I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart.

EXPLANATIONS

"I…" she began, her whole body trembling now, making it hard for her to continue.

"Do I not please you?" he repeated her words from earlier in a mocking tone. She stood before him, and he could feel the shivers that shook her body through his fingers that still held her face firmly in their grasp.

"Answer me!" he spat.

"Yes!" she shouted, looking him directly in the eye.

Surprised, he let go of her chin and stepped back.

"What?" he muttered, shaking his head. "How can you want a marriage when you know what I am?"

"Because I need you. I need to find a husband. If I don't I…" her strength weakening, new tears started welling up in her eyes and she sank to the floor.

He should leave; he knew it, before somebody could find them here. But what she said made no sense to him and he was curious to find out the reason behind her absurd demand. It seemed highly unlikely that more people were to show up in the church at this late hour, so he walked back to the first pew, sat down and put his hands on the wood in front of him.

"Explain" was all he said.

Using her handkerchief to clear her nose, she took a moment to calm herself, and then looked up at him from the corner. Her eyes were red, and a few tears still lingered in them. She knew it was desperate to talk to a complete stranger about her problem, but she had so few people to confide in that she did not even care that it was a presumed murderer she talked to.

"I will turn 25 in 2 days. If I am not married until then, all my fortune will pass on to my stepmother. I'm to be left with only a small amount, just enough to support me for a few months," she told him, sounding defeated.

25, she was nearly a spinster. 8 years older than his beloved Christine. Christine. Closing his eyes, the Phantom willed the painful image of her from his mind. He opened his eyes and examined the woman before him. She was of a certain beauty, and her apparent wealth should have helped her finding a husband years ago.

"How come nobody proposed to you until now?" he asked, intrigued.

"My father wanted me to marry for love, and at 22, I still hadn't found the right one. So he made up a contract, telling me to marry before I turned 25 or all my heritage would be passed on to his new wife. He simply wanted to encourage me to be less picky, thinking I would have a husband before 6 months had gone by," she explained, wringing the handkerchief in her hands.

"Then, 2 months after our agreement, he boarded a ship as a member of a scientific expedition to Africa." She laughed half-heartedly.

"Still, I took the whole thing lightly, knowing I had enough time to find someone suitable I could give my heart to. After one year and a half, his letters stopped. Messages of a plague in the region he was last seen in reached our ears. I refused to believe he was dead. I still do," she said, emphasising the last phrase.

"A few weeks after this my stepmother confined me to my rooms. I was not to participate in any party or ball or other social event. She spread the rumour of my being ill to excuse my absence," she recounted.

She stood, still twisting the tissue in her hands. "In the beginning I liked her, but I couldn't get rid of the feeling that she only wanted my father's money. He seemed to be happy again, so I was happy for him. When father left, her behaviour changed. I was right, she only wanted the money. When I marry, my father's fortune is to be my dowry, of course with enough for my stepmother to live a comfortable life. But she wants more, she wants everything."

"So, you accuse her of being greedy and you are willing to marry a stranger to keep the money for yourself?" he resumed sarcastically.

"No! Yes, sort of," she admitted. "It's different."

"How so?" the Phantom asked.

"It is after all rightfully mine, I don't have a brother, and before the contract I made with my father, everything was to be my heritage. She took the possibility to find someone in time from me! She made me a prisoner in our house!" she shouted, agitated, and started pacing.

"I don't want her to win, I am willing to marry anyone just to spite her." She stopped and faced him. "I am willing to marry you."

"Nothing you said convinces me to marry you. It is a selfish proposal and I have nothing to gain." He leaned back on the bench, waiting for her answer.

"You are on the run from the authorities, right?" she inquired. His eyes narrowed immediately, awaiting a threat. "The police will search the whole city for you. To be save you would have to leave Paris. But the woman you love, the singer..."

"Christine," he interrupted her.

"Yes, Christine. She will stay here. So what better cover than becoming the husband of a wealthy woman to stay near her?"

She couldn't believe that she still pressed this man to accept her proposal. She pleaded with a disfigured murderer to marry her. But what she had told him earlier was the truth. She really no longer cared whom she would bind herself to, but it had to be soon. She ran out of time. She'd rather take a genius madman than a dull nobody from the street as a husband.

Glancing over to him, she could see that she had played it right by mentioning the singer the so-called 'Opera Ghost' had fallen for. He finally seemed to consider her offer.

"And how are you going to explain this," he gestured towards his face, "to the registrar, or anybody else?"

"I don't know, are you going to wear a mask again?" she asked him. Even locked in her rooms, she had heard all the rumours that surrounded the opera in the past months.

"It is most likely," he conceded.

"Then you simply say you had an accident or something." She paused, thinking of something else. "Do you have a birth certificate?" He nodded. "We would need it at the magistrate."

"Wait," he said, dimming the glimmer of hope that had started showing in her eyes. "What about divorce? You will eventually find someone you really want to marry."

"Well, the contract has no conditions as to what happens after the marriage was sealed. But I don't want to give Clara the opportunity to challenge it, so we sure would have to pose as a married couple for a while," she conceded.

There he was, sitting in a church only hours after the events in the still burning opera, with a woman desperate enough to submit herself to him willingly and actually considering her offer. For the past few months, not only everyone involved in the opera, but the whole Parisian society feared him and his erratic actions. Marrying a woman he had never seen before would only fit this unpredictability.

Being of a rich family, she probably frequented the same circles as Christine as a Vicomtesse now would, making it easier for him to gather information. The mask could pose as eccentric accessorize to camouflage a hunting accident or the remains of a severe infection. And nobody would think of accusing a member of high society of boding with the Opera Ghost, making him save from prosecutions.

He got up and approached her. Nervously, she took a step back, then, shaking her head and berating herself, she retook her place. He inwardly admired her for that show of strength of character. She looked up at him, wincing once again a bit at the sight of his mangled face. He turned his head, engulfing his right side more in the shadows.

"I believe we have an agreement," he told her, offering his hand. A smile broke out on her face.

"Now tell me, what is your name?"