Gia had not expected such tenderness from Erik at her admission. She had been oddly relieved when he took her in his arms and comforted her like a small child. No man had ever held her in such a manner, and for the first time she realized than Erik was a man of hidden depths. There was far more to him than his Phantom persona. Just as she used her icy mien to keep the world at a distance, he had used his arrogance and self-assurance to hide his compassion. The only difference was that his mask was physical and hers was ephemeral.

She should have been repulsed when he confessed to murdering Buquet, instead she felt only gratitude. Although he did not say how he killed the man, she was sure Erik had made him suffer. Gia was willing to risk eternal damnation for taking comfort in that most un-Christian thought. Burying her head against the silk of his cravat had been an unexpected pleasure. She had undoubtedly ruined it with her tears. For those moments he held her in his strong embrace, his voice gentle in her ear, Gia felt as though she had come home. That thought shook her to her very core. His song had soothed her into a deep sleep, and she did not wake until the next morning. She could almost swear that before he left her, he had placed a soft kiss on her mouth.

That could only have been the product of an overactive imagination.

In his lair, Erik wondered what the next step should be in his burgeoning relationship with Gianna Burnside. He had never expected to feel anything beyond his lust for her. She had moved him, and no one had done that to him in quite some time. He had taken pity on the orphaned Christine and taught her to sing because he saw how very alone she had been. Her father had promised her to send her an angel of music, and for a time, he was more than happy to fill that role.

It had only been as Christine had grown into maturity, and he noticed that there were curves where there had been once only angles that his thoughts shifted. He could still recall with clarity the moment he became aware he wanted to be more to her than a teacher. She had been singing, her voice rising ever higher almost effortlessly, her expression one of rapt wonder; and he had found himself intensely aroused. Initially he had been disgusted with himself, but looking at her again, he saw she was no longer the child she had been. Christine was a woman, and he had been sure that she would love him, despite the horror of his face.

Not for the first time he cursed the name of Raoul de Chagny, with his perfect face and golden blonde hair. Erik had to stifle a laugh the first time he laid eyes on him because the boy looked like a prince out of a fairy tale. He had been so certain that Christine would prefer the passions of a man to the inane babblings of a mere boy. Now he was aware that he should have taken him more seriously as a rival, particularly following the swordfight in the cemetery. He had underestimated the boy's abilities with a saber, and Erik had nearly paid for that mistake with his life. Only Christine had stayed the boy's hand. The boy had been prepared to take a life which spoke highly of him.

It had not been a lie when he told Gia that she was the only woman he fantasized about. His visions of a lithe brunette had been replaced with that of a curvier woman with unusual bronze hair. No longer were the eyes that looked up at him with heat dark but blue. Gia accused him of still loving Christine, and that was true. She would always hold a very special place in his heart, as she was the first person he had ever let get a glimpse of who he truly was. It had only been in the past few days that he had found his more libidinous thoughts toward her fading, morphing into a more chaste affection.

With her imminent arrival, Erik was unsure of how to handle himself. What he really wanted to do was have a talk with her. A civilized, adult discussion where he could assure her that she and her child had nothing to fear from him. He wanted to know what she had been doing the last two years, and be certain that she truly did love the vicomte de Chagny. If he had ever laid an unkind hand on her, he would kill him. He might do it irregardless. He and Christine had parted on such terrible terms, with him nearly forcing her into marriage by threatening to murder Raoul in front of her, and then breaking down when she kissed him. That boy had ruined everything!

But that had not been the worst moment. Those minutes when she returned to him, wordlessly handing him the engagement ring had at one time almost broken his sanity permanently. Unable to speak, he had keened, "Christine, I love you," in the vain hope she would leap into his arms. But she left, glancing back at him occasionally as she sang of sharing a lifetime of love with another man who by all rights should be dead. It had been his weakness that cost him the love of his life. For that reason he would always loathe Raoul de Chagny with all the intensity of his love for Christine.

