a/n I know I said it may be a while, but this just came to me. Again, not sure where I'm going entirely, but I have lots of general ideas. Wish me luck! I'll probably write more at the beginning to get myself going, then it'll likely slow down. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1—MADAME ET MONSIEUR

The small apartment now inhabited by Marie Giry was cold in the winter. Today was no exception. Clutching her shawl around her shoulders a bit more tightly, Marie stared out the window, looking for Meg. It was near dark, and she was worried that Meg may not make it home before night fell. At that moment, the sound of footsteps on the stairs met her ears. The door opened and Meg entered, her face red and raw from the wind and cold. She removed her coat and hung it from a peg next to the door, then removed her shoes and sat down in front of the roaring fire.

"It's so cold out," she said, her teeth chattering slightly. "I was beginning to think I'd turn into an ice chunk."

Marie smiled, holding out a blanket. "I suppose Jacqueline won't be joining us for dinner, then."

"No, she said she would be here at six-thirty." Meg wrapped the wool blanket around her shoulders. "If only we could get him to make conversation, I think he would like her."

At that moment, the door opened again. Unspeaking, a man entered, removed his cloak and hat and hung them from the door. He stood awkwardly for a moment in the door frame holding a bag in one hand, and a white paper package that seemed to be bleeding slightly in the other.

"Ah, you've brought dinner." Marie crossed the little sitting room to take the dripping package from his hand, but leaving the bag in his hand. "Bring that to the kitchen, won't you?"

The little kitchen was cramped and warm from the small stove sitting in the corner. A loaf of just-baked bread sat on a counter top. Marie patted the table. "You can set that there. I hope you grabbed potatoes..."

Reaching in, the man removed half a dozen potatoes and placed them on the counter before reaching over Marie's head and into the cabinet, pulling out a decanter of gin. Marie frowned.

"Don't get into too much of that," she warned, taking a knife from a holder next to the bread and unwrapping the beef. "Jacqueline is coming for dinner."

He took a swig and grimaced. "I wish you'd stop trying to set me up with her."

"You'd prefer another woman?" Marie's eyes were sharp and there was a warning tone in her voice. "You need to move on—it's been over a year."

"I know," he muttered, putting the gin back in its corner of the cabinet after taking a last swig.

"You won't find a woman more forgiving than Jacqueline." The knife moved swiftly, cubing the beef before it was dropped into a pot of simmering liquid. "She could care less."

"Why is she so forgiving, does she have indescretions of her own?"

Erik Laroche jumped slightly as Marie's knife slammed into the wooden cutting board and she glared at him. "You will make conversation with her tonight, or so help me..." She lost her words, looking furious with him, and she went back to chopping. "Be glad you aren't one of these potatoes right now," she muttered.

Despite himself, Erik chuckled. "I'd rather be one of those potatoes than be forced to make conversation with Jacqueline Garnier."

"You have more in common with Jacqueline than you realize. You realize that her uncle is building the new opera, don't you?"

Erik scowled at the mention of the opera. "I would not care to discuss the opera, above anything else."

The potatoes finished, Marie sighed, wiping her hands on her apron as she turned to face her old friend. "Erik, you must move on. You said yourself that you were grateful for Christine's happiness, and Meg gets letters from her from time to time. She seems happy. She would want you to be happy, as well."

Three hours later, dinner had been eaten, and Erik was alone in the parlor with Jacqueline. Erik was picking at a worn spot on the divan. Next to him, Jacqueline was looking around aimlessly, apparently trying to think of something else to say. She sighed softly, and out of the corner of his eye, Erik saw her bite the edge of her bottom lip as she studied her shoes.

"Would you like some more wine?'

Jacqueline smiled. "That would be lovely."

Erik reached forward to grab the bottle and poured a bit more into her half-full glass. She smiled prettily and took a sip. "This is wonderful wine. Where did you happen across it?"

"I don't recall," he said gruffly. He cleared his throat and Jacqueline took another sip of wine.

After several more minutes of not speaking, Jacqueline suddenly set down her wine glass with a small clink.

"You don't like me, do you?" she asked bluntly.

Erik, taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor, did not answer right away. "It's not that," he stammered.

Jacqueline nodded sharply. "I need a drink before I can say this," she muttered, and she drank the rest of her wine down in one long drink. She exhaled sharply, inhaled again, then breathed out slowly. "I know," she said slowly, "that I am not the woman that you want. Don't argue with me," she said, lifting a hand to silence him as he opened his mouth to object. "If you really wanted me, you'd be more verbal. I know men. I've been dancing around them for years." She smiled coyly, and Erik found himself wondering about her past. "But if you would just talk to me, you would see that I could be good for you. I think you'd be good for me."

