He was already awake by the time she woke, though he hadn't moved from her side yet. He was gazing at her with such tender adoration that her heart did a flip.

"What are thinking about?" she murmured into her pillow, blinking sleepily and smiling - she couldn't wait to hear whatever sugar-sweet and eloquent words of love he had planned.

"I was just thinking," he mused. "About how cute you look in the morning, when your hair is all frizzy like that before you brush it."

She shot him a horrified glare before leaving the bed with a huff.

"Ahh, what's wrong? Where are you going?"

"Go get ready for your meeting!" she frowned.

He chuckled and got out of bed, following her into the bathroom where she was vigorously tugging a hairbrush through her curls.

"And what will my little Christine do while her Erik is in his meeting, hmm?" he placed his hands on her shoulders, kneading them gently.

"I'm not sure, really."

She knew she wanted to avoid the opera house - she had the day off, anyway, and she didn't think she could stand to face any of the girls at the moment.

Erik snapped his fingers, an idea lighting up his face.

"Why don't you go shopping for the new house?" he suggested. "We need just about everything, really, and just about anything will fit.

She considered it as they both began to dress for the day.

"Don't you want to shop for furniture, too? It's half your house as well."

He chuckled.

"It's eighteen rooms, my dear. I highly doubt you'll furnish them all in a day."

Her brow furrowed.

"How much will you let me spend?"

She certainly couldn't afford much on her own salary - her dorm was proof of that.

He laughed as though he'd just heard the most absurd joke.

"Christine! My money is your money, dearest - and I'm certainly not wanting for money. I want you to buy whatever you please and don't worry over the price."

She bit her lip and raised an eyebrow. Was he serious?

"We'll build a home to rival that Comte's mansion," he murmured, mostly to himself.

Christine was about to remind him that he no longer needed to compete against anyone - he never had - when he turned his keen gaze towards her.

"How's your leg feeling?" he asked suddenly as he was trying his cravat.

He was staring with intensity at what could generously be called her hip but might more accurately be called her crotch. She had the sudden urge to hide herself behind a throw pillow.

"It's- it's better," she stuttered.

"Completely better?" he edged closer, still staring.

She took a step backwards.

"Erik!" she said, scandalized. "You're going to be late for work!"

"Christine," he tutted. "Can't a tutor inquire over the health of his pupil without any ulterior motive?"

"Not when he's looking at her like that," she stood her ground as he approached and kissed her cheek.

"Bernard will surely understand if I arrive late," he murmured, kissing her again.

"Tonight, not this morning," she offered with a little smile.

"I can be quick..."

Christine graciously chose to not comment, clearing her throat instead.

"Tonight, Erik," she promised, and kissed him. "Tonight."

He left for the day with one last kiss, and Christine soon found herself out in the shopping center with an address to send the packages to and a purse full of money with no restrictions on how to spend it.

It was an almost overwhelming prospect - she'd never truly shopped for a house of her own and was a little at a loss for what was necessary versus what was fashionable. Just because Erik's money was her money didn't mean she wanted to spend all her money on frivolity.

Eighteen rooms bordered on excessive, in her opinion. She glanced down at the little note Erik had scrawled before leaving for his meeting, the one that listed the suggested rooms to help her decide how to furnish them.

Two libraries, a dining room, a breakfast room, a solarium, three bedrooms, a guest room, a kitchen, a workroom, a room with specific acoustics that she could practice singing in, and several nondescript rooms whose purpose was still vague.

By the end of her shopping trip, she was afraid she had caused quite a scene in the store - she inquired over the price of every object, but never let it deter her. Various shelves and dressers and soft padded chairs and gilded mirrors were purchased and were arranged to be sent to her new home, and after all was said and done she was certain that each and every sales persons was convinced that she must be some kind of royalty to order so much.

She supposed, with a small sense of satisfaction, that perhaps she was, in a way.

When at last she returned to the hotel room, Erik was still out. She fretted a little over the clock, wondering where he was. In his absence, she set about tidying the rooms like the dutiful wife she hoped to be.

