The opera house really was very beautiful. The drive there in the taxi had been long, but once she saw the inside of the building she knew it had been worth it.

It was worth it, also, to see how happy Erik looked to be there with her. They had arrived well before the performance time, so he took her around the opera house in her own personal tour, pointing out things here and there. She'd never realized how much he enjoyed architecture until he was chattering happily about to it as they walked those marble floor and looked at the painted ceilings. There didn't seem to be anything in the building that he didn't know something about.

When it was nearly time for the show to start, she was surprised - though she knew she shouldn't be - that Erik had gotten them the best seats in the house. The lights went down and the music soared, and her concerns washed away as she watched the stage.

Un bel dì vedremo - "One fine day" - this was the song she'd sung for Erik on that afternoon that seemed so long ago now. Tears prickled at her eyes as her hand moved unconsciously up to her own throat as the singer's voice rang out through the auditorium. How she wished that was her up there. It could have been, once upon a time.

One fine day, indeed.

Erik shifted a little next to her. She glanced over and found him watching her. It was hard to read his expression through the darkness and the mask, but he seemed understanding.

He placed his hand palm up on the arm rest, offering but respectfully. She reached out and placed her hand in his, and he squeezed it just enough. She looked back up at the stage again.

Sometimes she felt like Cio-Cio-san, dreaming of that beautiful day in the day in the future when her hopes would come true, only to have them end in tragedy once they arrived. She wondered if Erik felt that same way, only about her. Was he dreaming of one fine day when she would love him in the way he loved her? Did he know it was only a wisp of smoke in the distance that would fade into nothing, but still dream it just the same?

She squeezed his hand.

When the opera was over, neither one mentioned the moment had occurred between them.

"That was so beautiful!" Christine sighed to him as they left.

"The soprano could have been better," he remarked.

"Erik!" she laughed, shaking her head. "No, she was perfect!"

"You could have done better," he insisted. "She couldn't hold a candle to you, my dear."

She flipped through her little paper program, searching for the singer's name.

"Carlotta Guidicelli was wonderful, Erik!"

He sighed.

"This is grounds for divorce, I believe," he mused, and she playfully swatted at him with the program.

As they walked down the sidewalk, she couldn't help but notice how much he was grinning.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he shrugged. "I'm not laughing."

"You're grinning," she teased.

The grin faltered.

"I'm not crazy, Christine," he began, and suddenly her smile disappeared, not very wild about whatever must follow an intro like that.

"I understand the difference between what's real and what's only in my head," he continued. "And I'm only telling you because you asked, so please don't take this the wrong way. I was merely imagining that tonight could, perhaps, be considered our first date. If one considered us a couple, that is. I know that we're not."

She tilted her head, considering.

"It was almost like a date, wasn't it?"

His smile returned.

It was the first of many such 'dates' - Erik seemed to want to be by her side nearly constantly. There were numerous little places he wanted to go with her - the zoo, museums, restaurants, gardens, theaters, bakeries - but she also spent a good deal of time with him at his house, too.

Sometimes he'd ask for her to come over even when he had other things he needed to do. She'd wander his quiet house as he made phone calls in a room with a closed door, unsure what to do with herself or why he'd ask to come over in the first place when he couldn't see her. Perhaps it eased the loneliness, she mused. Maybe he could hear her soft footsteps and feel better just knowing someone else was in the house.

The week went fast. She really had meant to find a night to go out with Raoul, but then Erik had made plans to go places, and she couldn't very well turn him down once he asked her. When they weren't going to the theater or a museum they were eating someplace she'd only ever dreamed of going yet could never justify the expense of actually trying, and when they weren't eating their meals together they were in the studio once more.

Those were her favorite times, though she had to admit, she was enjoying the whole thing more than she'd thought she would.

But in the studio, Erik would play the piano for her, and it was the dreamiest thing she'd ever heard. He had been correct - he had arthritis in his joints, especially his fingers, and every so often he'd hit a key wrong and she could tell this vexed him, but even being slightly off tempo and with the occasional wrong note, he was still wildly impressive to hear in person.

She supposed she couldn't be too much to blame for not meeting up with Raoul - not when she had the chance to hear Charles Carrière play his private compositions only for her.

Raoul, however, didn't see it that way.

"What do you mean?"

His voice over the phone still carried every ounce of betrayal that she was missing out on seeing in person.

