A/N: Bear with me through our brief perspective change: it's been far too long since we have heard Christine's inner monologue.
As it turned out, Christine had nothing to worry about. She woke at six thirty, just before the sun began to break the horizon. She wasn't sure what exactly woke her - if it was the cold or the fact that she rolled into the spot that Erik had occupied only hours before, now cold and vacant; whatever it was it left her awake with no hope of returning to sleep.
And so she pulled herself from the bed, forcing her feet to hold her up as she began to dress.
It was odd really. She had insisted herself that she wanted to start over, to leave the past behind, and in some strange way it felt as if they had done exactly that. That was her thought as she contemplated her wardrobe, frustrated by the fact that she had been so eager to run that she hadn't bothered to bring any particularly nice clothing. She supposed that she had never considered that things would ever really change - it would always just be the two of them, living out some sham of a marriage. But now it was real - a true marriage was on the horizon and for the first time in a long time she felt giddy with the concept of a courtship.
When Raoul had walked into her life again she had felt something similar; it was exciting and new. This was different though. She had never had a true courtship and she supposed she never would. Erik had lied and manipulated his way into her life, staking a claim that she hadn't consented to. Her courtship with Raoul was sweet but short, punctuated with terror and a rushed marriage to escape from her strange captor.
How the tables had turned.
The amount of power that he held over her was equal parts terrifying and intoxicating. At the same time, she recognized her own power. It had taken her a long time to recognize it - Erik was rather good at hiding behind a mask; his physical mask and his emotional.
It wasn't until his own nightmare that she realized it. It wasn't that she wasn't afraid when he attacked her so throughly - she was terrified as he climbed atop her and squeezed her throat so tightly. But she held on to her trust - Erik would never hurt her, not her Erik. And so she had remained calm and reassured him. And when his whole facade crumbled she finally got to glimpse his true self.
He had once lamented that he had broken her - it was on that night that she realized that they were both a bit broken; he was strong for her and it was high time she was strong for him.
It wasn't that she had been in a particularly good mood upon their arrival, but she could sense his own nervousness. And so she pushed her own away.
She found herself settling on a blue satin dress - it wasn't particularly elegant, but it was the nicest garment she owned. If Erik wanted to play at a courtship she would give him that, however brief it may be.
She found herself donning a corset, not quite sure why. Her weight had melted away with the loss of their child and even pulled edge to edge it was hardly tight enough to hug her skin, but it was proper.
She tamed her long hair into a proper braid, twisting it up and pinning it tightly. If nothing else her short time as a Viscomtess had taught her proper fashion and she supposed she was grateful for it in a way.
She wished, oh how she wished she had never been so naive, that she had never hurt Erik in the ways that she had. But in a way she supposed it was a necessary evil - he had forced her hand and he could have forced her to stay. And however painful it had been, him releasing her had been an important step in releasing her own resentment and fear, in realizing what it was she truly wanted.
How different their lives could be.
And that wasn't to say that he didn't deserve that pain in a way. She was contemplating that as she made her way from her room and down the stairs toward the lounge. No, he did deserve it in a way - she wasn't naive enough to think that the way he had treated her was proper. He had been deplorable to her, still was sometimes. But he loved her, he loved her as throughly as he knew how to and that was enough for her.
And when she stepped into the lounge and his eyes settled on her she came to realize that everything was exactly as it should be.
He seemed entranced, rising slowly from his seat to come to her, a proper bow as he took her hand in his and pressed his bloated lips to the back of it.
"You are loveliness itself mademoiselle," he said smoothly.
She felt her cheeks flush and she couldn't help the smile that took her.
She forced herself into a small curtsy, giggling. "Well I thank you Monsieur, you look rather dapper yourself."
He rolled his eyes but offered her his arm, which she promptly took, slipping her hand into his elbow.
He was leading her outside, through the front door and onto the already bustling streets.
"How did you sleep?" He was murmuring.
She shrugged her shoulders lazily. "Not the greatest," she said honestly.
"It's only temporary," he said again, though she couldn't be sure whether he was attempting to reassure her or himself.
Either way she nodded, smiling up at him. "Where are we going?"
He hummed and smiled at her for a moment. "I spoke to our hotel's manager this morning and explained that my fiancée was rather eager to begin shopping for her wedding attire and he pointed me toward some shops. So you, my dear, are going shopping. And I will be meeting with some clergymen."
"You're really going to marry me," she murmured, the truth of the situation only just settling on her.
He paused in his step, pulling her to him briefly and pressing his lips to her forehead.
"I want nothing more than you as my wife," he said solemnly.
"Can we even," she began, pausing and letting her eyes scan the streets around them. "Can we truly be married? I mean, considering our... unique circumstances?"
He gave a sigh. "Legally speaking, Christine de Changy is dead my love. It is an odd thing, isn't it? Being a ghost. It's rather convenient though, I think you'll find that as I have."
"Dead," she murmured. She gave a sigh and forced a smile. "Legally or not I suppose it is fitting in a way."
He nodded, letting his hand brush over hers reassuringly, just the briefest of touches but it was enough.
"What style of dress should I be looking for?"
He glanced over at her in surprise. "Whatever you may like. This is your wedding love. It should be all you've dreamt."
She wasn't sure why, but something about his simple statement caused her heart to soar. Her wedding to Raoul had been a rather formal affair and she hadn't much choice in the matter; his mother had selected her dress, a frilly and frivolous thing that she had feared she would drown in. Everything had been calculated down to napkins and flowers - the only real choice she had in the whole ordeal was accepting his proposal. She was stricken once again by the stark contrast of the past that was dead and her present life.
And when they reached the shops, a short six block walk from their hotel, he gave her hand a slight squeeze, just the smallest tint of possessiveness behind the gesture.
"I will be gone no more than four hours," he said evenly. "Feel free to explore the shops but Christine - please, do not leave the street."
She was nodding her agreement, the softest of smiles pulling at her lips. "I'll be right here waiting for you," she murmured her reassurance.
He gave a curt nod and was pressing a small wallet into her hand.
"Spare no expense," he instructed firmly. "Money is no object as of now."
She nodded, running her thumb over the leather pocketbook. "Thank you Erik," she finally said honestly.
He smiled. "Go," he said, nudging her forward.
She smiled. "I love you," she said again. It was as though once the words had left her lips the first time she couldn't say them enough.
His smile was warm. "I love you too," he said. "Now go, shop my little fiancée."
And so she did. As she pulled open the door to the first shop she glanced over her shoulder once, seeing him standing in the middle of the sidewalk watching her, his dark attire a stark contrast to the bright street. And with one last smile she entered the shop.