There wasn't much to truly tidy in the few little rooms, however, so eventually her attention turned towards the papers from his work on the table. She was hesitant to sort them, or even to move them, lest she unknowingly disturb some order he kept them in, but she found herself too curious to simply ignore them. What drew her curiosity the most was a small pile of torn paper squares, what looked to be the remains of a letter.

She spent the next quarter of an hour carefully piecing together the squares, and once completed, she began to read the letter.

M. Travers - I received the updated blueprints that M. Bernard sent over, and I regret to inform you that I found the changes most displeasing-

The sound of the key turning in the lock made her jump, and she hastily mixed up the little pieces of the former letter once more before Erik entered.

Her heart pounding from nearly being discovered at her task of reading his work papers, she slipped off the chair and rushed up to hug him in greeting, hoping he wouldn't notice what she had been doing.

He returned her hug with one arm, his other arm occupied with carrying two bags from his own apparent shopping trips.

"Did you have a good day, sweet?" he asked as they walked over to the table together, his arm still around her.

"I did. I want to go shopping with you next, though. And I want to see the house before I buy anything else for it!"

"What all did you buy?" he asked as he placed his bags on the table and headed to the bathroom to change out of his more restrictive work clothes.

She told him of the things she had already ordered, practical things that she knew would be needed in any sort of house and could go nearly anywhere.

"I bought towels, too," she said sheepishly as she eyed the bags he'd left on the table.

"Towels are good," his voice floated to her from the other room.

Biting her lip, she peered into the large paper bag to ascertain its contents.

"You'll have to pick your furniture for your rooms," she said absently, too focused on learning what all he had bought. "How was work?"

He began to grumble about unruly customers, but still didn't return, so she reached in and began to rifle about the first bag. Finding it contained several pastry boxes, she let it be and looked in the second one. A pretty shawl with a woven pattern that resembled peacock feathers, which she assumed was a gift for herself, and a large, flat book underneath of that, which appeared to contain illustrations of bridges from all over the world. Underneath of that was a box with a paper label pasted on the lid. It was roughly the size of a cigar box, perhaps a little bigger, and this made her frown. Erik hated cigars, he nearly had a conniption any time he saw anyone smoking, paranoid that the smoke was going to damage the voice of anyone who happened to catch the faintest whiff of it.

She rearranged the shawl and book to get a better look at the box, squinting her eyes to read the label.

Genuine High Quality Vulcanized Rubber Prophylactics

Her brow creased as she mouthed the last word to herself, trying to think of where she'd heard it before.

All at once she realized what they were, and with a gasp she hurriedly rearranged the bag to its previous state.

Erik entered the room as she stepped back from the bag, looking anywhere but at it, trying to will the fierce blush from her face. She dearly hoped that one day she'd become accustomed to seeing and thinking about such things without her face turning scarlet like a maiden's who'd never kissed a man before, because she was swiftly realizing that being able to take the vulgar and the shocking in calm stride was going to be a great asset in married life with Erik.

He narrowed his eyes at her as he approached, looking from her to the bag and back again.

"Has Christine been sneaking a peek at Erik's gift to her?" he asked, smiling.

She looked up at the ceiling, pretending she hadn't heard, pretending she wasn't blushing. The prophylactics were a gift of sorts, too, in a way, though she supposed he was talking about the shawl.

He reached into the bag and presented the shawl to her with a little flourish.

"For you, sweet love," he said tenderly.

"Thank you, Erik," she smiled, still not quite able to meet his eye. "It's very lovely."

He placed it around her shoulders, adjusting it so, taking stock of her expression as he did so.

"Christine," he said carefully. "Did you look in the bottom of the bag?"

Her eyes darted nervously about, landing on him for the briefest of seconds before fluttering away again.

"Well," she wrung her hands. "I was curious, Erik."

He pressed his lips into a thin line and studied her. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. What he had bought was, in the strictest sense, illegal. In the broader sense, immoral. Had she changed her mind about them?

