I'm back with another chapter! Sorry again for the delay between posts. Life, man! But I'm excited to share another chapter with you and see how our favorite characters progress...

Christine

"Not only did I forget I had a date with Raoul DeChagny, I still haven't decided what to wear!" I'm on the phone with Meg, scrambling to pull something together before the date.

"Back up, how the hell does one forget about Raoul DeChagny?!" Meg asks incredulously.

"We have a lot to catch up on, and unfortunately I don't have the time to do that right now," I put her on speaker phone and compare two different styles of heels in the mirror.

"What does that mean!"

"It means there might be someone else but it's a little more complicated than that. What color says sexy but won't have sex on the first date?"

"Blue."

"Ah…" I wonder if that one navy dress would work.

Meg reads my mind. "Not navy, Christine. Cobalt blue."

"Oh."

"Jesus Christ, we need to video chat." She hangs up and FaceTimes me.

I set my phone up on my dresser and cover my face with both hands. "I'm a disaster, Meg! I don't know how to date as an adult!"

"Yes, you do, Christine. Look at me." I look back at Meg's image on the screen. She looks like she's wearing a blazer while hiding in a bathroom stall. She must still be at work. "Listen, it's simple. Don't let him pay for everything, insist on paying for your half or at least drinks or dessert or something. If he can't handle that, he's a medieval asshat. Do not let him pick you up and drive you to the date. Meet on location. That way you have your own way home if things go south and he doesn't know where you live if he's some sort of pervert or murderer. And the most important thing you need to remember?"

I lean in, hanging on her every word.

"Have fun, you dummy."

I laugh to let out some of my nervous energy.

I immediately text Raoul to let him know I will meet him there, heeding Meg's advice. He responds with the address, saying to meet him in the hotel lobby. It's a rooftop bar and tapas restaurant at an historic hotel in the heart of downtown.

"Sounds fancy but more relaxed since it's outside," Meg considers aloud. "Now, show me your top dress contenders."

She convinces me to go with a classic little black dress. Luckily I have a second one that Raoul hasn't already seen me in. It has a scalloped neckline with sleeves off the shoulder, very classy but with plenty of décolletage. I twist my curls back into a low bun—there will be no controlling it if we're outdoors in this humidity.

We're still video chatting as I put the finishing touches on my makeup. I click the lid back on the lipstick tube and toss it in my clutch. "Do you remember what Shirley said? A couple weeks ago?" I try to be nonchalant.

"The engagement?" Meg gives me a look.

I nod. "I can't stop wondering what that's all about? What if they didn't break it off? Or what if they just broke it off and I'm a rebound?"

Meg shakes her head. "Christine, you're getting ahead of yourself. This is one date, practically the first date if we're being honest. Have fun and get to know him better, and be open about yourself. Then if you're serious about Raoul, we can grill him about Vanessa or Victoria whoever."

She always knows what to say. "Thanks, Meg," I smile.

"Any time, babe. Go have fun. Then you need to call me back immediately after to dish and explain to me who could have possibly distracted you from Raoul DeChagny!"

I don't think I've ever been inside such a nice hotel. It's an historic landmark, so it has all the character and charm with original fixtures like an incredible chandelier. But there are new amenities and updates that keep it from feeling too kitschy.

I meet Raoul in the lounge near the elevators. He's sitting in one of the era-matching arm chairs and immediately stands when I arrive. Raoul's style doesn't match the decor around him; he looks very modern in a chambray shirt and fitted army green chinos. But somehow he still looks like he belongs, effortlessly stylish.

Raoul looks at my dress and smiles. "It's great to see you again, Christine." He gives me a hug and brushes his lips against my temple. I catch a whiff of his cologne, sexy and expensive.

"You too."

He checks his Rolex, "We're right on time for our reservation upstairs." His hand rests on the small of my back and guides me toward the elevator. We head to the top floor. "This is one of the best tapas restaurants in the city with the best view."

"I hadn't even heard of it before! But it sounds amazing."

Raoul looks down at me with a little sparkle in his eye, like he is proud to be the one to introduce me to the restaurant.