His thoughts turned to Gianna Burnside, a woman who pain ran as deep as his own. They both saw themselves as outcasts of society, although he mused, she had no need to be. Her only defect was invisible, and his was obvious to anyone he met. He did recall that during his travels occasionally people would stare at his mask, but when his coin crossed their palm they often seemed to forget it was there. He could not however. His mask was as much a part of him as his right arm, and without it he could not function, in society or otherwise.

What were his feelings for Gianna? It could not be love, they had only just met. There was lust of course, and a deep seated emotion he could only call pity, but somehow it felt like more than that. He had dreamt of finding release in her arms again last night, but this time, instead of the dream ending at the moment they both reached their peak, they had lain together, enjoying the post-coital silence. He had pulled her large frame against him, and they fit together like spoons in a drawer, his right arm thrown over her hip, their legs and feet a jumble, his head buried against her neck.

Erik shook his head. However he might wish of obtaining that closeness with her, it would not happen given her present state of mind. He was willing to give her time. He would show her kindness and solicitation; letting her take the lead, and make the decisions. He did not relish being in the subservient role, but if she could come to trust him, then perhaps nature would take its course. He did not want to dwell on what would happen if she rejected him.

Striding over to his organ, he began to play, pausing intermittently to record the notes for posterity. God, he was as delusional as her! She dreamed of dancing before an audience, and his fondest wish to have his works performed before the public. Both knew it was unlikely to pass, but they were unable or unwilling to do so, perhaps out of sheer stubbornness. They made a fine pair, clinging to their hopes.

The very word "clinging" conjured images that he was hesitant to push aside. However, he did want to get some work done before their scheduled meeting.

The next week of meetings passed generally without incident. Rehearsals were going well and Gia and Erik were on their best behavior whenever they met, and endeavored to keep a respectable distance at all times. Gia even found herself enjoying his company, and looking forward to discussing the intricacies of the production also known as the "Masonic Opera". There were occasions when they slipped, their hands brushing, or holding a gaze far longer than was seemly. During that time, Gia showed Erik all the nooks and crannies of the old opera house, and shared with him the secrets of its divas past and present. In return he had shared stories of the Populaire, and the tricks he had played on its residents over the years. She had let out a musical laugh when he recounted all the times he had released backdrops onto the insufferable La Carlotta, hoping that she would get the message and quit the place.

It was in the upper attics that they came the closest to an indiscretion. She had been showing him where many of the old props and sets were stored, many from a long ago production of Aida where she had played a slave girl in the corps de ballet. Without thinking, he blurted out, "I'm sure you looked most fetching in your costume," and he gestured toward the truck where they were neatly packed in mothballs. On a lark, Gia dug through the trunk to see if it was there. Near the bottom she found the transparent violet skirt and matching bodice, both trimmed with silver piping, and she held them up.

"Leaves little to the imagination, doesn't it? Mama had a conniption when she saw me in it for the first time. I was too young to understand what made her so angry. At the time, I was thrilled to wear something that would allow such freedom of movement, and simultaneously irked her," she said with a small smile, remembering the days when she had been so carefree. "That was before--" and there she stopped knowing there was no need to complete the sentence.

Seized with desire at the thought of her in such an outfit, he had come up to her and purred in her ear, "Put it on."

She gave him a sharp look, but instead of an instant reprimand she joked, "If only there was somewhere to change! Alas, there is not, and you Erik, shall have to be satisfied with using that imagination of yours."

With that she set the garments back in the trunk, and Erik found himself stunned into silence at her sudden burst of humor and wit. He could picture her all too well, her hair loose, her curved arms and legs bare with only the flimsy fabric to cover them, whirling across the stage, her only thoughts on the performance. She must have been a wondrous sight, all white skin and innocence. Today, in that manner of costume, she would have been the stuff of his darkest fantasies, and inwardly he was relieved that she had brushed off his suggestion so easily. But he would not let it molder in this musty attic. The next day while Gia had been rehearsing he had returned and brought it down to his home.

