.m. on Christmas night. She didn’t want to hear from him—not after how he’d treated her. His fingers traced the screen of his phone, and he looked at the record album she’d gifted him where it lay on the bed next to him. He took a deep breath. He had to hear her voice. Maybe she was feeling just as alone as he was.

Trembling fingers touched her name on his phone’s history from ten days prior. The phone rang three times. His heart was racing as he waited, longing to hear her voice.

“Hello,” Christine answered. Her tone of voice gave nothing away. Was she happy to hear from him? Angry?

“Christine.” He paused, and for several seconds, neither spoke. “Thank you for picking up.”

“Why are you calling, Erik?”

“I, uh, opened your Christmas present. I wanted to say thank you.”

Another long pause. “You’re welcome. Is that all?”

“No, no, I also wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you.”

It was an indicator of how far they’d backtracked that he couldn’t read her feelings in her tone of voice. She’d always been such an open book to him—even in the dark of the opera’s elevators.

“Are you well?”

Erik heard the intake of breath on the other end of the phone. “That’s none of your business anymore.”

“I just wanted to tell you I miss you and—”

“I don’t think you should finish that sentence. Good night, Erik.”

A click sounded as she disconnected the call.

“I love you,” he said roughly.

For the next week, his binge of self-pity worsened. Any time his mind veered toward Christine, he wanted to pound his head against the wall. He did the next best thing and opened a bottle of something or other until his mental image of her softened into something pleasant, like a watercolor painting. He’d fall asleep, almost feeling her curled around him. When he woke up hours later, he’d repeat the cycle until oblivion claimed him again.

Garret broke him from his stupor at 9:00 a.m. on December thirty-first.

“I said, ‘get up, Erik.’ ”

Garret was not a soft man. That’s why Erik hired him. It’d been a while since his bad cop attitude was called into play, but Erik knew he’d brought it on himself through his hangover.

“Ugh—I need another hour.”

“What you need is a shower. Get up now, or I swear I’ll bathe you on the couch.” Water splashed Erik’s face. Fuck. Garret had brought the water gun.

“Why am I even getting up?”

“Because tonight’s the New Year’s Eve gala. In eight hours, you’ll have to be on for your mother and the rest of New York society. You need a shower, a haircut, and a full meal so you don’t pass out. It’s been two weeks. It’s enough of this self-fucking-pity. We’re both too old for this bullshit.”

“Why do you care?”

“You pay me to care.” He lifted Erik up by his sweatshirt. “God, you stink.”

“All right, all right. Let me go.” Erik shook off Garret’s hand and made his way toward the shower. Disgust overwhelmed him. He knew he smelled. His mouth tasted like something had died in there overnight. When did he last eat something that didn’t require a microwave?

In college, there were weekends that were ninety percent partying and ten percent everything else. On Sunday mornings, he’d wake up, and a shower cured everything. The feeling of lathering up his face to shave felt like a balm for a body coated in some of the fouler parts of the college experience. He still had to shave half of his face, but looking in the mirror was a consistent reminder of the life he’d left behind. Like everything else, it just wasn’t the same.

He was getting sick of thinking that. Obviously it wasn’t the same. It had been thirteen years. He’d lived over one- third of his life this way. One day, it would be lived half his life. Another day, he might live most of his life this way. This was normal. It wasn’t a new normal. It was just everyday…normal.

The mint of his toothpaste burned its way through his dry mouth. He stepped in and let the shower burn extra hot as it sloughed away the accumulated dirt. He knew he must’ve showered at some point over the last two weeks, but since his memory was hazy, he took an extra long time, shampooing his scalp twice. The hot water scalded but soothed the muscles that had grown stiff in punishing hours spent leaning over the piano.

The whole process took well over an hour, and as cleanliness came, so did awareness of the last two weeks.

“Shit,” he said again. He’d let himself fall victim to the darkness of his moods. He owed several people apologies, most notably to Reza and Garret. He wouldn’t even let himself think of what he’d done to Christine—and tonight, he’d have to see her. He tamped down the urge to throw something.

“You decent in there?” Garret called from his room. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather cut your hair here. It’s easier for Wendy to clean up the clippings when they aren’t stuck into the carpet.”

