"Which mask shall I wear today, my dear?" Erik asked Christine as he perused the shelves.
She glanced up from the book she was reading.
"Not Red death" she beseeched. "Anything but that".
"Anything?" he queried.
She put down the book, stretched and rose from the sofa to stand beside him and had to stand on her toes to see the upper shelves. Erik, unmasked, as he was now, around her, crossed his arms and studied her.
"To be truthful… " she began.
"Yes?"
"If you have to wear one, and I'm not saying you do, I would go with either the white half mask, or the black leather one."
"Not the silver glitter, then?"
"Don't be silly" she reprimanded.
She had come a long way since that first night in the cellar when she crept up on him as he played one of his compositions on the organ and slipped the mask off and then screamed, fainted and otherwise embarrassed herself in front of the man who had been her Angel of Music since forever and now, all these years later, after she left with Raoul, found him to be boring and self absorbed and returned to the 5th cellar to find the Phantom, again. It wasn't easy. She had broken his heart and hr had hidden himself away.
Reunited, they rejoiced, pledged one to the other and celebrated with wine and song and she never, ever feared him or his unusual looks, again. A happy ending to a tragedy averted. And when the Opera House was on break and gearing up for the new season, they spent some quiet time in the little chateau he had purchased for her on the outskirts of Paris and made occasional jaunts back into the city to the theatre or simply to try out a new restaurant and it was then he had to choose a mask for he still feared the public's reaction to his face.
What he didn't expect was that anyone seeing them together found him intriguing, a man of mystery. Other couples engaged them in conversation and were taken with his wit and vast knowledge of the world. Plus magic tricks.
So when they took the carriage into the city that evening, Christine had chosen the mask he should wear. His own face. And when they were seated in a corner table, slightly out of sight, an acquaintance was seated with his fiancé nearby. He looked over. Erik braced himself for screams, crowds fleeing or worse… instead the gentleman said "Erik, my good man, speak of the devil…I was just telling Catherine here about those torture chambers you built for the shah and she doesn't believe a word of it. Could you set her to rights so she doesn't think I'm a fibber?"
"My pleasure" Erik purred and followed the man to his table where, much to Christine's delight, the young woman at the other table listened raptly to his tales and leaned in mesmerized by his beautiful voice. Christine sipped her wine…"Hands off, missy," she whispered. "He's mine!"