He had brought her back there on a couple of occasions, still insisting she don the mask for each trip. He had shown her his music, and she gave him her brutally honest assessment of it. She said it was ahead of its time and would probably not be very successful, but she encouraged him to keep writing because she loved to listen to it. It was a welcome change of pace from the lightness of Mozart.

Erik had found himself tempted to show her Don Juan Triumphant, but its failure was still a sore point. He wondered if the reason why she did not ask about it was out of concern for his feelings, or because she assumed that the score had been destroyed. He kept the lone remaining copy in his desk drawer. Their uneasy relationship had become something resembling friendship, but he could tell that she was still gripped with fear that he would one day turn on her. He had seen it in her eyes every night when he brought her back to her room. They pleaded with him to release her, but Erik was not about to let go until she admitted the depth of her feelings toward him.

Gia had avoided Madame Giry as much as possible, knowing that she would be anxious to learn what Gia had told Erik of her past. But on Saturday a knock came on her door, and she found Madame Giry standing there with a letter in her hands. A quick glance told her the letter did not come from Erik as the stationary was pale blue and sealed with a black wax "C". It was most likely more news from Christine. Gia hated to think what ill news it must be for the ballet mistress to come.

"You look well, my child," she said as she stepped into the room. "Far better than the last time I saw you. Has he been visiting you?"

"Erik has been a frequent visitor," she paused, allowing the fact that she knew his name to sink in before she continued. "We have come to an understanding."

The corner of Giry's mouth twitched into a half smirk, "Quite so. I had noticed that this week you have looked more at ease. Is he making you happy?"

"I do not like the tenor of that question Madame Giry. We are friendly, nothing more." Gia did not want her privy to all that had passed in the last week. She did not want Giry to think that she thought of Erik as anything more than a friend. He had been so cordial and kind, and at times, even funny. There had only been that time in the attic that she had felt the heat of his breath on her that she had been concerned he would touch her again. She had skillfully parried his forceful thrust that she put on the old costume with humor, and that had appeared to deflate him. But now was not the time to revel in her memories.

"Madame Giry, what brings you here? Have you some news from the vicomtess that you wish me pass on to Erik?"

"Actually my dear, I have some exciting news for you. I wrote to Christine telling her all about my new life here, and I mentioned you to her. She has extended an invitation to you to join us for dinner following the gala. I came here to tell you."

Gia immediately became furious. What had this woman been telling Christine? Had she revealed that Erik was still alive and pining for her? She could not suppress her angry outburst, "What have you told her about me? You promised me that you would not reveal my confidences!"

Giry had expected that Gia would not be pleased, but she was hopeful that she could get her to agree to attend. She needed to get away from this place, if for only an evening. "Gia, I only told Christine that you were a chorus girl much like herself who had grown up at the Metropolitan. That was enough to spark her interest. She wants to meet you."

Taken more than slightly aback, Gia responded quizzically, "A vicomtess wants to make my acquaintance? I am both flattered and more than a bit astounded. However, you shall have to inform her that I am unable to attend," she finished firmly.

"Why? I assure you, Christine and her husband are not as snobbish as most opera patrons. She is of most humble origins, and has never forgotten it. I thought you would enjoy a nice meal and some conversation with someone closer to your own age."

"I am at least six years older than her. She is not my peer," she returned coldly, all too well knowing that age difference was closer to eight years.

"I was referring to her husband. You must be of an age. He is a most amiable gentleman. But you have still not explained to me the reason behind your refusal," Giry demanded.

"You will find it a most ridiculously female one. I have nothing appropriate to wear, and no funds with which to afford a new dress."