“Yeah, yeah, come in. Bring a chair.”

Garret set to buzz the shaggy mess at the back of Erik’s head with no comment.

“I think I owe you an apology.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” Garret asked.

“I’ve been a total asshole.”

“I didn’t hear the words ‘I’m’ or ‘sorry’ there, Erik.”

“You’re going to make me suffer, aren’t you?”

Garret unplugged the clippers.

“Are we done?” Erik asked. His hair felt half cut.

“Oh yeah—you and I? We’re done. ”

“Where are you going?”

“Erik, I say this as an employee and friend. You have your head so far up your ass lately you could probably see out your mouth. You’ve had all of us freaking out the last two weeks while you went on this pity binge. Reza’s been forcing Wendy to come up daily to check for signs of life. Christine told Meg she wants to move abroad after graduation. You act like I don’t worry about you. I do. You have every opportunity to improve your life. Instead, you self-sabotage. You’re a coward who’d rather wallow in despair than do anything to change your situation.”

“Wait—Christine said what?”

“The worst part is Reza, and I’ll forgive you when you give your first halfhearted sincere apology, but you threw away something and someone that made you happy. And she’s not like me and Reza. She’s not going to take it for granted that you’ll come to your senses and then forgive you for being an idiot. You betrayed her trust because you’ve never been able to accept your situation. You make us all suffer, and now you’ve done yourself long-term damage.”

“Garret—I’m sorry.” Erik’s face heated. He’d long known that his black moods put distance between him and his friends. As the years progressed, they’d been less often. After Thanksgiving, he hoped they’d be a thing of the past. It must’ve been a gut punch to them all that he backslid so spectacularly.

“For what, Erik?”

“For all of it.”

“Be. More. Specific.”

“For worrying you and Wendy and Reza and probably Sarah. For being such a prick. I apologize for not being fair to Reza when he asked me to consider getting help. For fucking it all up with Christine.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a good start.” He plugged the clippers back in and resumed cutting. “But you’re gonna do it all again for Wendy and everyone else.”

It’d been six days since she heard his voice on Christmas and fifteen days since she’d seen him.

Well, technically, it had been fourteen days and nineteen hours since that fateful and unceremonious dumping on the street in front of her apartment—but who was counting? The phone call meant to elicit her pity had instead stoked her anger. Rather than flame out, it simmered into something cold and hard. It didn’t rage as it had in those initial days, but it colored her interactions and made her bitter and guarded. The interns and volunteers took her attitude with an unfamiliar fear. No one at work wanted to be around her, and she felt an apathetic disgust for herself. She was kind of a bitch.

As she readied herself for the event, regretting the dress she had to wear and the memory it evoked, her mind flittered back to September. She had an intern take down the auction clipboards and walked the stairs down from the seventh floor to the lobby, where the setup for the event was nearly complete.

“Christine, good. Can you please tell them” —Cynthia waved toward a bunch of volunteers from the school of ballet—“how to stuff the gift bags?”

Christine looked over. They had more volunteers than normal, no doubt due to the evening’s entertainment. No one with the opportunity to do so wanted to pass on the possibility of seeing Jessie Skies up on stage. The resulting group was made up of seventeen- to twenty-year-olds wearing their prom dresses and doing little to no work at all .

“Excuse me.” Christine walked over. “I’m going to need everyone’s attention!” She clapped her hands. The children, as she would now think of them, were tittering like a clutch of chickens. “Oy!” she screamed loudly, and when even that wouldn’t break their Jessie Skies-induced inattention, she played a bullhorn sound on her cell phone. They all looked up in horror.

“Now that I have your attention. Let me state the obvious. You are here to work. If I don’t see you working, I’ll throw your ass out, and you won’t get to see the show. If you don’t think I’m serious, I suggest you test me. There are”—she looked over—“five terrifying security guards here to watch over the auction items as well as Miss Skies’ security guards. They’ll have no problem removing you, and I’ll have no problem letting the head of the ballet school know you couldn’t act like adults. Am I understood?”

The ‘children’ all nodded.

“Now, the event starts in three-and-a-half hours. It’s your job to stuff the gift bags for the event.” She walked them through the process, highlighting the giveaways, including lotions from Kiehls, mini bottles of champagne from Perrier Jouet, keychains from Louis Vuitton, and various other favors from the event sponsors. She set them up in sections so each bag was finished with all the necessary items.