"I mean what I said," she told him, frowning. "I'm not going to be able to see you before I leave."

"Christine- that's- that's-"

"I'm sorry, Raoul," she sighed. "I didn't mean it to turn out like that - but I've very busy and I'm very tired."

"But I miss you... I'm going to miss you even more when you're gone for six months."

"I know."

She felt terrible for doing this to him, but she wanted to go to sleep early the night before their flight - Erik had booked a very early morning one - and the only other night she had had left was one that Erik wanted to take her to a picnic dinner along the Seine. How could she have said no to that?

"I've been calling your place all the time and you're never even there to pick up. I can't believe you're doing this."

Her shoulders tensed a little.

"Think of it as a business trip," she said. "I've been very busy with work - this is my work right now. In about six months, my job will be over, and I'll be back here with you. You don't have anything to worry about."

"I guess," he said, sullen.

"Look," she softened her tone. "I can meet you tomorrow on your lunch break for a few minutes. I know it's not dinner or anything, but it's something."

"Okay, I'd like that."

True to her word, she did take some time off from packing to go and meet him. As she waited outside his office building for him, she envisioned their last meeting until she returned from her trip. It would be sweet, and hopeful. He'd say something nice, maybe. She'd promise to phone as soon as she got to Rome, her first destination.

Raoul quickly walked out of the building and made a beeline right for her, pulling her into his arms and hugging her.

"I'll miss you," she whispered.

"I'll miss you too," he murmured, and to her horror he pulled back and tried to kiss her.

What was he doing?!

She ducked her head away and pushed him back.

He stared at her, baffled and hurt.

"Christine- what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? I'm married!"

Anger flashed across his face.

"You said it didn't mean anything," he said tightly. "You said it was a business arrangement. You said you wouldn't-"

"Stop!"

"Why can't I kiss you, then?"

She looked down at her feet, confused by her own actions. She didn't know what to say.

"I'm married," she repeated softly. "It doesn't feel right - kissing anyone. I shouldn't. I can't."

"He doesn't care, does he? Why can't you?"

She fidgeted a little.

"I don't know. I didn't ask him."

"He didn't ask me if it was okay to propose to you," he said bitterly.

"Raoul," she begged. "Please, don't make it weird. I only have a little bit of time with you left - we aren't going to see each other for a while. Please."

He sighed, relenting.

"Where are you going first?"

"Rome," she told him, smiling a little. "I'll send you postcards. I'll write to you, too. Long letters. It'll be romantic, I promise."

"Yeah."

"I won't be anywhere long enough for you to write back," she continued. "But we can talk on the phone, too. We can work it out."

"I'd like to think so..."

"We will," she promised, then lowered her voice, taking a step closer to him. "This is going to solve all our problems."

She firmly believed it to be the case - she was determined to make it the case. She would return from this expedition with all of their money problems solved forever. With those problems fixed, surely their other problems would be a breeze to deal with. They had to be. Because if they weren't, then was all this for?

He smiled softly, wanting to believe her words, too.

"I really will miss you," he said at last. "Try to call often, okay?"

"Okay. One last hug?"

She held her arms out to him, but his smile vanished.

"I shouldn't," he said, his tone a little colder than she would have liked. "You're married."

She huffed and let her arms drop.

"Okay. I'll see you in six months then."

"You could see me tonight, but I guess your husband wouldn't like that, either."

"I'm getting up early tomorrow, you know that," she looked away as she answered him. "That has nothing to do with him."

He shrugged.

"You could sleep on the plane."

"I'm here now. Isn't that enough?"

He didn't say anything.

She pressed her lips together.

"Well, then," she said primly. "I guess I'll be going."

She turned and began to walk away, and Raoul almost called after her for that last hug, but didn't.

She desperately wished he'd just call out, ask her to stop, anything, but her pride wouldn't let her turn around to even look at him. She was disappointed in him, but she was more disappointed in herself.

She didn't have time to dwell on it, however, because a taxi pulled up next to her as she was walking down the sidewalk. The window rolled down as she gave the car a concerned look, preparing to make a run for it in the opposite direction, but she breathed a sigh of relief to find it was only Erik in the backseat.

"Stop, stop right here - just a moment," he told the driver, then turned to Christine, opening the door and waving for her to get in. "My dear, hurry, get it, come along now."

She got in, the car moving again as soon as her door was closed.

"What luck," Erik smiled at her. "I was just on my way to your apartment."

