Facade (13 page)

She passed the laundry room, her room, and stopped outside Erik’s room. Every night they ended up in her room, so she was never really allowed in his space. She pressed her hand to the door and moved on. No way would she enter without being invited. All she wanted was for him to let her in.

Caught in her own thoughts, she passed a few more doors, peeking in at some of the rooms. It seemed as if Erik tried to organize the props and other accessories by grouping them. One room held nothing but rolled up carpets, another various chairs and tables, still another all different lamps. She had to smile at the next room that held all kinds of holiday accessories including Christmas trees, ornaments and wreathes and had to wonder if Erik would allow her to decorate their home. It had been too long since she celebrated a holiday. Then again, according to him, she wouldn’t be around long enough to have the holidays with him.

Inhaling and trying to calm down, she went to the next room. This one was different. Rather than props or decorations, this one held what she could only describe as memorabilia.

Her breath caught. This wasn’t any memorabilia, this was memorabilia for one rock band, a famous rock band. “Spectre.” She flipped on the overhead lights and stepped inside, gazing up at a huge poster. “Erik.”

Her entire body froze to the spot. She was only capable of staring at the near life-sized rendering of the man she lived with, and for the first time the man without the mask. “Oh, my god.” As if she could touch him, she reached up and the tears started almost instantly.

Spectre, the wildly successful group was top of the charts, beyond stars, just a little more than a decade ago. Their harder style rock was known for infusing some classical elements. Back in their heyday, she was more into boy bands and pop, but everyone who was anyone on the planet could at least sing one or two of their chart topping songs.

Then an accident with their pyrotechnics left one of their band members dead, the others hurt, and it was a mystery what happened to the lead singer Erik Renevant. No wonder he didn’t want her near the fire.

She shook her head and in the center of what used to be Erik’s life, knelt down. Every question about her man was answered with one glance at a poster. His control issues, his reluctance to be anywhere near the public, his mask.

“I’m sorry.” she whispered to no one and forced herself up. Never should she have treated him like any other man, especially when he treated her like an extraordinary woman.

She spun on her heel and ran out of the room, retracing her steps back to the stage. By the time she ran up the stairs, she was breathless.

“You seem spooked.” Erik sat at one of the chairs, reclined with his wine.

Though she wanted to tell him she thought she saw a specter, she held back. He didn’t tell her for a reason, and she needed to wait. “You know I was wrong about everything.”

He put his glass aside and sat up.

She went to him. No matter what, she had to tell him what was in her heart. “You came into my life, and you made everything a fairy tale, and I avoided the real world and the confrontation because I would rather be here with you. I should have told them, but at the very least I should have told you.”

He stepped over to her and untied her cloak. The garment fell to the floor, and he took her by the hips. “Don’t lie to me again. Don’t disappear.”

“I’m here.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and stared into his face. There was Erik the rock star and her Erik, strange that they were one in the same.

His lips found hers, and she tried to justify the fact she didn’t tell him what she knew, though some would call it lying by omission.

Chapter Sixteen

“Christine!” Freshly bathed and ready to start the day with Christine’s lesson, Erik stepped out of his room and nearly tripped on a basket of laundry in front of his door.

He pursed his lips and picked up the little note on top of the pile written in Christine’s oversized bubbly cursive writing. “Clean clothes.” Sure enough, in the basket were his neatly folded clean clothes, including his underwear. Two days ago he told her again she was not to do his laundry. In fact, he tried to beat her to the punch and do her laundry, but for the second time, he had fresh clean clothes delivered to him. He lifted one of his shirts and put it to his nose. Though they both used the same detergent, somehow when Christine did the laundry it smelled like fresh linens, and his didn’t possess that special something.

No matter, his protégé wasn’t his housekeeper. He put the basket in his room and went in search for the woman who had the secret to the perfect fluff and fold. “Christine!” He peeked into her room, or their room, since they ended up there every night, and then into the laundry room. Before going into his room to shower and change, he told her to stay down here and they would go up to the stage together. Apparently, she didn’t care what he said. “All right.”

Clicking his tongue, he snuck up the stairs. If she went upstairs, she should be warming up. Once he made them breakfast, they would begin their practice.

He barely made it to the top when another aroma hit him. This one was not of fresh laundry, but instead coffee and the distinctive welcoming scent of baked goods. Were they in a bakery or a theatre? “Christine!” He practically jumped onto the stage expecting to surprise her, but she was nowhere to be found.

Hands on his hips, he stood there. If nothing else, he was going to insist she materialize right now.

Now.

Now.

Right now.

Any second.

“Christine!” With a huff, he charged toward the kitchen right as she finally answered him.

“Please sit down Erik, I’ll be right there.”

Hold on a moment, who was doling out the directions here? Only because she said please did he take his chair. As he waited, he tapped his foot and strummed his fingers on the table.

A second before he was ready to get up and see why the delay, his goddess appeared holding a tray.

“Good morning.” Smile on her face, hair up with her curls hanging down and wearing a short little dress, she was the vision of sweet and homey as she practically floated across the stage and over to him.

She put the tray down on the center of the table, proceeded to pour him a cup of coffee, put a splash of cream and his sugar cube in it, then put a home baked muffin on a plate along with a little dollop of jelly and some whipped butter. After giving her little creation a once-over, she placed the plate in front of him and put a napkin, knife, and fork beside it. “While you were cleaning up, I made some raspberry muffins with the berries we had delivered the other day. I know you don’t like anything too heavy in the morning.”

“I thought you were going to wait to come up with me.” He glared at the muffin. The little treat looked like a professional baker made it and his mouth watered. At last, he gave in, lifted his fork and took a bite. Sweet, with a bite of the raspberries, damn thing tasted like a professional baker made it as well.