The elevator opens to a corridor that leads to the rooftop entrance. Raoul offers his arm to escort me. "DeChagny for two," he says to the maitre'd.

"Of course, right this way, sir."

Raoul wasn't exaggerating. The view is incredible. There is a nice warm breeze and the sun has just started to set so it's not unbearably hot. The sky is startlingly pink but turning purple before our eyes. The host leads us to a secluded table in the corner with the best unobstructed view. The lights of the bustling city below grow brighter as the sun sets deeper.

My mouth must be hanging open as we go to lean on the clear glass railing, because Raoul is looking at me rather than the view. He chuckles, "Told ya."

"If the food is half as good as this view, I would say this is in the top ten nights of my life," I laugh lightly.

"I'll gladly accept that!" Raoul runs the pads of his fingers over my knuckles. I slowly flip my hand over and he traces some of the lines on my palm.

"Champagne," says a voice behind us. I pull my hand away and turn to see a waiter presenting us with champagne flutes on a tray.

We each take a glass. "I hope you don't mind, I thought finally getting this second date with you was worth celebrating."

I blush a little but tap my glass to his and take a drink anyway.

"To the view and the company."

Raoul orders a charcuterie board and oysters for us and I add on empanadas. We talk a little before the food arrives, comfortable with the ambient sounds of the other tables spread around us. We're so high up, the city noise is non-existent. But I vaguely notice the piano music in the background for the first time. Chopin. My head snaps toward the source of the music, half expecting to see Erik playing in the opposite corner. But the man sitting at the piano isn't wearing a mask. It isn't Erik.

I take a moment to try to catch my breath. My heart is pounding almost painfully and I'm sure my cheeks are bright red. Thankfully the waiter serves the tapas and Raoul doesn't seem to notice my reaction.

"So, Miss 'I'm-booked-for-two-weeks-solid,'" he says, digging in, "what have you been doing since we last saw each other?"

My mind immediately goes back to Erik and all the time I managed to spend with him. All the music and drinks shared. I push the weird feelings of guilt aside and tell Raoul about the music theater camps. I explain how the college group was the pinnacle of the summer and how much fun I had with the students. Some of them weren't that much younger than me, but they were all ready to learn and perform. I tell him about how much I loved the small group voice lessons.

"It felt like such a validation of why I'm pursuing my Masters. I love teaching kids about music and really honing the craft with the older students. It's where I'm meant to be." I sigh; it feels so good to say that out loud.

Raoul considers me. "You're really passionate about your career aren't you?"

I smile, "Yes, I am."

He takes a drink and looks wistful.

"Aren't you?" I ask.

"Passionate about managing hotels? Hardly. But it's what was expected of me, right down to the business degree from Northwestern." Raoul pauses and looks at the view next to us. "But I am passionate about curating experiences. When I have to travel for work, I make sure I have an interesting excursion. I enjoy planning trips with my friends—they don't need something incredible but we always come home with crazy stories and good memories. I guess it's adjacent to my career in hospitality, but it's not quite the same."

That's the most personal thing I've learned about him. "That's kind of beautiful, Raoul." I reach across the table to touch his hand. "You should see if there's some way you can incorporate experience development into your regular job. Everyone deserves to feel passionate about their career."

He smiles slightly then looks at me. "Who would have thought Christine Daaé would be giving me a career pep talk on a date."

"That will be $150 for my time and expertise." We laugh and I take a bite of an empanada.

We talk about our families. And I start to understand his family dynamic a bit better: the expectations of his parents, the cultural differences of their upbringings, living in his older brother's shadow. I share about being an only child and growing up so close with my dad. How he died right before freshman year and I moved in with my Grandma Vee. How Meg was like a sister to me.

We finish eating and return to the railing with our drinks to take in the nighttime view. The lights are even more magical now. Something feels different between Raoul and me now that we've shared our family stories. Something deeper, more personal. I close my eyes as the summer breeze sweeps against my cheeks.

"Can I ask you something?" I open my eyes, still looking ahead.

"Hmm?" His body shifts toward me.

"Why me?" I glance up to look in his eyes. I feel incredibly small and insecure asking, but I just never would have imagined myself on a date with the Raoul DeChagny. I nervously tuck a stray curl behind my ear.

