Christine's head was still reeling by the time she stepped into the carriage that would take her to the hospital, merely half an hour after Erik had received the news. She could not stop thinking about what might have happened if that footman carrying the message had not interrupted them. Erik had been on the verge of kissing her, she was sure of it. It was not until the very moment when the knock on the door had made him pull back that she had realized how much she wanted him to kiss her.

Seeing him without his mask for the second time, in such different circumstances than the first, she had come to the conclusion that her feelings for him ran even deeper than she had previously suspected. He was not a handsome man by any means, that much was true, but that was of no consequence. She meant every word she said to him. His appearance was not important. All that mattered was that underneath his blemished exterior, and despite all the pain and suffering he had experienced, she still saw a good man, a passionate and talented and caring human being.

The more time she had spent with him while recovering from her illness, the more she had come to enjoy his company. With a little encouragement and patience on her side, he had slowly opened up to her, offering her a glimpse into the life he had been leading before he met her, and with every bit of information she gleaned from him, she realized more fully how deeply attached she already felt to this man.

One thing was abundantly clear. While up until a few days ago she had not been able to name her feelings for Erik, she was now absolutely certain that what she was feeling was love. What she did not know was whether her feelings were reciprocated. The fact that he had tried to kiss her in the first place must mean that he at least felt attracted to her, she supposed, but was that all there was to it for him, or did he feel a deeper connection as well?

Yet did the answer really matter? Their arrangement was only ever meant to be temporary, and now that her father was healthy again, they would soon have to move on and she might never see Erik again. The mere thought of leaving him pained her exceedingly, almost enough to make her wish the news of her father's recovery could have been delayed a little longer, but she immediately felt guilty for entertaining such a thought. Her father was the most important person in her life. Of course she was happy he was well again. That was what she must focus on for now, she told herself.

When Christine entered her father's room, she found him sitting upright in bed, looking much stronger than he had seemed in a long time. His face, which had recovered its usual healthy colour, lit up as he saw her, and he opened his arms wide, gesturing for her to come closer so he could embrace her.

"My darling Christine, I am so happy to see you," he whispered, and she held on a little tighter, letting him know that she had missed him too.

He pulled back to take a good look at her. "Are you feeling better? I received word that you were unwell. Were you looked after properly?"

"You needn't worry, papa," she smiled reassuringly, sinking down next to him on the bed, "I am quite alright now. And yes, I received the best care I could have asked for." She thought it best not to mention that it was Erik himself who had provided that care, and that she had been alone with him in her bedroom for hours on end over the past week.

"Good, I'm glad to hear that," he said, patting her hand affectionately. "Well then, since we are both recovered, I suppose it is time for us to leave. How soon can you collect your things so we can travel on, do you think?"

Christine looked down at her hands, fiddling with the fabric of her skirt, a frown etched across her face. This was exactly what she had been afraid of: that her father, stubborn as he was, would refuse to see how badly this could have ended and would want to go on just as before, pretending nothing had gone wrong.

"Papa, do you really think it is wise to start travelling again so soon?"

"Of course I do, why should we not?" he asked in return, still unaware of the worries that had been plaguing her for several weeks now.

Christine let out a heavy sigh, then remained silent for a while, trying to think of a way to properly explain her feelings to her father. Finally she looked up at him.

"Do you never grow tired of it, papa? Have you never wished we could settle down, make a home for ourselves somewhere, like what we had in Sweden when mama was still alive?"

She saw a brief flicker of hurt in his eyes at her question. If it made her seem ungrateful, that was not her intention. She knew it must have been difficult for him to be a single parent, travelling around an unfamiliar country with a little daughter, living from day to day, never able to offer her a home or a steady life like other children of her age had. He had done a wonderful job despite all those hardships.

Christine truly could not have wished for a more loving father, and even though she had been on the road for most of her life, she never felt like she had missed out on anything. But her father was not a young man anymore, and she was no longer a little girl. She longed for some stability. The certainty of having a roof over her head and food on the table. The possibility of forming acquaintances and friendships that lasted longer than the few days or weeks they would stay in one place. Maybe even the chance to start a family of her own someday.