“Now, if you get it all done and behave yourself, you can sneak in for the show.” As they started to cheer, she held up a hand to stop them. “You’ll leave your cell phones in that bag on the table”—she indicated a black shopping bag—“and stand in the back of the room. You won’t bother the attending donors. But—you will have fun.” She finished with a wide smile. “Back to work—we need those done in three hours!” Satisfied they had it handled, she reviewed the to-do list on her phone.

“Can you tell me where the girl with stage fright from four months ago is? Looks like she just gave those volunteers a much-needed ass whooping.” Christine turned to see Meg standing just behind her, looking elegant in the navy lace mermaid-cut gown she purchased on that long-ago shopping trip.

“She ran out of fucks to give somewhere around the first time a volunteer wanted to know if they’d be able to ask Jessie Skies for a selfie.”

“Jeezus—what’s wrong with kids today?” She looked Christine up and down. “You doing okay?”

“Looking forward to the night being over.” She checked her watch. “Eight-and-a-half hours to go.”

“Well, you look beautiful. The dress is perfect.”

“You look gorgeous too. It’s still weird to me that we’re all dressed up in traditional black tie, and the guests are—well—anything goes.”

“It’s the opera, darling, can’t have a fete without some drama. Did I ever tell you about when two key ladies of society showed up dressed as the Statue of Liberty? They almost got into a catfight with their torches.”

Christine let out a quick laugh of surprise. It’d been a while since she’d laughed. It was nice to know she could still do it.

“You ready to see him?” Meg asked.

“No, but it’s a big party. I’m sure we can stay out of each other’s way. You’re handling guest check-in, right?”

“Yes.”

“I should be okay behind the scenes. Thank you again.” She gave Meg a quick hug.

“I got your back, girl.”

His mother was in rare form. Sabrina Gardner was not a fan of costumes but refused to be underprepared for a formal occasion. Tonight, she was dressed as Holly Golightly from Breakfast at Tiffany’s . It was as close as one could get to wearing a costume that was barely a costume at all.

“Erik.” She placed her hand on his arm. “Please let me introduce you to Charlotte Carothers. Charlotte has the prettiest cozy little chateau outside of Zurich. Charlotte, this is my son, Erik.”

His mother was the queen of passive-aggressive compliments. In one comment, Charlotte Carothers was recognized, complimented, and diminished. It was almost impressive.

“Ms. Carothers, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope you’re enjoying the party so far?”

Charlotte Carothers was a plump woman in her sixties dressed as Lucy from I Love Lucy , complete with a black-and-white polka dot dress and a head piled high with curls. “Indeed, thank you! I brought my granddaughter as my date tonight. She was practically begging to attend when she found out who was performing. And it’s been such fun spending the holidays in New York again! Yesterday I took my Libby to see the Radio City Christmas Spectacular.”

“Oh, I can’t stand these crowds. Tomorrow, I’ll fly home where it’s civilized,” Sabrina responded. “Erik, dear, I see Missy Stanton. Let’s go say hello before it gets too crowded in here.” She turned to her friend . “A pleasure, Charlotte.”

Erik was sure he didn’t miss Charlotte Carothers’ pursed lips in reaction to his mother’s comments.

“A pleasure, Ms. Carothers. I hope you and Libby have a fun time tonight.”

His mother maneuvered him to the next group she wished to see.

“I see you’re as gracious as ever with your friends.”

“Please, Charlotte Carothers is not a friend. She’s a nobody. Her father was a dentist, for goodness’ sake. If she hadn’t married Robert Carothers, she would’ve become a dental hygienist.”

“Perish the thought.”

“Who’s seated at our table tonight?”

“I honestly couldn’t care less.” He sighed when she glared at him. “Typically, the entertainment sits with me, so likely Jessie Skies and her guest. Probably some of the other bigger-named donors.”

“It’s our job. We have to pay homage to them to serve them.” She sounded exhausted by her lot in life, and Erik couldn’t hold back shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yes, well, it’s only three hours at the table. Let’s try to make the best of it, shall we?”