The city lights glimmer in his bright blue eyes. "Honestly? When I heard you sing at the lounge that night, I instantly remembered you performing in the musical in school. I didn't remember what the show was or which character you were, but I remembered how hearing you sing made me feel. It sounds childish saying it out loud now." Raoul shakes his head. "But you transformed from that high schooler to this beautiful woman on stage, full of confidence and talent and I regretted not getting to know you before. I regretted not noticing you beyond the stage and I decided I wouldn't let that happen a second time."

He's leaning toward me and I'm breathless. My heart is pounding in my ears. What's the harm in giving in? I want to know if there's a spark, if this boy from my past is a man worth pursuing now. Raoul's thumb brushes against my bottom lip and I look at his perfect cleft chin. I surrender.

"Good answer," I murmur as I lean in. His lips are soft and warm and nostalgic.

Erik

I have a date with 7A. The goddess soprano. My upstairs neighbor and friend. Christine Daaé. I am simultaneously ecstatic and terrified, and I have been for days. The date is a mere twenty-four hours away and I am starting to panic.

I'm between gigs right now, so I don't have any regular work to attend to. I've tried composing, but everything comes off erratic and rushed. I've tried walking to release the nervous energy and it works only for an hour.

So naturally I call Nadir for the third time today.

"Erik, you do realize you're not my only talent?" he answers in a clipped tone.

"Nadir, I hadn't even considered the transportation logistics nightmare yet—"

"Wouldn't be a nightmare if I could have kept my ticket…" he mumbles only slightly bitterly.

I continue as if I haven't heard him, "—I don't have a car, that has to be a red flag to women, right? I am not making her drive, that would be red flag number two. We can't meet at the museum because we live in the same building—that just wouldn't make sense. Is it depressing to take an Uber together? I could blame it on parking… but, no it's after hours, parking wouldn't be terrible." I'm rambling, but I can't seem to stop until Nadir interrupts me.

"Here's an idea, you could be honest with her about why you don't drive—"

"No."

"Fine, take an Uber together, say that it's cheaper than parking," he says like he's known the answer all along. "Now, what are you going to wear?"

Surprisingly enough, clothing is not something I am concerned about. Everything I wear is tailored since I'm so tall and thin, and I regularly research what's in style to keep up to date. I mentally chose my outfit the moment I decided on the locale.

"I don't require your advice on clothing. What happened to all your other clients?" I accuse.

"I'm in between meetings," Nadir says innocently. "Leonard called again."

"Did you tell him no?"

"I told him thank you for the tickets and that you would see him tomorrow at his event."

I clench my jaw. I know seeing the opera's music director at an "Opera and Art" event is inevitable, but I don't like to be reminded of it. "I'm not taking a meeting with him," I say petulantly.

"You don't have to take a meeting, but you know he will want to say hello and bask in the performance afterglow. Plus, with a date on your arm, he won't be able to resist flaunting that job opportunity. His offer has increased, you know."

"I will speak with him tomorrow and I will be courteous, but that's all I can promise. I don't want to hear another word about Leonard after."

Christine

I'm tethered.

Erik and I explore the European wing of the art museum before the intimate concert begins. The crowd is smaller than 50 and we're all scattered throughout the entire wing. And it's quiet, save for the hushed tones of respectful conversation about the art. But I feel tethered to Erik as we hover around the paintings and gravitate toward each other from room to room.

We haven't said much, which concerned me at first in the car ride here. Erik was uncharacteristically fidgety. I could tell his mind was working furiously and evidence of anxiety was bubbling to the surface. I wasn't sure if he was more nervous to be with me or in public. Regardless, I decided to try to balance my energy with his. Calm, relaxed, easy.

I think I've been only partially successful. I've eased his anxiety about the crowd, but now he seems to be even more acutely aware of me. And, in turn, I of him. It's an oddly heated tension. It was subtly present in our more recent interactions, but I wasn't able to put my finger on it. Now, I understand it a bit better. And I don't hate it.

So we walk around the wing, and my attention fluctuates between being fully engrossed in the art and sensing Erik's eyes on me. We surround a statue and I can finally take a good look at him admiring the art.

