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“Can I spend the night with you?”
Erik nearly dropped his teacup at his student’s words.
“Excuse me?”
Christine blushed and wrinkled her nose.
“For the new year,” she said. “I want to ring in the new year with you.”
“Ah. Ah, of course. Are you very sure? I don’t mind having you here, but wouldn’t you rather spend the evening with Meg at a party or something?”
She shook her head.
“No, I want to spend it with you.”
“If you insist,” he acquiesced.
She brightened instantly and began to chatter about her plans.
“I’ll go after we finish our tea,” she said. “I have a few things to settle, and then I’ll be back. I’ll stay the whole night, and we’ll stay up till midnight together! It’s going to be so wonderful, Erik!”
“You told me you go to bed at nine most nights,” he said with a wry smile. “Do you really think you’ll stay up until midnight?”
She gasped, playing at being scandalized.
“Of course I’ll stay up! You’ll see.”
Erik wasn’t entirely sure that he would see. In fact, as they stood up from the chairs in his underground sitting room, their tea and snacks finished, he wasn’t even certain that she would return that night at all. It wasn’t that he thought she was a liar—she was a very honest girl—but, well… he couldn’t blame her if something more interesting came up and she forgot all about her silly little promise to come spend the last night of the year with him.
But sure enough, as the sun above ground was starting to set, she returned to him, cheeks rosy and smile beaming and a big wicker basket on her arm.
“What the devil is all this, then?” he asked as he politely took the basket from her and found it heavier than he was expecting.
She giggled.
“You’ll see!”
After the ferry ride to his house and setting the basket on the kitchen counter, she entreated him to let her go to her room and change into something more festive, as she called it. He graciously excused her, promising—and immediately regretting his promise—to not look in the basket until she returned.
He expected her to be changing into something fancier than the dress she was wearing, something outlandish and fashionable that all the girls seemed to be into these days. That was why his heart stuck in his throat when she finally did emerge from her room. Instead of more clothes she’d put on—
Less.
His eyes raked over her, trying to ascertain if she was indeed wearing her nightgown under her dressing gown, staring at the hem of it as it pooled around her ankles, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was beneath it, eyes darting up to the high neckline in a similar hope. The bare side of his face turned red and with great difficulty he ducked his head to look at the wicker basket, chiding himself for ogling the poor girl.
But he couldn’t help it. She’d taken her hair down from its bun and her curls cascaded down her shoulders. She’d taken her makeup off as well, her face bare and fresh as she smiled up at him.
“Shall we, then?” he asked gravely as he gestured at the basket, trying to think professional thoughts.
It became exceedingly difficult when she came and stood next to him, her little slippers padding across the stone floor, the lace of her sleeves brushing against his sleeves, the smell of her perfume, the warmth of her body standing next to his—
“I bought a cake for us to split,” she told him sweetly, taking a tiny cake out of the basket. “And Meg said this champagne was very good. I brought champagne flutes, too, I know you don’t have any down here.”
He made noises of acknowledgment that he hoped were appropriate and nodded along to each item. She’d also brought party whistles and a large clock.
“I made extra certain the time on this was correct,” she said, not meeting his eye.
He raised an eyebrow.
“You miss one morning practice because my clock was wrong,” he mused. “And you never trust me again.”
“No!” she insisted. “No… It’s just… Well. I want us to know what time it is. That’s all.”
“Hmph.”
She packed the items back into the basket and took it to the sitting room. Erik followed, trying to leave distance between them both, trying to not stare obscenely as she walked ahead of him.
“We can set everything up on the table here,” she said, glancing back at him.
He looked away quickly.
“Yes, quite.”
She placed the clock, the cake, the champagne and glasses on the little table in front of the couch, and then settled herself on the couch.
“Five hours!” she announced with a smile.
“Five,” he sighed, sinking into the chair across from her, hoping he could hold himself together.
“You know, Meg told me about a silly tradition,” she giggled. “She said that some people ring in the new year by kissing!”
Erik froze, his eyes wide.
She glanced surreptitiously at him, slightly disappointed by his reaction. He looked terrified. She rolled her eyes.
“Some people, am I right?” she mused as she cut the cake in two. “Where do they come up with things.”
“Some people,” he echoed, relaxing slightly.
“I must confess, though,” she told him as she handed him his plate with cake on it. “I think that—one year, I’d like to do that. Ring it on with a kiss.” She dared to look up at him hopefully, eyes bright. “Doesn’t that sound lovely?”
“It does,” he admitted cautiously, his throat and mouth dry. “And I’m sure one year you will have someone who will indulge you in such a thing, my dear.”
She looked down at the clock, slightly crestfallen, then changed the subject.
They slowly ate the cake, speaking of opera gossip and the people they knew. From there the conversation turned to a good-natured but heated disagreement over the works of a certain famous composer.
“He’s not talented, Christine,” he sniffed.
“But he’s popular!”
“The masses have no taste. I cannot help that.”
“Hey!” she laughed. “I like him!”
“Then I’m afraid I’ve failed as your teacher.”
They turned to more pleasant topics, ones they could both agree on—like it was time to open the bottle of champagne.
Around nine o’clock Christine started to yawn, but she tried to hide it.
“Tell me what it was like when you went to China, Erik,” she asked dreamily, leaning on the armrest of the couch.
He chuckled.
“What makes you think I’ve been there?”
“You have a fancy robe from there, don’t you?”
“You think that means I went there?”
“That or you stole it from someone who did,” she replied with a smile.
“I have been there, actually. Briefly.”
“Tell me?”
He regaled her with tales of his travels as they sipped on the champagne. He found himself almost wistful for those days gone by, but he wished he could do them all over again with her by his side.
“Could you make me some hot tea?” she asked eventually, setting her champagne glass down on the table and stretching. “I think that’ll keep me awake.”
“Certainly, my dear,” he told her as he rose from his chair.
He blinked as he set up the samovar in the kitchen. He was feeling the pull of sleep falling upon him. There were still two hours to go until midnight. But if Christine wanted to stay up—
By the time the tea was ready and he brought two teacups to the living room, he found that Christine had fallen fast asleep. He smiled at how comfortable and peaceful she looked there, like a cat curled up by the fire. He set the tea on the table.
“Christine?” he asked softly. “Do you want your tea?”
She didn’t stir. He glanced at the clock. Well. It was close enough to midnight anyway, he thought.
“You’ll get a crimp in your neck if you stay like that,” he said softly. She slept on.
He sighed, a deep ache in his heart. She was so beautiful. He hesitated a moment. He always made an effort to not touch her, to respect her personal space. But—perhaps it was the several glasses of champagne that were making this seem like a good idea. It really was for her benefit. She wouldn’t be happy to wake up on the couch, stuff and sore. And it wasn’t too forward, at least he hoped it wasn’t.
Anyway, there was no other way around it.
He stood over her and scooped her up into his arms. She slumbered on, not even noticing. She was deceptively heavy for such a small girl, he mused as he carried her to her bed. He set her carefully on the mattress, mourning that the moment was over but cherishing that it had happened. He was torn between thinking of how she’d felt in his arms forever and wanting to pretend that it hasn’t happened at all so he could avoid the shame of it.
In the dim light coming in from the hallway he could just make out the time on the clock in her room. It was midnight here—a faulty gear inside the clock had made it so. He glanced back down at her as she lay across her bed. Midnight, then.
He brushed a curl of hair away from her face, hoping that she would forgive him, hoping that he could forgive himself for such liberties. He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“Happy New Year, sweet,” he murmured before he turned and retired to his own room.