He hadn’t seen Christine yet, and he’d been looking. She wasn’t at check-in, though Meg gave him a—civil?—look as she handed him his table card and the program for the evening. Another apology he needed to make. He’d call her tomorrow. Reza, Garret, Meg—he knew they’d all forgive his atrocious behavior. Forgiveness wasn’t the same as condoning, and he realized he’d pushed their emotional generosity too far.

Christine—he didn’t know what to do about her. He should keep his word and just leave her alone. He was broken, and until he was fixed, he didn’t have anything to offer her.

But God, he missed her.

He missed making love with her, singing with her, but mostly just talking with her. She treated him like she’d treat anyone else, but that wasn’t why he loved her. He loved her because…he was the best version of himself in her company. She made him smile, called him on his attitude, and made him feel whole. He wanted to be that person for her as well.

“Erik, Sabrina.” Marie stood before him with a face that gave nothing away.

“Marie.” His mother barely nodded her head.

“I need to steal your son for a moment. ”

“Erik, I’m going to reapply my lipstick. I’ll see you at the table,” his mother said by way of reply.

He was relieved as he watched her go. “No love lost there.” Erik turned to Marie. “Why does she hate you so much?”

“Oh, she’s always hated me. I was only twelve when we met, and she hated any time I tried to get your father’s attention. He was my big brother and meant the world to me. She didn’t like to share, and it further infuriated her that she couldn’t stop him from spending time with me. She kept her attitude hidden until they were married, and then I was relegated to the sidelines. Still, he would always sneak away to see me perform.” She smiled fondly at the memory of Erik’s father.

“She hasn’t changed.”

“She’s not alone. I daresay that fact and your love of music are the only two things you have in common.”

Erik turned to her, aghast. “I’m nothing like her.”

“Let’s not kid ourselves, Erik. Isn’t that why you broke up with Christine? Because you can’t control her? Your mother is a bitter shell because she lost your father when you were a child. She lost control and decided the best way to regain it was to be as inflexible as possible. You’re bitter because you can’t get back what you lost, and if you can’t do that, what’s the point of trying for anything else?”

“I didn’t break up with Christine because I can’t control her—I broke up with her because…” Because she would eventually leave and he wouldn’t be able to stop her—wouldn’t be able to control…

Fuck. Marie was right.

“Okay, you’ve made your point, but was this really the place to have this conversation?”

“You, my dear nephew, have shut yourself away for over two weeks. You’d likely do so again if I didn’t grab you now.” She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’ve had to face so many consequences for that temper of yours.” Her eyes flicked up to his face. Tonight, he wore a deep maroon mask that covered his face from the groove above his lips to his forehead. It matched the lapels of his tuxedo jacket and pocket square. “But you’ve never tried to move past those consequences, to learn from them. You know there are those who will always be here for you, but there’s one relationship you might regret losing if you don’t do something to make it right.” Her eyes focused on a point across the ballroom. When he followed her gaze, he saw Christine, resplendent in the gown he’d bought her, smiling at Rafe Cantor in his Regency-era costume.

He sucked in a breath. “This is not helping my temper, Marie.”

“Here’s your first test at doing it right. Think before you act, won’t you?” She touched Erik’s shoulder before leaving him to his thoughts.

It was always impressive to see an event come together. All the planning, the obsessing over tablecloths and flower arrangements, speeches, and auctions all came together in a production worthy of an opera house. Christine particularly liked the centerpieces, which were filled with snowdrops, holly, and poinsettias, and accessorized with glittering masks. The costumes added to the overall decor. Perhaps it was the holiday season, but everyone seemed even more inclined to go all out. She’d seen at least one of every Disney princess and every one of Shakespeare’s romantic heroines. There were no less than four Juliets and two Portias. There was also a woman dressed as Duke Orsino, her husband as Viola. A macabre Lady Macbeth had henna done to her hands as though constantly acting the ‘out damn spot’ scene.

Rafe approached her at the back of the ballroom as guests arrived from the cocktail hour. He was dressed like someone from a Jane Austen novel, pulling at his high collar.

“And I thought tuxedos were uncomfortable!”

“Not liking the getup?”

“My mother insisted.”

“What’s she dressed as?” Christine looked around for Rafe’s parents.