She stopped talking and poured herself a bit more wine and sipped it while he contemplated what she had just said.

"I am not," he said softly, "in any way good with women, as I am certain that you have heard. I do not wish to promise you anything. In any case, many people would have liked to see me hanging from the gallows."

Try though they might, the police had never been able to find any evidence pointing to Erik as a murderer or arsonist. He had been surprised when Raoul de Chagny had released a statement that neither he or Christine wanted to press any charges against Erik for kidnap, not giving an explanation, but letting him entirely off the hook. He walked now, a free man, revered by some and hated by others. He kept mostly to himself, speaking to few, living quietly with Madam Giry and her daughter. Meg occasionally visited Christine at her villa outside Paris, but Christine never visited her.

"I know that some people—" Jacqueline's voice was laced with disdain, "dislike you. I, however, believe that if you are cleared by the law then there is no reason to treat you any way other than I would treat anyone else." She paused to sip her wine again. "I promise never to ask what you did or did not do. I know enough from what Meg has told me to not need to ask questions about what happened at the opera. Give me the chance to make you happy, even if you never love me."

Erik was not sure what to say. No woman, other than perhaps Marie, had spoken to him in such a way. He was not sure what Jacqueline wanted—marriage or companionship—but he decided to assume the former, based on her tone and demeanor. Finally, he spoke. "I suppose I should move out of here, then." He glanced around the parlor. "It wouldn't look so good for you to be seen with a man that lives with two unmarried women."

Jacqueline smiled and sipped her wine again before leaning forward to kiss his good cheek. "No, it wouldn't."

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Christine forced her eyes open as Raoul's sister-in-law continued to chatter away nonstop. She had long since lost the train of conversation, and now found herself torn between dozing off and fidgeting with the tassels on her dress.

After several minutes, she heard Annette say her name.

"We're not all as blessed as Christine," she was saying.

Thinking they were speaking of her marriage, Christine forced a smile. "I am quite lucky."

Annette nodded. "Won't you entertain us now?"

Christine stared at her blankly for a moment before realization dawned on her. "Oh!"

The little group made its way to the parlor, where there was a piano, and the conversation continued, seemingly on the latest gossip.

"And of course, Jacqueline Garnier just remarried," one of the women said, and another shushed her. From the corner of her eye, she saw the second women jerk her head at Christine.

"Jacqueline Garnier? The widow?" Christine could care less about Jacqueline, but she was curious as to why the women seemed to clam up about it around her, especially when they so loved good gossip.

"Yes, you remember, the one whose husband died in the war." Annette sighed. "I know nothing of her husband, only that he's apparently a recluse."

The conversation did not continue as they entered the room and Annette seated herself at the piano. She smiled, all artificial sweetness, and began to play. Every dinner she went to where there was a piano, Christine was requested to sing. At first, she had been flattered. Then, she overheard several women talking about "putting her in her place." Raoul had brushed it off, saying she was being silly, but Christine knew that the requests for her singing were more of an insult than a compliment. She did not belong in this world of glittering parties and galas and money and champagne.

Later, Christine was getting ready for bed and talking to Raoul about the party, from her perspective.

"I know none of them like me," she said bitterly, as she slipped into her nightgown. "They wouldn't even talk about Jacqueline Garnier getting married around me."

Raoul had been sipping from a glass of water and he choked slightly. As he composed himself, he said, "Really?"

"Yes." She slid into bed next to him. "All they said was that he's some recluse, and they refused to tell me anything else."

"They refused?"

"They kept changing the subject." She heaved a sigh. "You don't know who she married, do you?"

"No idea." Raoul set his water down and extinguished the candle. "Go to sleep, Lottie."

An hour later, Christine was sleeping soundly, but Raoul was awake, rifling through his desk until he found an article he had clipped from the paper's society column a week previously.

Jacqueline Garnier, widow of self-made millionaire Francis Dupont, remarried last week to Erik Laroche. Laroche began the Laroche Architectural Firm last year, and has cemented his reputation as a master stonemason and architect. Previous to his work in building, Laroche was charged with several murders, arson, and kidnap at the Paris Opera. He was cleared of all charges when no evidence was found supporting any case against him. Jacqueline is the niece of architect Charles Garnier, the architect for the new opera house. Mr. Garnier was one of few guests present at the small wedding, which took place at Jacqueline's Paris villa.

The Laroches will be remaining in Paris.

Crumpling the article up, Raoul tossed it into the fire. Even as he watched it burn, however, he knew it was only a matter of time until Christine found out.

A/n Yeah? No? Maybe? Not much to go off of, I know, but review and let me know what you think.