"Oh? Why?"

She blurted the words out before she could stop them.

He laughed softly at how her face blushed immediately afterwards.

"To make sure you'd finished packing, my dear, no other reason, I assure you. Have you finished packing?"

"Oh," she fidgeted a little. "Yeah. I have. I'm all ready, I think."

She'd given her extra key to Meg, and had three huge trunks filled with all the things Erik had told her to bring.

"Good, good. I had wanted to ask you - would you spend the night at my apartment?"

She froze, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, her mouth dry. He had asked. He'd finally asked.

"I- I- ah-"

What could she tell him? Did he really expect her to-?

He quickly realized her predicament.

"I have a guest room," he rushed to add. "You'd stay in there. I am merely asking because our flight leaves so very early, you know - it will take time for the taxi to get from my place to yours and then to the airport - if we both left from my place first thing, we wouldn't have to get up quite as early - it really would be an innocent arrangement, Christine, I didn't mean to make you think-"

She swallowed hard, her heart still beating fast.

"I see," she said weakly.

He looked away, his fingers tapping anxiously on the handle of his door.

"You don't have to," he said quietly.

"You have a guest room?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I do," he said.

"Okay," she exhaled. "I'll stay."

She hoped she wouldn't regret her decision as they went up to her apartment to gather her luggage into the taxi. She felt awkward about it, and the possibilities that could arise, but in the entire week they'd spent together he really had been a gentleman about everything. She knew, though, that he wanted more than what they currently had. Whether he would actually ask for more remained to be seen.

She could tell during their picnic the previous night that his feelings ran deeper than he was letting on. He hadn't said - or done - anything that made her feel uncomfortable, but she could tell from the dreamy look in his eyes to the way he'd smiled at her that he was once again pretending she was actually his wife who loved him. It made her feel terrible, knowing what he was pretending and knowing that they both knew she didn't feel the same. He shouldn't have to pretend. He deserved better than that. As much as he insisted that he fine with pretending and didn't need anything more from her, she couldn't help but wonder if he secretly resented her for it. And if he didn't now, would he, later on?

These thoughts and more were buzzing in her brain as she prepared to spend the night at his place. She wanted to play along, to make him happy, but what if one day he forgot it was only pretend? That would only lead to hurt feelings all around. She had smiled and laughed and teased him last night, but she didn't want to lead him to believe something was there that really wasn't. At what point did kindness become cruelty?

Erik insisted on carrying one of her pieces of luggage, despite her fussing over him. Once all three were out on the porch, he paused.

"Do you want a moment alone in your home?" he asked.

"Yeah, actually," she said, blinking in surprise.

She hadn't even realized that she did until he mentioned it.

He politely gave her some time, taking her luggage one by one to the taxi while she lingered in her apartment one last time before she left it. She hugged her arms around herself as she looked at each room. She felt melancholy, and then, suddenly, she felt very silly. She turned quickly and left the apartment, locking it up before darting down the stairs after Erik. She would be back here one day. Erik wouldn't, and her place was beside him, not mourning some imaginary loss of a few months not spent in the little place she'd worked hard to make a life for herself in.

As she slid into the seat next to Erik in the taxi and smiled at him, she had no way of knowing that the phone in her apartment was ringing, no way of knowing that it was Raoul on the other end or that he had wanted to apologize for how he'd behaved - just like how Raoul had no idea that she had already left her old life behind her, and wasn't simply ignoring his call and him.

She became nervous again once they were settled in his home and after dinner was finished. Her nerves over the big trip coming up combined with her nerves about staying in his apartment with him, and on top of that was the feeling that she couldn't express her worries to him because he certainly had enough worries already. She was tired and just wanted to sleep, but she was also acutely aware that it was Erik's last night in France, and he seemed to want to play card games with her, so she accepted.

They played five hands of cards after dinner, and as he was dealing the sixth, he noticed when she stifled a yawn.

He smiled softly and put down the cards.

"Let's show you to your room, hmm?"

"I can still play if you want me to," she said anxiously.

"No, it's all right. Come along."

She grabbed one of her luggage trunks and he led her down a hallway and to a room at the very end.

"The guest room," he announced, gesturing to it.

"Do you have many guests?" she dared to ask as she looked inside.

His jaw tightened.