“Look, you can’t laugh.”

“With an introduction like that, I make no promises.”

“She’s a huge fan of Bridgerton.”

“Oh no…”

“She decided to go as Penelope Featherington and my father as…”

“Colin Bridgerton!” Christine swallowed a good-natured laugh when Rafe’s parents joined him. “Keri, you look great!” She was wearing a long red wig that flowed around her shoulders. Keri wasn’t a large woman and had assisted the costume with some artificial padding in the bust area.

“Thank you, Christine! You look beautiful as well. It’s too bad the staff can’t wear costumes, but I love that gown on you.”

“Thank you. That’s kind of you.” One of the things she loved about Keri Cantor was her unaffected nature.

“We wanted to thank you for singing at our party the other day,” Philip interjected. “I feel bad we didn’t get to chat more. Rafe told me you’re starting the recruiting process in January. I hope you’ll apply for a role at Cantor. We have a great program for Columbia grads. Lots of experience, international travel—it would be right up your alley.”

“Thank you, Philip. I’ll be throwing my hat into the ring.”

“Rafe, they want us to sit down now. Christine, we’ll catch up with you later!” His mother patted him on the shoulder .

“Save a dance for me!” Rafe called out as he let his parents drag him to their table.

Christine didn’t have to fake a smile as she watched Rafe and Philip pull at their cravats with identical miserable expressions. She chuckled slightly and looked up. Fifty feet away, Erik stared at her. Before she could interpret his expression, she busied herself with the folds of her dress and walked away. The glow of her conversation with the Cantor family faded as quickly as it had come.

“Where are we with the gift bags?” Cynthia demanded.

“All done.”

“The auction clipboards?”

“Been out since 6:00 p.m. The band will announce the end of the auction at 11:00 p.m.”

“Tableside sparklers for midnight?”

“Not allowed because the fire marshal would have our heads. I ordered confetti poppers instead.” Christine had emailed her about this two weeks ago.

“Not as good for photographs—but it will have to do.” She turned to Christine. “I need you to ensure the volunteers aren’t in the ballroom during Jessie Skies’ set.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This is a high society event, Christine. Our donors don’t want to party it up with a bunch of teenagers.”

“Cynthia, half these volunteers are only here because we promised them they could attend the concert. I’ve taken their phones; they know they need to stay toward the back of the room. These kids will be devastated. Plus, the email you drafted for the ballet school specifically said they could watch the show. ”

“I gave it some thought, and I changed my mind. It cheapens the event.”

“They’re all going to bolt once they hear.”

“Well, you and Meg will have your work cut out for you at the end of the party, won’t you?”

Christine knew they couldn’t manage the deluge at the end of the evening—processing auction payments, distributing gift bags, and even making sure drunk attendees got into their cars—without the volunteer contingent. She was calling an audible. Even if it got her in trouble, she’d let the kids in for the show.

“Meg, you need to make sure Cynthia is distracted. Do you understand?”

“Aye, aye, captain!”

Christine turned to the volunteers, who stared at her, wide-eyed. “Jessie’s set is starting now. I can’t let you all in at once. Three at a time—every two minutes. You’re going to blend into the back. You’re going to stay separate from each other. If you get caught, you snuck in on your own. I have a strong desire to pay rent this month—do you understand?”

Collective nods. They were in.

“Fuck yeah…” one young man whispered under his breath.

“And no drinking. If I catch any of you drinking, I’ll drag you out by your ears myself,” Meg added.

“The set is going to last seven songs. You’ll all be out by the first half of the seventh song. Okay—let’s go…”

“Feel like we should be playing the Mission Impossible theme, Christine,” Meg whispered.

The fifteen volunteers made their way in while Christine kept an eye out for witnesses. She was possibly risking her job, but as she thought for the second time tonight, she was out of fucks to give. She followed behind the last of the volunteers.

Jessie’s set was in full swing. A makeshift stage had been constructed on the gigantic staircase. It was humorous to Christine that a stage for the entertainment had been created in a building that housed one of the most majestic stages in North America, but since there’d be a desire for dancing, everything was held out in the grand lobby.