"Christine will understand. I am certain you will have something appropriate in here." Madame Giry went over to the wardrobe and opened it to find a row of black dresses in various weights and fabrics as would be appropriate for the seasons. There was a black taffeta that would do even it was unfashionable. She took it out and said, "This will do."

"Nonetheless, you will tell Christine that I shall not be present. If you wish, tell her I was too embarrassed by my circumstances, but I thank her for thinking of me."

"If that is what you wish, Gia," she stated as she returned the dress to the rack. As she did so, Madame Giry could swear she heard the sound of something on the other side of the wardrobe. So, that was how Erik was visiting her! If he had overheard their conversation, he might insist that Gia go. Keeping her fingers crossed in mind, if not in reality, she bid Gia a hasty farewell.

As soon as the door closed behind her with a click, Erik came bounding out of the wardrobe, his eyes flashing green.

"You will go to that dinner."

"Erik, I will not. It would be most uncomfortable for me."

"Do you think I care if spending a couple hours with Christine makes you uncomfortable?" he rejoined. "I do not want you to enjoy yourself, I want you to observe her and that boy husband of hers."

Gia should have known. His kindness to her had only been to lull her into a false sense of security. Once again he was the masterful and overbearing figure he had originally presented himself as. Why could he not be the man who had made her feel so secure in his embrace and made her laugh so often during the week? "As I said Erik, I have nothing to wear, and I cannot afford to get anything new."

"Then I shall write to Dupoix and inform him to give you an advance. Or a raise if you like."

"No, Dupoix already has the added expense of you at the moment. Besides, he will get suspicious if you make any demands on my behalf," hoping that this explanation would placate him.

She was correct. Dupoix would wonder why he was insisting a chorus girl be paid more than she was worth. "Fine then, I will give you the money. But only on the condition you dress like a woman. Nothing black, and something that displays some of your assets," he added as he leered at her chest. "But still tasteful mind you."

"I do not want your charity! It is only a kind word for pity. But if you insist, I shall tell Madame Giry I have changed my mind. I will wear the black taffeta," she sighed. "And stop looking at me that way! You have been so well behaved of late. I had begun to think you did possess some semblance of manners. You disappoint me, Erik."

Pleased he was able to change her mind, he ceased his ogling, and took a seat in her chair. "Excellent. Things seem to be progressing quite well on The Magic Flute. I heard you singing Papagena today. Is that silly cow Adrienne ill?"

"No. Reyer just wanted to be sure in the event she is, I am prepared. I almost wish she was, at least dressed as a peasant I won't look foolish. Wait until you see dress rehearsals! I look ridiculous!"

He smiled at her, "I don't know about that. I had thought you would look rather like an angel in those wings. What ever is so ridiculous about it?"

"Clearly, you did not look at the entire costume! I do not believe most angels display such a great amount of décolletage. I told the seamstress I look indecent."

"Indecent, you say?" He got up out of the chair and began to trail his gloved hands along the top of her breasts, uncannily at the level of the bodice of the costume. "Who do you think demanded she lower the neckline?"

Gia playfully slapped his hands away, trying to ignore that his light touch made her chest and nipples tighten. "You beast, everyone is going to laugh!"

"I assure you Gia, the last thing they are going to do is laugh. If anything, I shall have to keep a close eye on you. Some man is sure to notice you, and I would hate to see him press his advantage over me."

"Erik, you know I'm not going to be interested in anyone."

"That does not mean men will not notice you."

"Then tell Madame Beaulieu to change the neckline again!" she said, exasperated with him.

He had sent a note to the wardrobe mistress demanding changes be made to the attendants costumes not long after coming across her old slave girl costume. He wanted to remind her that she was still a desirable woman. The costume had only been the start. She may have refused him when he suggested having a gown made, but now he was determined to see her in something more appropriate for her figure. He would pay a visit to a couturier tomorrow.

"Perhaps it pleases me to see you dressed that way," he finished as he made his way to the wardrobe. "Make no mistake Gia, I still want you."