"Yes, I have wished for that, of course I have," her father replied, looking at her with a mixture of grief and guilt in his eyes, "and I sincerely regret that I have failed to provide that for you, but Christine, you know as well as I do that we do not have the means to settle down. I am afraid we do not have any other choice but to continue travelling."

"But what if we did?" Christine argued. "What if we travelled on to Paris, as we had originally planned, but instead of making it a temporary stop, we could stay there permanently? I could audition at the Opera House there. Erik showed me a drawing of it once. It's a beautiful building, I'm sure you would love it. He told me it has an excellent reputation, and he believes that with the way his singing lessons have improved my voice, I now have all the qualities to become a prima donna there. And maybe you could audition for a place in the orchestra, and then we could go to work together!"

She could not help getting carried away a little by her imagined future. It would still mean having to say goodbye to Erik, but from the images he had shown her, Paris really seemed like a beautiful place, and performing in an opera house sounded lovely, especially if she could share it with her father. Maybe she could even convince Erik to come and watch her perform someday.

"It certainly sounds like a lovely little fantasy, Christine," her father said, taking her hands in his like he had often done when she was still a child and he had to convey some bad news to her, trying to soften the blow with the physical contact. "But surely a famous opera house like the one in Paris already has the best violinists. Besides, even if you auditioned and did well enough to earn yourself a spot, which I am confident you would, I'm afraid your lack of experience would discourage the people in charge from giving you any leading roles from the start. You would have to prove yourself, work your way up to a role as prima donna, and whatever you would earn in the chorus would not be enough to support the both of us. More than that, my child, it is not your task to support me. It is mine to look after you."

The conversation was not at all going the way Christine had hoped it would. She pulled her hands from her father's grasp, stood up and started pacing the floor of the small hospital room, hoping the movement would help to calm her mounting anxiety.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm not a child anymore, papa. I am more than capable of earning some money of my own to help support us, and I don't mind that, I never have, you know that. And we cannot keep travelling forever. Don't you think that your falling ill has been a warning that we need to slow down? I do not mean to offend you, but you are not getting any younger. If you fall ill like this again while we are on the road, who knows if anyone might be around to save us a second time?"

"Christine, my darling, I understand your concerns, but there simply is no other way. You have trusted me to make this kind of decision and take care of you for many years now. Have I ever failed you?"

She stopped her pacing and sank down in a chair opposite the bed, defeated.

"No, of course not."

"Well, then keep trusting me. I promise you it will all turn out just fine, as long as we stick together."

Christine did not feel anywhere near as confident about that as her father seemed to, but what else could she do but listen to him and do as he asked? He was still her father, after all.

As she left the room a short while later, even more anxious than she had been when she arrived, and turned right toward the exit, she ran headlong into Raoul, who had apparently been standing right behind the door.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she exclaimed, taking a few steps back. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

Raoul shook his head. "Please, no need to apologize. It was my fault."

When Christine looked up at him, she noticed the frown on his face, an expression she was not used to seeing from him.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, quite," Raoul replied, then after a brief pause added, "Well, I was actually hoping I could talk to you. Somewhere a bit more private, maybe?"

"Of course," Christine smiled politely. "I believe I have some time left before I need to leave."

She let Raoul lead her through a few unfamiliar hallways until they were suddenly outside, in a small courtyard. Christine inhaled deeply, glad of the fresh air. After her talk with her father, the hospital halls had suddenly felt rather stifling.

There was a convalescing patient, accompanied by a nurse, taking a walk, but otherwise the courtyard was deserted. The place was peaceful and quiet, exactly what Christine needed in that moment. They sat down on one of the stone benches.

Raoul kept fidgeting and shuffling back and forth on the bench. Whatever he wanted to talk to her about, it clearly made him nervous.

"I did not mean to eavesdrop," he began hesitantly, "but I passed by your father's room on my way to see a patient, and as the door was open I could not help but overhear part of your conversation about your worries for the future. And well, although I am aware it is none of my concern, I think I might be able to offer you a solution."

"Oh, by all means then, please share it with me," Christine sighed. "I could really use a solution."

"You could marry me," he said.

Christine was stunned into silence. That was certainly not what she had been expecting.

"I beg your pardon?" she finally managed to utter.