“Well, I got ready faster and thought you may enjoy someone else cooking for a change.” She served herself a muffin as well. “Maybe one day we can get ready together.”

“I can take care of us.” He ignored her other comment. At some point during the day he had to take his mask off, take a shower and reapply everything so he would be ensured it would stay in place until he had to repeat the whole blasted ritual again.

“I can help.” She bit her lip and returned her focus to her muffin.

“You shouldn’t be doing my laundry.” Fine, he practically gulped down the coffee after tasting the rich roast, especially with the way she knew how to fix his cup.

“You do my laundry,” she countered.

“You’re not my maid.” For years he had been doing for himself and could continue just fine.

“Of course not.” She let out a giggle and looked up at him through her lashes. “Erik, we live together, we’re lovers, we can do for each other.”

Her statement jolted through him. Dare he say he thickened with the way she said the word lovers as if acknowledging them. “And that’s your final word on that.”

She licked the crumbs off her fingertips, stood and went to take his plate. Though tastefully covered, she still put her cleavage in his face and her legs in that short skirt looked like a much better delicacy than the muffin.

“There’s two things you can do for me.” He caught her wrist before she grabbed his dish.

Almost in challenge, she stared down at him.

“First, someone can listen when I tell them to do something.” He met her challenge with a raised eyebrow and stern voice.

No pushback, no meek blush, instead her smile shined. “And…” Her tone teased him and still hunched over him, she put her knee between his legs. The modest cleavage he took in before now gave way to a glorious unbound bounty. Someone either needed to have her bras laundered or she decided to go au natural, either way, he would take it.

His situation becoming much larger, he shifted in his seat. One thing about Christine was she enjoyed their bedroom activities, which pleased him to no ends. Dare he say, he felt normal taking the woman he wanted to bed and making love to her? Of course, with any other couple, the sheer act of laundry and breakfast would be considered normal. He couldn’t even go there. “Second, I believe it’s time for my Cricket to sing.” Before he slung her over his shoulder and brought her back to bed, he stood yet unable to resist, he kissed her. “Let’s warm up.” He went to the piano and played her scales.

Every other day she went to the piano, stood by his side and warmed up. Today she sang her scales while she straightened up the breakfast dishes, and he found himself gazing right under her skirt wondering if she wore anything under it. Did they miss a load of unmentionables? Then again, why was he even contemplating mentioning it? His erection now strained his pants, but they had work to do, and he needed to control himself. “Christine, can we concentrate on the task at hand?” Maybe she could, but he was finding it increasingly more difficult, or harder and harder. Pun intended.

Finally, she took her place at the piano. As they went through her warm up exercises, she stared into his eyes.

“Christine.” He got up from the piano. “Is everything all right?”

“I was wondering if maybe we could take a walk later?” She tilted her head.

“Why don’t we wait for the evening and we can take a walk if you like.” Wait, how did he turn into the person who just gave in like that? Yes, they went for a walk the night before, but that was only because he deemed it good for Christine’s voice. They couldn’t just go traipsing around like people. Could they? Though he wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth, at the glow in Christine’s face, he couldn’t deny her the simple little pleasure. Couples took walks. Yes, normal couples took walks. Christine deserved that.

His chest tightening, he walked across the stage. “Let’s start our practice.”

“Yes, sir.” She returned to the table and the dishes.

“Take your mark, Christine.” Her obsession with household tasks needed to end. He turned on the mic, grabbed the remote and went into the auditorium, taking a chair in the back row. He waited while she disappeared into the kitchen. At last, she returned and waved to him.

“Your mark,” he snapped.

She gave him a salute and went to the microphone.

“Get ready.” He hit the remote and her music began.

Right before her cue she raised her hand.

He stopped the music. “Yes?” At least they would discuss music, get back on track.

“Be right back, I need to get the chicken out of the oven.” Without even waiting for him to acknowledge the fact she was disrupting their entire morning, she dashed away.

Chicken?

He leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. Once things calmed down with the competition, he wanted to do some repair work up there. He would need help. In the past he used Nash, but with Christine, they could do it together, like a couple.

“I’m back.” She returned to her post and spoke into the microphone.

“Christine, come here.” He called to her.

For the first time that morning, she did what he wanted without question, making her way down the aisle and taking the seat next to him.

“Look there.” He pointed to the stage.

“I put the chicken in the refrigerator. I’m thinking later I can make some sandwiches and maybe we can bring them on our walk and have a little picnic.” She took his hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disrupt our practice, but we have a life too.”

Picnics, chicken sandwiches, walks, and hand holding. He lifted their hands together. They had a life? He cleared his throat. “The secret to nailing a Broadway musical song is playing to the back of the theatre.”

She faced him. “If I sing to the back of the theatre, will you be there?”

Such a sweet question from such a magnificent woman. “I’m always there.” He pressed his palm to her cheek.

“That’s not what I’m asking.” She squeezed his hand. “I mean one day will you be there, actually be waiting for me, and let the world know I’m with you? Will you take me to the masquerade party for the contestants they have every year?”

How on earth this woman wanted him was beyond his knowledge. The fact she would even be seen in his presence perplexed him. Still, at her question, he curled his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. All she wanted was him to take her to a simple party.

She took it upon herself to move to his lap and wrap her arms around his neck.

Once upon a time he could kiss anyone he wanted. Women he didn’t even know would fall at his feet for a chance with him. While he was no saint by any means, he didn’t kiss nearly as many girls as his other band mates. He always wanted a deeper relationship, a commitment, something he didn’t think should happen while his band was at the top, then after the accident he knew he was too late.

However, here was Christine once again throwing a monkey wrench into his reality with the way she kissed him willingly with needs and a passion all her own.