This chapter is much longer than my previous ones! I hope that is okay. To the people who have reviewed so far, THANK YOU SO MUCH! It really means so much to me. I absolutely love reading your thoughts. :) Also, thank you to everyone else who has favorited, followed, or even read my story.

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It's definitely my favorite so far. Please review!

Chapter 7

Descending the wide staircase, Christine was greeted by a grand sitting room with fine furniture pieces and an intimate dining area in the corner. Even with the light coming through the windows, the room was dim and sultry, and very beautiful.

As if she expected anything less.

Adele instructed Christine to sit, and then disappeared to the kitchen to bring her breakfast. Christine admired the dark mahogany table and the soft chair she sat in for a moment before Adele returned with a silver tray. She poured Christine a cup of tea.

"Thank you," Christine said. After a moment, she asked hesitantly, "Would you like to sit with me? It would be nice to have some conversation."

Adele thought about it for a second and nodded, sitting. When else would she get the chance to relax at work?

Christine popped a tart berry into her mouth, and began buttering a croissant.

"If you do not mind me asking, how did you and Monsieur Destler come to meet?" Adele asked conversationally.

Christine had no idea where to start. If she told the whole story, Adele would definitely quit and inform the gendarme, and Erik would be furious. "The Opera House," she ended up saying vaguely. "He gave me voice lessons." She took a sip of tea, for her throat had gone dry.

"How romantic! You two found love through song, then?" Adele smiled, willing Christine to continue.

"I suppose, yes…" Christine realized that it did not feel like a total lie when she spoke those words, and that terrified her to the point where her hands shook.

It could not be love, could it? Would love really drive someone to do such horrid things? Erik had never outright told Christine he loved her, but the way he looked at her, touched her, and sang to her suggested that he might. And he had made her feel things that she did not quite understand, like when a certain look in his eyes would make her blood race, or when his touch made her skin burn. But that did not mean that she was in love with him…did it?

Christine did not know the answer to that, which scared her all the more.

"Is everything alright, Miss Daaé?"

Christine had not realized that she had let her mind wander so far. "Forgive me," she said, embarrassed. "I have a lot on my mind, that is all… Are you married, Adele?"

Adele smiled, nodding, and Christine ate the rest of her breakfast while the woman spoke. "Oui. Lucien and I have been married a very long time. We met when I was very young, and got married when…well, when I was your age, actually. Just eighteen years old." Adele sighed happily. "I never had a doubt that he was the one for me. Of course, all marriages have their challenges, but I would not trade a second."

Christine smiled at the obvious joy Adele exuded when speaking about her husband. She was just about to ask another question when Adele got up.

"I must get back to work. The master has asked for you to join him in the music room when you are ready. Are you finished, dear?" Adele gestured to her tray.

"Yes, thank you," Christine replied, taking one last sip of tea. She was quite nervous to see Erik for the first time since the events of the previous night, getting up from her chair slowly and starting towards the dark hallway.

She had not a clue where exactly the music room was, but right on cue, she began to hear the distant sounds of a piano playing. She followed the sound until she was at the final door at the very end of the long hallway. The music was definitely coming from this room. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her nerves, but her hands continued to tremble as she knocked on the door.

The music ceased, and she heard that all too familiar voice say, "Come in." She took another deep breath and hesitantly opened the door.

Erik was at the piano, writing on some papers in front of him. Christine entered and shut the door behind her, studying the huge room. There was a fire burning strong in the fireplace, making the room comfortably warm, much different from the constant coldness of the Phantom's lair. She walked alongside the bookshelves, pretending to glance at the titles but really watching Erik from the corner of her eyes.

He paused in his writing, turning to look at her, and nearly gasped. Would he ever get used to her beauty? He swallowed, standing from the bench. She noticed his movement and glanced up, only to blush and look away when their eyes met. The color in her cheeks made his heart twist, and he went to her, stopping when he was still a couple of feet away.

"I trust everything has been to your liking," he said, his voice low.

"Yes, thank you," Christine said in a voice barely above a whisper, for fear of her voice trembling. Erik was wearing his usual black attire and white mask. Christine hated to admit it to herself, but he was quite handsome. His ocean blue eyes, immaculate clothing, and lean muscular build would make any woman swoon if she did not know what lied behind his mask.

Christine knew though, and yet she was starting to feel light headed just being near him.

"I have sent for wedding papers," Erik started, his voice like honey. "We should receive them soon. We may even be married within the week."

Her heart stopped.

What would happen then? Would he expect them to…consummate the marriage? Surely not… He would not make her do anything if she was not willing, would he?

Erik saw her expression, knowing what she must be thinking. How could she think that he would even consider forcing himself on her? "Do not worry," he sighed, pained that he even had to reassure her. "I do not expect anything from it. I only…I would simply be honored to get to call you my wife, Christine. That is all."

She could tell he was genuine when he spoke, which calmed her, and she released a breath, nodding.

Erik spoke again, "If you need or want anything, anything at all, tell me and I will give it to you. I would give you anything in this world, Christine. I want you to be happy here…happy with me."

Christine looked at him, the want to please her evident in his passionate words. It broke her heart. She gave him a small, sad smile and told him, "I am not quite sure if that is possible, Erik."

Her words cut him deep.

Trying a different tactic, Erik grabbed her hand and held it tightly in both of his, gazing into her eyes and saying, "I can…I will make you happy."

His voice was intense and powerful, his eyes burning into hers, making her tremble. His gloveless hands were warm and callused around hers.