"You told me you didn't mind," he said quietly. "On our wedding night, you it would be fine if I used-"

"It's fine," she rushed to say. "I just wasn't expecting them there."

He was silent a moment longer, trying to ascertain if she was telling the truth.

"You don't look like it's fine," he said, uneasy.

She shot him a reproachful look.

"For goodness's sake, Erik!" she squeaked. "We haven't even been married half a week! I'm not- I'm not used to discussing such things with a man!"

His brow furrowed as he listened to her - as if it weren't bad enough that he had physically injured her with his desires, it seemed he had also overwhelmed her as well.

She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder to reassure him.

"I'm simply... new to it," she struggled to explain. "I want all that with you, and I want you to use- those things, and I want to become used to it all but in the mean time-"

She rested her burning forehead against his chest.

"In the meantime I'm still going to blush like a- a virgin," she muttered, terribly embarrassed. "Even though you have... bedded me..."

He stood there as she leaned against him, feeling out of place and uncertain what to do. He patted her on the back with an awkward hand as he let her words sink into his mind.

Why, there was nothing wrong with her after all! Nor with him, or his desires - she was simply shy!

Well, he would help her work that little problem out soon enough.

He lifted her chin with a finger so he could look at her.

"Did you look in the other bag, my dear?" he teased. "I think you'll find that one's contents a little more suitable to your delicate tastes."

"Erik!" she huffed and shoved at him, annoyed, but then hugged him.

They sat down together at the table and unpacked the pastries, speaking some more on the topic of their future furniture. Erik had pulled out a copy of the house's blueprints and laid it out across the table, and she studied this as they sampled the various treats he had brought back.

She couldn't help but notice the room with the title scratched out - nursery. It kept drawing her eye and her imagination, but she didn't mention it to him. She filed it away in her mind as conversation for later.

Did Erik want to have children with her? This house was his fantasy of their life together, was it not? And he had included a nursery. Had he done so because he thought it would please her? Because he thought it inevitable? Or was there, perhaps, some part of him that truly wanted it too?

She knew he'd have numerous issues and objections to the idea - his face, his age, her career, her health - but underneath all of that, what were his true wishes? If everything else were assured of turning out fine, would he want to be a father? It made her heart flutter to think of it.

It was in the back of her mind the rest of evening, even later that night as he tentatively led her to the bedroom. It warmed her heart, the way had asked her cautiously "Tonight?", with barely hidden hope in his eyes, and the gentleness of how he undressed her and took her in his arms. She wanted to do everything in the world with this man, and that included having a child with him.

But not soon - and certainly not that night, especially as he pulled back in the midst of kissing her to fumble with the little box on the nightstand in an attempt to procure one of his latest purchases.

She sighed a little and squirmed under the blankets - she missed the weight of him overtop of her. She glanced shyly over at him, but he was facing away from her as he sat on the edge of the bed, purposely blocking her view.

"It'll just take a moment, Christine," he murmured as he glanced back at her.

She smiled and closed her eyes, snuggling deeper into the mattress. She felt supremely content in that moment, and couldn't wait for Erik to continue. She sighed happily again.

"Shit," Erik muttered under his breath.

Her eyes fluttered open. This certainly seemed to be taking more than a moment, but she had no real frame of reference. She looked over at his back, dubious. Was everything going okay?

"Is- is it okay?" she asked, her voice low.

"It's fine," he insisted, but didn't turn around.

He cursed himself for not practicing this beforehand. Why was it so difficult? He snatched up the little piece of paper with the instructions, his frantic eyes scanning it once again. He was embarrassing himself in front of Christine!

She rolled to her side and propped her head on her hand, watching him. Her brow furrowed. She'd heard all manner of talk from the chorus girls and ballet rats about condoms and what an annoyance they were, but surely this was bordering on an excessive amount of time to put one on. She chewed on her lip as she listened to the obscene sounds of his breathing and his hand against his own skin as his arm pumped up and down.

"Do you need any help?" she asked weakly.

His hand stilled and his shoulders hunched over as he cringed away from her, afraid she would see.