Dark gray slacks tailored perfectly to his frame with a navy Oxford shirt. His hair is its usual effortlessly messy with some pieces coiffed, some smoothed back, and others hanging over his forehead. He tilts his chin to look up at the statue and I am once again struck by the sharpness of his features. Only now, I see the subtle beauty in them. Thin, keen angles of his jaw, cheek bones, brow, nose. This mask is different; it's a neutral tan closer to his skin tone, which I assume is to try to help him blend in.

His hands are clasped behind his back, something I love to see people do at museums. It feels reverent. Erik catches me staring. We lock eyes from across the statue for a moment; there's that tension again. I feel it building in the pit of my stomach. I smile sheepishly and nod toward the next room.

He finally joins me at a painting, the closest he's been since we left the car.

"I like the contrast of light in this one," he says softly.

"Rembrandt is well known for his use of chiaroscuro."

Erik looks down at me, eyes bewildered.

"What? I took an art history class once." I smile playfully.

"You're full of surprises."

The strains of the quartet tuning up interrupt our conversation. The rest of the patrons head toward the performance room across the hall.

"Ready?" Erik gently touches the small of my back.

I suck in a breath at the subtle chill that shoots up my spine. Oh my god. The feeling of his long fingers through the fabric of my dress after all that tension building up is almost too much. I imagine his long limbs wrapping around my waist and pulling me in for a kiss. I slowly let out a breath and try to shake the image from my mind. Erik doesn't seem to notice the effect his touch has on me and he continues to guide us toward our seats.

Erik

Christine looks like some sort of summer nymph with her floral dress and flowing curls. She usually has her hair pulled up off her neck and out of her face. But now, her brunette spirals are free and I want to wrap one around my finger. Her cheeks are freckled and her lips are pink. A summer song for violin composes itself in my head every time I look at her. Warm, lithe, floral.

She's quite the juxtaposition next to me, the epitome of winter. What was the word she used about Rembrandt? Chiaroscuro? We are quite the contrast of light and dark, height, demeanor, beauty.

This is only the second time I've seen Christine in public. Her on-stage personality is in control and sensual, but this woman in front of me... I am in complete awe of her. She is comfortable, curious, and thoughtful. There is a quiet strength and cool composure emanating from her tonight. It calms me, and I can't help feeling connected to her through it. I am drawn to her even more than usual.

The murmurs of the small crowd quiet as we find our seats off to the side. The quartet begins and the lead soprano steps forward. Rather than focusing on the music, I glance over to see Christine's enraptured face. Her hands are clasped eagerly in her lap. I want to hold her hand, but the time isn't right.

The soprano's voice and the strings combine and reverberate sublimely on the marble floors. A requiem starts to form in my mind—choir, organ, strings, horns… Performed in a cathedral, naturally. I have the first few measures of the introduction written when Christine gently leans into me. I lose the melody completely and the live music fills the empty space left behind. Her hair tickles my neck and I see it as a sign to be more present with her. I drape my arm across the back of her chair and she settles in closer. I try to focus and steady my breathing, praying she doesn't feel my heart rattling against my ribs.

Christine convinces me to stop at the reception after to try the light hors d'oeuvres. I can't say no to her grabbing my arm and whispering excitedly, "Erik. Tiny fancy museum snacks, Erik!" I'd say yes to anything if she whispered my name enough.

Her fingers lace with mine as we enter the reception hall. I'm too focused on holding her hand to be nervous about the crowd. Christine pulls me into the throng, trying to find one of the servers mingling about. We finally fill our plates with savory pastries, smoked salmon, vegetable creations… endless snacks on toothpicks.

Once Christine is satisfied with the pile of food on her plate, I steer us toward a quiet corner off to the side.

"These are incredible," she says between bites.

"Definitely worth braving the crowd," I reply, genuinely enjoying my own pastry.

"How did you get these tickets anyway? Are you secretly a super wealthy Opera donor?"

I laugh, "Not exactly—"

Somehow precisely on cue, Leonard Hodges saunters by, flanked by a couple board members.

"Erik Destler, what a pleasant surprise!" he stops, a huge smile on his face.