"No, actually. It was my mother's furniture, you see - and her mother's, and hers, and so on," he waved a hand. "She didn't want me to have it at all, but- well, she couldn't have everything her way, now could she?"

She pressed her lips together as she looked at the antique furniture that was clearly still a sore spot to him.

"I see," she said weakly.

"I imagine she'd have preferred it as kindling for a bonfire or for it to rot in the landfill instead of have it come into my possession, but it's been mine ever since she died, and in a little while, it'll be yours entirely. Whatever you do with it then will be completely up to you."

Thinking about it nearly made her head spin.

"Oh."

His odd mood seemed to fade.

"Do you need anything else tonight?" he asked, his kind self returning.

"Um, I don't think so," she told him, her eyes falling to the doorknob and it's noticeable lack of a lock.

Unconsciously, she reached out to touch it to make certain that there really wasn't one, and Erik noticed. She startled when she realized what she doing, and met his eyes, embarrassed. He held her gaze a long moment, his expression blank.

"Goodnight, Christine," he said tightly. "I'll see you in the morning."

And with that he turned to leave. She hung her head as he left, feeling like a scolded child. She hadn't meant to hurt him, or to imply anything by her action. She just wasn't used to staying over with anyone.

She closed the door and changed into her long nightgown, brushing her teeth in the little bathroom and washing her face. She was about to go sleep when she realized she was thirsty. She hesitated a moment before pulling on her dressing gown and stealing out to the kitchen.

Erik was unexpectedly in the living room, which she had to pass through to get to the kitchen. His presence startled her, and she gasped, her hands flying up to pull her dressing gown more tightly closed around her chest as though she were afraid he'd catch a glimpse of her nightgown, modest though it was.

He looked disappointed at her reaction to him.

"What's the matter?" he asked, a little put out.

"I just wanted a glass of juice," she said in a small voice, shamefaced.

"You look awfully nervous about getting a glass of juice," he mused bitterly, then sighed and waved her away. "Well, get on with it - you know where the kitchen is."

She nodded, too mortified to meet his eye, and scurried into the kitchen. She poured herself a small glass of grape juice and drank it in one go, her mouth drier than ever. When she was finished she washed and dried the glass before putting it back, both as a kind gesture to him and also to avoid having to see him again so soon.

At last she had to return to her room, and she slunk out of the kitchen, hoping he wouldn't notice her.

He did.

He watched her sadly as she made her way slowly across the room, still clutching nervously at her dressing gown.

"You aren't my prisoner, Christine," he said softly. "I want you to understand that. You're more than free to leave at any time, if you find I overstep my bounds."

She paused but said nothing. She might not be his prisoner, but she was his wife, and in her mind, there wasn't very much difference.

"Get some rest," he said at last, and he sounded tired too.

As tired as she was, she found she couldn't get to sleep. Erik stayed up for far longer, and she could hear him walking around in the other rooms, each little noise making her flinch under the blankets, certain that at any moment he would decide he'd changed his mind and want to spend the night with her. There was no lock to keep him out, after all.

She rolled over and stared at the ceiling with wide eyes, unseeing in the darkness. She wouldn't fight him on the matter, she'd already decided. If he asked it of her, she wouldn't turn him away. She was his wife, and Raoul would just have to understand. She dearly hoped he wouldn't ask, but she comforted herself with the thought that a man who was so gentle with her in every other aspect would surely be gentle with her in that regard, too.

But he never even came close to her room, and eventually the little sounds of him moving about ceased. She supposed she must have fallen asleep at some point, though she couldn't remember when, because she woke with a start very early in the morning.

It wasn't an alarm clock or even Erik knocking on her door that woke her - it was the sound of Erik, somewhere out in the house, wheezing and hacking and coughing hard. Her heart pounded and a lump formed in her throat as she listened to him.

It had been so easy to believe that he was doing well during the past week - he'd shown very few signs of his illness at all. But that was when he was able to control what she saw, and what she heard. There was no hiding the reality of it here in his most private abode. The sounds reminded her too much of her father. She pressed her face into the pillow, praying for it stop.

He quieted at last, and she pulled her tear-stained face away from the pillow. Was she being cruel to him, to insist on separate rooms? But he was the one who had offered that to her. Did he not want her in that way, or was he merely too polite to ask?

She got up and dressed quickly, now beginning to worry over how quiet he'd become. She smoothed her hair back with her hands as she left her room, finding him in the living room, one hand braced against the wall and the other on his chest.