"I know this might come as quite a surprise, but please let me explain." Raoul gently took hold of her hands, in much the same way as her father had done only moments ago. He carefully watched her face for any sign of rejection, but when he found none, he took that as encouragement to continue.

"I come from a rather wealthy family. Soon my training here will be complete, and I hope to establish my own practice as a physician here in town. I can offer you a comfortable home, Christine, I can provide for both you and your father. And I am aware that you do not love me and that if you were to accept, your motives for doing so would be mainly of a financial nature, but that does not matter to me. I would be honoured to call you my wife regardless. In the short time we have known each other, I have come to care for you, Christine, and maybe in time, you could grow to care for me, too."

Moved by his speech and by the genuine loving expression on his face, she softly squeezed his hands. She was sure she could care for him. In fact, she already did, even if it was not quite in the same way that he cared for her. But would that be enough?

"I do care about you, Raoul, I truly do," she told him. "You are a good man. Any woman would be lucky to call herself your wife. It's just… I don't really know what to say. I did not expect this."

"Of course, I understand this must come as quite a shock to you, and I do not expect you to give me your answer right away," Raoul assured her. "You can think about it for as long as you like."

"That is part of the problem, I'm afraid," she said with a sad smile. "I don't exactly have much time."

"Let me offer you my assistance in whatever way I can then. Even if you need more time to consider my proposal, you and your father are more than welcome to stay with me, as my guests, for as long as you need. Without any expectations or need for compensation on my part."

"That is extremely kind and generous of you, Raoul." As she slowly removed her hands from his tentative hold, his face fell in disappointment. Clearly he took it as a sign of her rejection, and she could hardly bear to see him like that. One thing was abundantly clear: his feelings for her were true, and if she accepted, he would surely do anything in his power to make her happy. Considering his proposal was the least she could do.

"I will talk to my father about your offer when I return tomorrow. As for your proposal, I cannot give you my answer at this moment, as I am sure you understand, but I promise I will think about it."

"That is all I ask." With a final heartfelt smile and a promise that he would see her tomorrow, Raoul stood up from the bench and left Christine to her thoughts.

As relieved as Raoul looked when he left at having been able to make his proposal and not having been rejected outright, so confused did Christine feel. If she had hoped that her visit to the hospital would give her some peace of mind, she was sorely mistaken. She had even more to worry over now than she did on her way into town.

Raoul's proposal had been a surprise, surely, but not entirely an unpleasant one. He really was extraordinarily kind, he was from a good, wealthy family, and he had promised to look after not only her, but her father as well. For a girl with no prospects and no place to call home, a man like Raoul was an excellent match. She was well aware of her luck in receiving a proposal from someone like him, and she could not deny that accepting it would solve all of her problems. Well, all except one.

Could she marry a man she did not love? More importantly, could she marry anyone at all when her heart already belonged to another?

Yet if Erik did not return her feelings the way she hoped he did, would it not be foolish of her to refuse a perfectly nice and acceptable man like Raoul, who genuinely cared for her?

Her head was pounding with so many questions, and she was not closer to finding an answer to any of them by the time the carriage pulled to a stop in front of Erik's home. One thing she was sure of: the one question that needed answering before she could even begin to think about any of the others was how Erik felt about her, and the only way to know the answer for certain was to ask him.

So yes, she was resolved to tell him of her feelings, but that did not mean she was not nervous about Erik's reaction. After all, except for the almost kiss, he had not given her any indication that he might return her feelings.

To avoid confronting him for just a little longer, she decided to deal with another unpleasant task first. She went up to her room to start packing her belongings. Whatever the result of her conversation with Erik, she had promised her father that she would return to the hospital to fetch him the next morning. If only she knew where they would go from there.

She gathered the few belongings she had arrived with, leaving out only her nightdress and whatever she would need to get ready tomorrow morning. When she came upon the dress which Erik had gifted her for her birthday, she hesitated. If she started travelling with her father again, there was no use in taking the dress with her. Maybe if she decided to marry Raoul, she might have opportunity to wear it again. He might expect her to accompany him to a ball or a party once in a while. But somehow she could not see herself wearing the dress again for anything or anyone, except for Erik. She ended up putting the dress back into the box it had arrived in and left it on the bed for now.

