A/N: Thanks again Modesty… I'm going to finally get around to setting up an alert for your story. I'm always intrigued by E/OC's

I still haven't decided which direction to take the whole relationship thing. It probably WON'T be RC… I know how the story will pan out in every other respect… not sure about the relationship yet.

There will be more dialogue soon between characters, I'm just trying to establish some history and characterisation.

I am not a Raoul 'basher' as it were and I put his character in a sympathetic light as well as I can… he isn't my favourite, obviously, but I don't quite hate him.

Chapter 7- The Victome

The morning sunlight oozed through the cracks in the drapes and lit Christine's sleeping face, highlighting her almost perfect cheek bones. Raoul let out a stream of warm air from his mouth and touched her hair, tucking it back behind her ear carefully. His eyes drifted over her form laying over the piano and he swallowed with the regret that he had been out all night again. He was sorry he had caused her to wait up for him again and didn't mean to leave her alone so much but there was trouble brewing and he needed to deal with it. Sometimes that kept him out late.

He ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair and kneaded his neck with impatience. He looked down at his own body and realised how dishevelled he looked, dirty almost. He glanced over at the mirror and an ogre glared back, tired eyes and a rough chin certainly did not suit his handsome frame. His clothes hung off him like he was a beggar in the old square which made him sick to his soul, how had he become this man?

He sat in the chair beside the piano and took in the surroundings, the beautiful instrument, the beautiful décor, his beautiful wife… and how he loved her. She had noticed his moods, as had the help, and he knew that soon he would have to tell her or stop. But he knew that he could not, nothing had ever been plain sailing with Christine. Not since the moment he met her.

He had met her so many years ago when they were both children, he a little older but they became friends in a peculiar way. The day he met her was cold and blustery and the wind had whipped her scarf from around her neck and sent it flying into the sea. There it lay being slowly carried further out and she began to cry at the sight of the item bobbing up and down in the waves. She had, at first, stepped out as if to follow it in and rescue it, but Raoul had been there and he waded in after it and finally, after much ado, had retrieved it for her.

He had loved her since that moment, he thought, but things altered when her father died and she was forced to move away. He had no idea where she had gone or who she had gone with, only that she was gone. His companion.

It was nearly ten years ago that he had found her again, by chance, when he entered a new business venture at the Opera Populaire.

She was singing like an angel in the middle of that huge stage, lungs full with voice and the power and passion that overwhelmed him. He barely recognised her at first, she had lost the puppy fat of her childhood and was the most perfect specimen a women could possibly be. She had seen him too and he was caught in the song, in her amazing voice, in her beauty. If only he had known that night that she was not singing for him.

Her sigh snapped him back to reality. The sun was oddly warm on his back and combined with his lack of sleep, it made him drowsy. He blinked and rubbed his eyes as Christine stirred and began to prop herself up on the piano top. He wondered if she had been playing all night and allowed himself a smile at the thought of her entertaining the servants, as she so often did when he was out. They were always so unhappy when he returned as her playing stopped, which was partly his fault.

'Good morning,' He said and stood to help her from the bench and into the chair. 'Were you in here all night again?' He asked.

'Is it morning already, Raoul?' She gasped as she searched frantically for her clock. 'What time is it?'

'It is shortly after nine, I didn't want to wake you. You looked so peaceful.' He said and kissed the top of her head protectively. 'So beautiful.'

She smiled, resting her head against his side and he slipped an arm over her gently.

'I have had Helen draw you a bath, it should be nearly ready now, darling.' He said and shot her a smile. 'I will change and you should bathe and then perhaps, we can take breakfast in the park? The weather is perfect, though cold. What do you say?'

She returned his smile with a ginger hesitation as her mind whirled to how she had ended up sleeping on the piano. How he had been gone for the entire night and had not even mentioned it this morning, let alone apologised. But perhaps he had had time to think about his behaviour, maybe breakfast was just what they both needed.

A/N: Short chapters are a thing I seem to do regularly… but I try to update quickly or two chapters at a time, so forgive me!

(02/02/05) Added some to this chapter…