The lights were dim, and the volunteers were hiding behind pillars. A few barely restrained themselves from shout-singing along with the lyrics. The donors in attendance had no such compunction. They were a dancing, screaming, sweaty mess—young and old alike. Rafe’s parents were dancing with Cynthia, who was so distracted that it was doubtful she’d noticed anything. Her eyes scanned the crowd for Erik. He was at the head table, sitting with an older woman who was painfully straight-backed.

Oh, so that’s his mother.

“Haven’t seen you with Erik tonight.” Rafe’s voice broke her out of her reverie.

“Oh—there’s nothing… I mean, there’s nothing there, Rafe.” She swallowed and turned her gaze away from his table.

Rafe nodded. “You know, after all the work I know you put into this event, you should get to enjoy it. Don’t you think?”

“I’m not supposed to enjoy it. I’m supposed to be working.”

“It’s not stopping Cynthia or Marie. Come on—let’s go have some fun.”

“Why not?”

Before the whole viral video, Christine had loved Jessie’s music. It was easy to get swept up in the euphoria of the evening. Bringing in Jessie to perform had been her idea. This event was successful, in large part because she’d done well at what she loved to do—build connections and expand on ideas. She and Rafe sang aloud as the crowd went crazy during the short set. There would be more dancing with a live band later, but this was what everyone had come to see.

“Are we all having fun out there?” Jessie asked after the sixth song was done. The crowd roared its approval.

“I’m so grateful I got to be here with you all on New Year’s Eve! Two of my favorite cities are here tonight—New York and Nashville!” More screaming ensued. “Before I start my last song, I’m thrilled to announce The Noah Liff Opera Center will be staging a production of the rock opera Faust by the incomparable Randy Newman. I first saw this show in LA and have wanted to see it in my hometown for years. So you New Yorkers better be flying out for the premiere!”

She waited until the cheers died down. “For my last song tonight, in honor of the upcoming production, I’m singing my favorite song from the show made famous by the legendary Bonnie Raitt!”

The crowd quieted down as the unknown song began to play—but Christine recognized it. Her father had sung it to her, and tears immediately sprang to her eyes.

“Do you think you’ll get in trouble if I ask you to dance?” Rafe offered her his hand.

“You? No. Me? Possibly.” But she took his hand and let him take her out on the dance floor.

Jessie Skies’ voice took on a mellow contralto as she crooned the beautiful love song. She looked at Rafe, hoping she wasn’t conveying something that wasn’t there, but he seemed to be enjoying the music and holding her at a distance. He knew this was friendship, and she was relieved.

“She has a fantastic voice, don’t you think?” Christine asked.

“She’s okay.” He smirked, and Christine laughed.

“Maybe you should ask her to dance when the band starts. There’s a rumor she’s single right now.”

“What would she want with a nobody like me?”

“Nothing with a self-defeating attitude like that. You show her you’re kind, charming, smart, and not hideous, maybe she’ll say yes. The worst thing she can say is no.”

“Hmm…” Rafe smiled down at Christine. She didn’t have to fake the answering smile she gave him.

“Excuse me, may I cut in?”

It had been six days since they’d spoken and fifteen days since she’d seen him. She pulled herself away from Rafe, her hands shaking slightly, but she didn’t know if it was desire or fear. Erik stood imposingly over them both, making Rafe look young by comparison.

“Christine?” Rafe gave her a questioning look. She gave Rafe a slight nod and let Erik take over the dance.

She noticed he wasn’t wearing the black gloves he had worn to the first gala. She focused on his hands. It was easier than looking him in the eyes.

“Christine…” he said softly.

“What do you want, Erik?” She looked up. His eyes were hesitant and sad. She took stock internally, determined not to be moved.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, for what exactly? Breaking my heart? Leading me on? Still not returning my curling iron?”

“For all of it. For not trusting you with my insecurities—for letting the darker part of who I am get in the way of what we have.”

“Had. Past tense. You don’t get to treat someone like you treated me and expect them to forgive and forget. ”

“I don’t expect that. I know I need to earn back your trust and…”

“You think I want to give you that chance?” She shook her head, disgusted, and pulled away. “This dance is done.” Picking up the folds of her dress, she sprinted off while Erik followed, a dark shadow in the dim light. Without thinking, she climbed the emergency stairs and exited on the mezzanine floor of the opera. She needed to get away from the noise and gather her thoughts. She snuck into the first box she came across and collapsed against the papered walls. She categorically refused to cry. She could do that later, but tonight, she needed to keep her shit together. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing.