"Nooo," his tone bordered on whining.

She raised an eyebrow and fell back against the pillow.

Sleep nearly overtook her as she was considering telling him it was okay to stop, that he could just hold her again and they'd make up for it in the morning, when at last his steady stream of grumbled curses ended and she found him joining her under the blankets once more, kissing her deeply and waking her up.

Afterwards, when it was finished, she noted how he carefully held the blanket down to keep her from seeing as he removed the prophylactic, chuckling in an embarrassed manner as he did so. As their breathing slowed, she nuzzled against his neck and whispered how much she loved him, wondering if maybe one day he'd let her look. She wondered if there was a reason beyond modesty that he didn't want her to see him - had he been injured there at some point in the past? Was he- was he disfigured down there too? The briefest of glances she'd caught in the mirror the other day hadn't uncovered anything too strange, at least not that she was aware of, and, she thought with another fierce blush, he certainly felt just fine. She fell asleep in his arms, still pondering over the mystery of it all.

"Christine," he whispered. "Christine..."

She blinked awake, surprised by the scant sunlight that was filtering in through the half shut drapes.

"Wake up so we can have breakfast together, sweet," he smiled at her.

She stretched and yawning, her hands then going to her hair to attempt to smooth it out lest he comment on its frizziness again.

She knew Erik had another meeting with Bernard that morning, and in the interest of extending their time together she simply wrapped herself in her dressing gown and joined him for leftover pastries at the table.

At the table, Erik let his eyes rove over her hungrily as he pulled apart a chocolatine. He thought back to her previous words, about being unused to being intimate with a man, and tried to tell himself to at least let her finish her breakfast before he risked overwhelming her by lifting her up to the tabletop and taking her right there.

The look in his eye was unmistakable, however, and Christine definitely noticed. She looked away, still picking at her strawberry pastry, and wondered if at some point in the future his urges would begin to calm or if this was, in fact, going to be his permanent state now that they were married. She took a long sip of water to focus on something else.

She'd have to ask Sorelli about all that.

But she was not without her own desires. Erik was very nearly always tender with her, but there was no denying that he was a very powerful man. To have such a powerful man so enamored with her, to have him look at her like she was a glass of cool water to a man dying of thirst - it made her feel powerful, too.

She reached a hand up to brush away some stray strands of hair from her face in what seemed at first a self conscious gesture, only to then let that hand fall slowly, idly across her cheek and down her neck and to her shoulder where the hem of her dressing gown lay. With all the boldness that befitted a woman of her profession, she casually, purposefully pushed the sleeve down her shoulder, baring her collarbone and areas lower to his intense, unblinking gaze.

His eyes peeled away from her bare skin to meet her own dark, seductive gaze, and he sucked a breath in through his masked nose. He was prepared to spring up from his chair when suddenly they were interrupted.

The telephone, that strange new device tucked away on a little table, the thing Christine had already long forgotten about, rang.

She jumped and screamed at the sudden loud and entirely unexpected noise, placing both hands over her own mouth in horror.

Erik stared at her, dumbstruck and a little put off, as the telephone rang again. He cleared his throat and get up to answer it.

"Hello?" he asked into the receiver, giving Christine another strange look.

She stared right back at him, hands still on her mouth, eyes wide. She'd never heard such a racket before! What a horrible little machine! Erik, of course, was probably used to the clatter and cacophony of the thing, and probably thought her reaction very silly. Her face burned at how she'd reacted, but her heart was still pounding in her chest.

"Okay, thank you," he hung the phone up again and turned towards her.

She straightened her shoulders and tried to pretend she hadn't just been scared out of her wits.

"Who was it?" she asked primly, acting as though phone calls were a very normal thing.

"Bernard. Our meeting is canceled - the client accepted the changes without any fuss, so there's no need for to go in today."

He cocked his head to the side as he studied her. She had the day off as well, and though he was tempted to pick up where they had recently left off, he had another idea of how to spend the day.

"Christine," he said suddenly. "Let's go see our house."