I know very well he spotted me from across the room and engineered this "coincidence." But I told Nadir I would behave. "Good to see you again, Director Hodges," I shake his hand confidently, then the board members'. "Sublime performance, as usual."

"Thank you, Erik. And who might this be?" Leonard gestures toward Christine, who stares up at me with a mouth full of food and wide eyes.

I give her the tiniest nod. "This is my— um, this is Christine Daaé. She is a music and vocal instructor in the city. Christine, this is Leonard Hodges, the director of the Kansas City Opera."

Christine manages to swallow her food in time. She eagerly shakes Leonard's hand and says, "Wow, it's a pleasure to meet you! The event, the performance, it was all so gorgeous!"

"Thank you, my darling. Now, where do you instruct?"

"Jefferson Middle School."

"Oh how marvelous! Shaping the young voices that might perform for me someday!"

I want to gag at his artifice, but Christine is glowing at the compliment.

"You know—" Leonard leans conspiratorially toward Christine.

Ah, here it is.

"—I have been trying to get Erik here to come on board as our pianist for weeks now."

Christine's mouth drops. "You have?"

"Absolutely! His talents are unparalleled and he would make a fantastic addition to the company." He glances at me. "But he's been dodging my meeting requests, maybe you can convince him to give me a chance." He winks at Christine and I bite my tongue. "Anyway, I need to keep mingling. Enjoy the rest of your evening!"

Then, just as quickly as they appeared, Leonard and his board entourage disperse back into the crowd.

"Um, what the hell was that!" Christine pokes at my chest incredulously.

"I think I'm ready for those cocktails now."

"So why are you not taking the best job offer I've ever heard?" Christine asks back at my apartment, between sips of her Moscow Mule.

I run a hand through my hair. "It's complicated—"

"Explain it to me."

I pause to look her in the eye. She's genuine and serious now. I can't believe how close we've become. A few weeks ago, this was a conversation I would not have had with anyone other than Nadir. Christine consistently floors me with her candor and I realize I can and should return the gesture.

"I'm sure you can tell, but my masks are custom made." I feel her go very still next to me on the couch. This is the first time I've ever verbally acknowledged my mask to her. "But when I was younger, I would wear medical-grade masks with plastic and foam. Mass-produced to fit a variety of facial issues. But I needed a more unique fit as I grew. Something to fit my… medical and aesthetic needs. So we found a designer who specialized in creative facial prosthetics. I didn't want something artificial that would try to make me fit in—I wanted a beautiful and realistic piece of art I could wear on my face that wouldn't scare other kids or elicit screams. Maybe a gasp or a second look, but something uniquely me.

"My passion for my work is the same. Leonard's priority is pleasing the board and donors, not necessarily the music or performance. There are too many politics that come with a job like this. And fewer opportunities for innovation. I prefer the creative freedom of freelance life. And with my mask, my… face, I'm not always going to fit the mold of what boards and donors want or expect. I want to create something that I'm proud of, that elicits a gasp or a second look."

Christine

I am stunned. This is the most vulnerable Erik has ever been with me. Talking about his childhood, his mask, his face… I don't know what to think of it all, but I nod.

"That makes a lot of sense. Ultimately, your values wouldn't align, and that would drive you crazy. And you don't really fit in any sort of mold." I smile and he gives a soft chuckle.

I take a breath. "And your music… Did you know that your music made me cry?"

"What? When?" Erik shifts closer.

I smile slightly. "The first time you played my request."

"Liszt," he murmurs.

"He was my dad's favorite. When you played that night, I felt him for the first time in years since he died. Music was something we connected on, but I had never felt like that before. Your music did that. You did that."

Erik's eyes search mine earnestly and I get lost in them. The inevitable pull returns and I continue to gravitate toward him. I'm stuck in his orbit again. I don't mind. Erik takes a strand of my hair and gently twists it around a long finger. Then he tucks it behind my ear, cool fingers grazing my flushed cheek. Something ignites deep within me; he's like the oxygen to my flame. I tilt my chin up to finally meet his lips.

But.

I hear running. I hear running?

Suddenly a man bursts through the apartment door, scaring the ever-loving shit out of us both.

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