“I’ve used you terribly. Not just you—my friends as well. I’ve been completely selfish.”

Christine looked up to see Erik there. She hadn’t heard him enter the box over the pounding of her heart in her ears. He was dangerously close.

“And now you’ve found someone else.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked wearily.

“You were dancing with Rafe.” Another step closer, and his breath feathered over her clavicle. Her body craved the minute sensation while her mind reeled in protest.

“Yes, he’s a friend. His parents bought a table for tonight, and he asked me to dance.”

“You don’t want him.” It was a statement, not a question. Erik took another step closer.

“Well, no kidding, Erik. Did you just figure that out?” She narrowed her eyes at him, the back of her head flattened to the wall behind her. She’d be strong.

“I just needed to be sure before…” One of his hands pressed against the wall next to her head.

“Before what?” she whispered, knowing what he was about to do.

And then his lips were on hers. They were bruising and desperate and so good, so very, very good. She didn’t want to feel that kiss, the familiarity of it, the stealth with which he’d always made her weak in anticipation of his touch. She didn’t want to respond, but she did. He pushed her back against the wall of the opera box as his mouth took hers.

Against her will, her arms came up to hold his head to her, and she could practically feel Erik’s triumph as his hands explored her through her gown.

“Anyone could walk in…” she whispered between kisses and pants.

“Let them.” He kissed her again, and she fell back, the wall holding her up. “Tell me to stop, and I will. Miss you so much…” He was pulling up the sides of her gown and pressing one hard thigh between her legs.

He must’ve remembered her fantasy. Her eyes closed as she felt him there so hard, succumbing to his seduction. She was riding him, guided by his hands on her thighs. He gripped her hips, pressing her center down on him, and oh God, it felt good. It had been barely two weeks since they’d last touched, but her skin was on fire. Was she soaking his pant leg? She had never been so wet, so molten. Her core was drowning in sensation and dying of thirst.

She threw her head back against the wall. “We should stop…” She moaned.

“Not yet—we’re just getting to the good part.” His teeth grazed her ear. “And I’ll make it so good for you, Christine.”

“So good…” she echoed breathlessly. Her eyes closed as she let his erotic voice carry her away. What was the pain of tomorrow compared to the pleasure he was giving her now?

“I’ll take you home, make it up to you. I was so stupid. ”

“You’re an idiot,” she agreed as he trailed his tongue down her neck.

“I know. I tried, but I can’t stay away from you. Seeing you dance with him made me crazy.”

Christine froze. His words had lost their erotic cadence. This seduction was fueled by jealousy. He loved her, but this was a coupling born of fear. He’d find another reason to push her away as soon as he came to his senses. The pain afterward would be too much. The building pleasure quickly died.

“Stop,” she said under her breath, then louder. Her grasp on his arms moved to his chest as she firmly pushed him back. “Erik, I said stop.”

“What happened? Did I hurt you?” He stilled in her arms and looked her in the eyes. Under the mask, he seemed strangely bereft, like she was taking something from him.

“We can’t do this. Not anymore. This changes nothing between us. This is fueled by jealousy, not love. I don’t want you like this.”

Erik stepped back. He ran a hand through his hair, his look bewildered.

“I want you. I want all of you. I love you. This isn’t jealousy—this is…”

She swallowed and averted her gaze. She couldn’t stand to see his grief.

“I want…I love you too, but not like this. What you can give me isn’t enough anymore, not because I’m selfish but because you’re a coward. You’d rather despair in your tower than set yourself free.” She looked up at him. “We both deserve more.”

Erik pushed off from the wall. His jaw was open as he processed her words. Without speaking, he stepped back, slow and purposeful. His eyes locked with hers until she broke the connection by turning away from him. Christine took a deep breath, heartbroken but confident she was doing the right thing. Perhaps they could’ve been something more permanent if his cowardice hadn’t inspired her lack of faith in his heart. But this was the right thing to do. She’d keep telling herself that until she eventually believed it.