Once she was finished collecting her belongings, she went downstairs in search of Erik. Strangely enough, he was nowhere to be found. He did not show up for dinner, nor did she find him in the music room or in his study. She even knocked on the door of his private room – the only place in the house she had never dared enter – but there came no reply. Disappointed and quite worried at his sudden disappearance, she retired to her room, hoping he would turn up again in the morning. She could not possibly leave without at least seeing him one last time.

She barely slept a wink that night, a fact which became painfully obvious as she gazed into the mirror the next morning. She looked as tired as she felt, her face pale, the dark circles under her eyes a clear indication of her restless night.

Erik was not there for breakfast either, and her anxiety over his unexplained absence paired with her fatigue made her feel like she might burst into tears at any moment. Finally, when her baggage had been brought down and loaded into the waiting carriage, and she stood in the large entrance hall to take one last look at what she was leaving behind, Erik suddenly appeared next to her, seemingly out of nowhere.

She gasped in surprise and took an instinctive step backwards.

"Erik! I've been looking for you since last night."

"I was… busy," he replied evasively, then quickly changed the subject. "I see you are all set to leave already?"

"Yes, my father is eager to get out of the hospital as soon as possible."

"Yes, of course. You must be anxious to reclaim your freedom as well."

How could she begin to explain that she did not consider leaving this place, leaving him, as freedom at all? How could she tell him that what she wanted more than anything was to stay here with him?

She was still searching for the right words when Erik continued.

"May I inquire about your plans for the immediate future?"

His cool formality confused her. He sounded as if he were talking to a stranger rather than the woman he had tried to kiss only yesterday.

"I'm not entirely sure yet," she admitted. "If it were up to me, we would start looking for a place to make our permanent home, but my father insists that we do not have the means to do so. I suppose he is right."

"Well, I am sure the two of you will manage to find a solution that suits you both."

His cold and distant behaviour angered her. He spoke to her in the same way as he had done in the very beginning, as if the past few months had not happened at all. Did he not care about where she went from here? Did he no longer consider her as his concern now that their arrangement was at an end? Had she misjudged him so badly?

Desperate for a glimpse of what he was really thinking and feeling, Christine decided to try a different approach.

"Actually, we might have already found a perfectly acceptable solution to our problems. Doctor De Chagny's younger brother proposed to me yesterday."

At last, that statement seemed to elicit a reaction. She saw a flicker of hurt, maybe even betrayal, cross his features, although he quickly schooled his face into its previous neutral expression again.

"I see. And did you accept his proposal?" he asked quietly.

"Not yet, but I'm considering it," she replied honestly, hoping that Erik would try to dissuade her, that he would finally confess his own feelings for her and ask her not to marry Raoul.

After a brief pause, Erik straightened his posture, clasping his hands behind his back, and cleared his throat before speaking in a steady tone, showing no emotion whatsoever.

"If you do decide to accept, I wish you both all the happiness. I am sure he will make you a fine husband."

"I'm sure he will," she agreed, trying very hard not to let her own hurt feelings show.

Before she could say anything more, he handed her a small yet heavy leather purse.

"What is this?" she asked. She could guess its contents quite well – she could hear the coins clinking within – but she did not understand why he would be handing her money.

"It is your payment, of course. It is customary for an employer to pay his members of staff at the end of their contract, is it not?"

"But this is not what we agreed on. Your taking care of my father's medical bills was supposed to be my payment."

"Well, see it as a an expression of gratitude then. A further reward for a job well done."

Is that what he thought this was? A job well done? All the singing lessons, the temper tantrums, the night in the west wing, all the time they spent together, their almost kiss, did he seriously believe it was all part of their contract? Had she been nothing more than a mere business transaction to him all this time?

Well then. If that was what he thought of her, there was nothing left for her here.

"Of course. Thank you, Monsieur. It was a pleasure doing business with you," she said with a tight smile, before turning around and walking through the door. She did not say goodbye and she did not look back as she stepped into the carriage. She did not want him to see the pain in her eyes. Only when the carriage drove off through the gate, taking her off his estate and out of his life for good, did she let the tears fall.