"If you allow me…no, if you just allow yourself to feel, you will find that we are meant to be together. Allow yourself to feel, Christine. Do not try and fight it anymore."

Christine's heart raced, not knowing what to say. He was obviously waiting for a response, searching her eyes. "Time," she finally choked out. "I need time."

He nodded, pleased that she was not denying him, at least. "I will wait as long as it takes, Angel." He placed a kiss on her hand, and then dropped it and turned back to the piano. Their conversation inspired him, and he quickly wrote down the notes before he could forget.

Christine looked down at her hand. It looked the same as it always had, but it tingled where his lips had touched it…

She was so confused. She wanted to hate this man, hate him for everything he had done. And then there was the guilt; for if Raoul knew about the feelings she were experiencing with this other man who had almost killed him, he would feel betrayed. She did not want to have feelings for Erik. She wanted to feel strong and in control, but everything he did made her feel weak. God, Christine. Always a little girl. He is nothing but a man!

Clenching her teeth, she huffed out a frustrated breath, thankful that Erik's back was turned. He must be working on something important. Curious, she walked to where he was sitting and peeked over his shoulder. But before she could get a good look at whatever he was working on, Erik gathered the papers and placed them face down atop the piano. She figured that he would not have done that unless he wanted to keep it hidden.

Instead of asking about it, she asked something else that had been on her mind. "Erik, how do you and Madame Giry know each other?"

Erik sighed. He knew this was coming at some point, but was hoping she would not ask so soon. "It is a long story. It is unimportant." His tone was curt.

She could sense that he did not want to talk about it, but she wanted answers—deserved answers, actually—and she was going to get them.

"I think I have a right to know," she said, imitating his serious tone. "She raised me after my father died, and you and I are…engaged. I would like to know how you two met."

Erik scoffed, "You say that, but you really do not want to know."

His voice had that mocking edge that Christine hated. "You said that I could have anything I wanted," Christine challenged him. "I want to know."

Erik was suddenly standing and in her face. He looked angry, but Christine held her head up and refused to look away. She was going to win this face off if it was the last thing she did.

"Fine," Erik finally seethed, seeing that she was not going to let it go. He stomped across the room to the fireplace, gesturing to the chaise. "Sit."

Christine studied him warily as she walked to the chaise and obeyed. He sure seemed angry about her making him tell her how he knew Madame Giry. Did he also seem…nervous?

No, silly. The Phantom was never nervous. She watched as he paced, waiting patiently for him to speak.

"I met her when I was a boy. If I had to guess, I would say that I was maybe ten years old, as I do not know my own birthday." His voice was careful, controlled, and she could tell he was trying extremely hard to keep a calm façade. "I…I was a prisoner of a traveling fair, and I had been kept by them for a couple of years, maybe more. I was nothing more to them than a moneymaker. They kept me locked in a cage."

His voice betrayed him, now mocking and cold. "I am sure you can guess what my act was, Christine." He looked at her. Her lips were parted in shock, and tears were already pooling in her eyes. Yes, she could guess what his act was.

He looked away and continued, "My act was simple. One of the men would enter my cage, beat me, and show my face to the audience. Some would laugh, some would scream, some would throw things at me…and then the man would beat me some more, for the fun of it."

The tears began to fall down her cheeks. Still, he continued, "I went through the same sequence countless times, in countless cities, until we traveled to Paris. I…I could not take it anymore, Christine." He paused. "There was a girl in the audience that night who did not laugh or scream, but simply watched. I will never forget how…how she flinched when they beat me, or how she looked pained by my pain, so compassionate."

"Madame Giry…" Christine whispered, finally understanding.

Erik nodded. "After my act, the audience left, save for her. I did not know that she had lingered, you see, and I needed to act fast in order to escape. There was a rope tied to my cage that I got a hold of…" He paused, not sure if he should go on. He glanced at Christine, seeing her tearful and shocked, but she nodded, willing him to continue. He turned away, bracing his hands against the wall.

"I killed him," he said, his voice low. "I wrapped the rope around that man's throat and I took his life. I was no more than ten." He paused again, hating how he could hear Christine crying over him. As if he deserved an Angel's tears. "Madame Giry saw the whole thing, and yet, she saved my life. They would have killed me when they saw what I had done. She took my hand and we ran to the Opera House. I had lived there ever since."

Christine's eyes were wide, her mouth slightly agape. No child should ever go through something like that. Her heart broke for the man in front of her, for the child he used to be. Poor Erik… How could the world be so cruel?

She understood, now. She understood why he was so damaged, what made him the way that he is. His childhood got stolen from him, and all because of his face, something out of his control.

His words from the previous night came to her mind: This face, which earned a mother's fear and loathing… The world showed no compassion to me. She understood.

Erik had not moved from his spot against the wall, and Christine could see that his breathing was heavy. The recount of his childhood must have taken a lot to tell, and she felt an overwhelming urge to comfort him, unable to chase the image of a young boy being beaten and laughed at. After a long moment of consideration, she swallowed her pride and got up from the chaise. She went to him, softly grabbing his shoulder, pulling him away from the wall.

Christine had her arms wrapped around his waist and her head against his chest before he could comprehend what was happening. Erik stood there for a moment, confused, until he realized that his Christine, his Angel, was embracing him.

He crushed her to him, his heart pounding, which she could feel against her cheek. She cried harder now, and he shushed her, pulling her in even tighter and stroking her hair.

Christine realized in that moment that he was the one comforting her.