"Are you okay?" she asked breathlessly, her brow crinkled in concern.

He looked up, surprised, and nodded.

"Oh, did I wake you?" he asked weakly. "I'm sorry, my dear."

She shook her head.

"It's okay."

His eyes were watering from his attack, but she didn't mention it, just like how he didn't mention the redness in her own eyes from her recent crying.

"Do you want something to eat?" he asked as he straightened up.

"I want to be sure you're okay."

He chuckled lightly.

"This is a normal morning for me, my dear."

She chewed on her lip, deciding to go to the kitchen. There was nothing normal about that kind of cough, and they both knew it, though neither one wanted to say it.

"I got these at the bakery yesterday," he said, showing her a box of pastries. "I figured we wouldn't be much for cooking anything this morning."

She thanked him, and took the offered cheese danish.

The flaky sweet layers stuck to the inside of her mouth, but she ate as much as she could despite not having an appetite. Outings around town with Erik had been fun, but she had been starkly reminded that she was, in fact, here to do a job, and that a certain point it would cease to be very much fun at all for either of them.

"Are you having any shortness of breath? Any chest pain?" she asked around bites.

"No," he assured her easily.

"Erik... I can only help you as much as much as you tell me the truth."

He paused, studying the pastry in his hand.

"I'll tell you," he promised. "I'll be honest."

"Okay. Good," she smiled at him. "You're feeling okay again?"

"I'll be okay."

After she had eaten as much as she could, there was one last mad dash to make certain she had everything she needed. Three pieces of luggage plus her purse and a rather large carryon bag which happened to be her medical bag, plus two large pieces of luggage that were Erik's and one messenger bag he was taking with him on the plane.

They loaded everything into the waiting taxi, and Erik locked the door of his apartment one last time, placing his hand on the middle of the door as though he were saying goodbye. He turned and looked at Christine, who was standing by his side, and he smiled a sad smile.

"Let's go," he said softly, and handed her the key to his apartment.

She sucked in a breath, the solemness of the moment not lost on her. The next time she opened that door with that key, the building would be hers, and he would be gone.

They contented themselves with smalltalk on the ride to the airport, and she was glad for a distraction from her nerves.

"Oh," she said nervously as they left the taxi and entered the airport. "I've never been in an airport before..."

"Really? But you have a passport."

"I got it a few years ago when I thought I was going vacation, but I ended up not going."

"What happened?"

She shrugged.

"I wanted to go to Sweden with Raoul, but... He didn't want to go."

"Your boy is a brat, Christine," he mused.

"It's not like that," she sighed. "I had a certain week off from the hospital, but his work ended up needing him there for important project... It just didn't work for our trip."

"Couldn't he have taken off from work, even still?"

She looked away and didn't anything.

She was quiet as Erik checked them in for the flight and handed the luggage to the attendant.

"I wish I'd gone, maybe," she said at last as they sat down to wait for the plane. "Just by myself, even. But..."

"But you wanted to go with him," he added quietly, and she nodded.

"I was born in Sweden," she said. "We moved to France when I was three years old, just after my mother died. I don't remember very much about it at all, but I'd like to see it one day."

"Perhaps after your boy doesn't need to work anymore, you can both go there for a long vacation," he said, staring out the huge window at the planes that were arriving and departing.

She glanced at him, surprised. He'd assumed that she was still marrying Raoul. He'd assumed correctly, she supposed. She felt guilty about that, that she'd never been exactly upfront with Erik about her practically being engaged to Raoul even though she was married to him, but it seemed he already knew. She wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but it also made her want to cry. How could he stand that? Wasn't the rejection crushing? But perhaps he felt he'd already won - she was wearing his ring, after all.

"Perhaps," she said.

As they boarded the plane she felt antsy again, only worse this time. Erik sat by the window, and she sat next to him. She buckled her seat belt as soon as she sat down, then wished she hadn't. She turned this way and that, looking about. At last she sank down in her seat, her lips turning down into an almost comical pout.

"Erik," she said, turning suddenly to him. "The plane won't go very high, will it?"

Erik laughed, thinking she was joking, but then caught sight of her face and his laughter stopped.

"What?" he asked, his expression frozen. "What do you mean, dear? Are you serious?"

He dreaded the answer.

She squirmed a little, highly uncomfortable.

"Erik," she whispered, despairing. "I'm afraid of heights."