Ange

It was a large brick house, two stories, with a gothic format to it. Rounded small towers, and a tiny stone path leading up to the magnanimous French doors. Truly it seemed a type of house for a well-to-do aristocrat. Christine's breath caught in her throat, this was where she was to spend her time? The ends of her days with this…man. A small smile reached her plump lips, could she mange happiness with someone she hardly knew? It was humorous how life played these jokes on the bewildered occupants.

Erik watched her curiously, a smirk playing upon the corner of his mouth. "I needed another home, in case of such an emergency," he explained flatly. "And I would not worry about the police following us here. The path I just took you through was a labyrinth," he added arrogantly, placing his hand at the small of her back, her ushered her into house.

She had not slept and it was evident. Her large eyes harbored dark areas, lips a pale pink with exhaustion. She sat in what she gathered was the drawing room. A fainting couch was positioned to the lofty windows with massive scarlet drapes drawn back to allow the sunlight to enter the dark room. She sat upon it, still wrapped in Erik's coat, chilled with the morning air.

Glancing at the paintings hanging on the wood paneled walls, she noticed the consistency with their theme. All beautiful, vivid and lush landscapes a longing for something Erik desperately wanted. Beauty.

"You did not sleep well last night," his deep masculine voice stated, shivers erupting down her spine. Stiffening she turned to her left, watching him incredulously. He had changed from his Don Juan attire and stood before her elegantly. A suite with a green scarf tucked into his vest, his mask was in place still, a habit perhaps.

"Yes, it was difficult," she admitted woefully tarring her gaze from his hazel eyes.

"I am going to the market in Rouen,"

"Pardon?" Christine asked honestly. People were looking for him all over Paris; Rouen was only a few miles away how could he be certain as not to be caught?

"Rouen," he said again "I am buying food and more proper attire for you,"

"Are you sure that is a good idea? There are police scourging Paris, looking for you and perhaps now for me. Rouen is still near, the authorities must have notified other branches."

Sighing irritably Erik looked at her with a harsher gaze. "They do not know what town I have departed to, nor if I am even still in Paris. I should find nothing to worry over," Turning his back to her, he ended the discussion. "You may come if you like," he offered craning a glance back at her.

Considering this, she stood her bare feet freezing at the touch of the marble floor. "I am not sure. I am worried someone would recognize me, and besides I have nothing to wear besides this," she replied dryly, lifting his coat from her shoulders and revealing the laced wedding dress.

"Then I will be returning in a few hours," he relayed quietly, pivoting back to her, almost hesitant to leave.

Christine smiled faintly, walking closer she stopped in front of him, uncertainly, reaching on tiptoes, she kissed him gently. "I will be here when you return," she assured him, obediently. "I will not flee from you,"

A grin pulled at his taut lips, bowing his head so as to hide the satisfaction written across his face, he planted a kiss upon her brow. "Thank you," Turning to leave, he glanced at her one more time, his footfalls padding down the long hallway to the front door, closing and locking it behind him.

Humming softly to herself, Christine pulled back her wild curls, and admired herself in front of the large mirror. Erik had yet to return, but she knew he would come back, sooner or later. She had found some old cloth lying around the house in a closet near the back. Christine had succeeded in dusting the second story rooms and rearranging the furniture that was light enough for her to carry.

Now she stood in her room, loveliest of all. A satin comforter, mahogany chests and wardrobes, Erik was quite the decorator. Yet even as she stood there, a pang of guilt ran through her blood. Raoul had been purged from her mind for the past few hours, and she felt horrible for it. True he had not passed but she felt it proper to mourn for him, his life, and her choice.

"You look fretful,"

Surprised she whirled around quickly, dropping her bundle of curls, and meeting the gaze of the tall man. "Erik," she sighed in relief, "you frightened me,"

"I noticed that you have been busy," he muttered with an amused face, observing as the rosy blush spread across her cheeks.

"Did anyone recognize you?" she asked worriedly, changing the aspiring mood.

Erik moaned in the back of his throat. "You are so persistent,"

"Well? Would you rather me not care of your errands? People are bound to notice a new occupant in their small little town," Christine quipped thoughtfully, stepping back when she saw a flicker of anger flash across his eyes.

"No, I actually met someone who runs the bakery, a charming elderly man who cannot see three feet in front of him. It is a wonder he bakes such wonderful croissants,"

A wry smile reached her lips, so the man could joke. "It is nice to know that you now have someone to talk to who has as much in common as you," she replied hotly, folding her arms under her bosom and waiting for his response.

His triumphant gleam fizzled out, and he managed to let his jaw hang slightly agape. "At least I made an attempt to familiarize myself with the town,"

"Are you implying that I have no interest to socialize and make myself known to the public eye?" she questioned sardonically, still quite amazed that she was carrying such a pointless conversation with him.

"Exactly,"

Holding her tongue, so as not to continue the frivolous hurl of insults, she nodded her head, and sauntered to the opposite side of the room and opening the lofty wardrobe doors. "What did you return with?" Christine implored docilely.

When no reply was heard, Christine turned around quickly and let out a gasp. "My God!" she breathed heavily resting her hand on her chest, frowning slightly at Erik who stood only a few inches in front of her.

Placing his gloved hands over her flushed cheeks, Erik held her gaze. "Why is it you decided to come with me?" he inquired leaning his head down and pressing his forehead against hers. The cool kiss of the leather mask rubbed her skin, burning it, but she did not push away.

"I love you," Christine said with a defining tone, of no question, and no uncertainty. "But it is you, who I am curious about. Do you reciprocate? Or is the only attraction the song of my voice?"

"No, of course not!" his hissed instantly, "I love you, since the day I first met you, through the months of teachings, and through you reuniting with the Vicomte de Changy!"

Her breath quickened, and stepped back, only to find the press of the half-opened wardrobe, a tear rolled down her cheek and she saw the pain in his eyes. Why am I crying? Truly, this is not a moment for sadness A profession of love! Is this guilt?

"No do not cry, I hate it when you cry!" he murmured desperately. "Did I cause this? Shall I leave?"

"Please do not leave," she answered, grabbing the collar of his overcoat and pulling herself closer to him. The knot in her stomach was still there, and for a moment the man in front of her was not Erik but a devastated Raoul. Pressing her moist face in to the contour of his neck, Christine held tight. Melting when his long, toned arms wrapped around her body.

"Never cry, I beg you not to cry. It hurts me; it pains your angel!" he muttered rapidly, trying to sooth her suddenly forlorn mood.

Do not ask such things of me. My heart is broken, and I can make no promises. Erik continued to ramble on, making wishes, and pledging his undying love. But it never entered her mind, she was aware of his hot breath tickling her neck, the caress of his hands up and down her back and the consciousness of her weeping heart.