A/N: I have done my best to present an accurate representation of The Magic Flute in this chapter, but there may be some mistakes, so please forgive me. As always, thanks for the kind reviews. You guys keep me going when I get frustrated with myself.

Gia had slept fitfully that night, her dreams filled with vision of Erik and Christine. She both feared and yearned to meet the woman who had captured his heart so thoroughly. Did she harbor similar feelings for him? Did she regret her ultimate decision to leave Erik and marry the young vicomte? What was Gia's greatest worry was what her own reaction would be if the answer to either of those questions was yes.

She already envied the woman for her talent and fashionable good looks without even meeting her. Now she would be forced to endure at least two hours of conversation with her and her handsome husband in the presence of Madame Giry and her daughter Meg. They would all be dressed in their finest feathers, and Gia would sit there garbed in an ugly black taffeta gown she had not worn since her mother's funeral. The girls would snicker about her clothes, and the vicomte would be bored to tears with her. If Gia was fortunate, they would all simply ignore her, which would only make her task of observation and recollection all the easier.

Undoubtedly Christine would prattle about her child, something else that brought out the green-eyed monster within Gia's female soul and the husband would look adoringly into her eyes. And the Giry family would bill and coo over them both. It was enough to make her nauseous. Jealousy was gnawing at her inside out, and she knew it. Christine was living the fairy tale existence that Gia has once foreseen for herself.

She should have accepted Erik's offer of a new gown. At least then she would not embarrass herself in front of the vicomtess. But no, she was too proud to take his charity, his pity! Damn her and her foolish conceit! Gianna could not even recall the last time she had indulged in a new gown. As it was, she was forever taking the dresses she did own to a discrete tailor where he would make the necessary repairs. The last time she had come in with her summer dress he had warned her that the fabric was growing too thin for any further work.

The sun was pouring through her small window, signaling that she had slept far later than usual. She quickly got out of bed, and began performing her morning ablutions. As she dried her face with a small towel, she looked at her face in the mirror, staring, trying to will her face to change. If she concentrated hard, her nose no longer turned up at the end, and her face and neck were slimmer. She critically noted her mouth was a shade too small and her forehead too high. Instead of the messy curls, they should fall in uniform undulating waves around her shoulders, or better still, her hair her could be flat and even. Gia then focused in on the rest of her body, and failed to see anything that Erik might find attractive. Everything about her was too big. What he wanted was a warm body to replace the one he had lost, and hers was the most available to him.

Her hands drifted down to her hips, and then she found herself slipping them under her nightgown, inching them toward her center. As her digits made contact with the hair at the apex of her thighs, she yanked her hands away, disgusted that she would even consider doing something expressly forbidden by God. However, she had never felt a need like this so acutely. Erik had awakened the sleeping giant of her passion and she feared that she would be unable to resist him much longer. If at that moment it were possible to turn time backwards she would have, if only to escape the waking nightmare her life had become.

In fact, Gia was so absorbed in her systematic self-destruction that she did not notice that Erik had left her a note on her end table. She was about to leave for Madame Giry's room when she noticed it resting neatly under her mother's rosary beads. She tore it open and in her haste, she ripped the envelope. The note on the card tersely reminded her to speak to Madame Giry at her earliest convenience and that since dress rehearsals would be starting he would not call on her again until just before the opening of The Magic Flute unless there were any unforeseen difficulties. With the reassurance that Erik would be one less distraction, relief coursed through her. She could not relax entirely knowing that his watchful gaze would be on her during final rehearsals.

On her way to the ballet dormitories, she encountered Meg Giry and her mother who had been on their way to her room. Meg gaily laughed at the coincidence, then implored, "Mlle. Burnside, Maman and I were coming to try to convince you to come to dinner with us. Please, won't you come? It shall be such a jolly time. Christine and Raoul will be great fun."

It was hard to be stern around the young ballerina, and Gia said, "Then it should please you that I was coming to tell you that I had reconsidered. I was dreadfully rash last evening with your mother, most likely because I have not been sleeping well. I only hope that I am not too late."

"No, my child, you are not. In anticipation of your reversal I wrote this letter to the de Chagnys informing them we would, in fact be a party of five," the ballet mistress answered, brandishing her own note.

"You were certain I would change my mind?"

"Let us say, before I left last evening I had an excellent inkling as I left you might alter your perspective a bit after a good night's rest, " she said with a quick wink.

By God, the crafty woman had heard Erik in the wardrobe, and had deduced that he would require her attendance! She continued, "We are both looking forward to spending some time with you outside these walls. It shall be a most illuminating evening, I hope."

"As do I." On that note, both women withdrew, and Gia retuned to her chamber to spend most of the day ruminating on how to conduct herself for this dreaded repast.

The modiste's shop that Erik sought to patronize was far enough distance away from the Metropolitan that he waved down a hack a few blocks from the opera house. He had been here on several occasions before when he had been agonizing over the details of a wedding dress for Christine. Madame Collette was the proprietress of one of the most fashionable houses in Paris, and Erik was determined that she be responsible for Gianna's new gown. The carriage came to a sudden halt, and Erik paid the cabby without a word, shielding the right side of his face as much as possible as he alighted from the vehicle.

As he entered the dressmaker's establishment, he found the bright lamps jarring, and almost painful to his eyes. He winced slightly, the frowned when one of Madame Collette's assistants greeted him cheerily, "Good morning, monsieur. Welcome to Madame Collette's! How may I be of assistance?"

Eager to wipe the smile of her face, he snapped, "You can best be of help by fetching me your mistress immediately! I will not deal with anyone of your sort. Tell her Monsieur Erik is here, nothing more."

Startled and more than a bit alarmed at this masked gentleman, she hurried off without a word. A moment later a short plump woman with iron gray hair and hazel eyes emerged and greeted him warmly, "Monsieur Erik, it had been far too long! Please tell me you have come to place an order for your lovely bride. Am I to finally meet the woman I spent months sewing one dress for?"

"No Collette. Not today," he said attempting to keep his voice light. "However I am here to place an order that only you can fill. I need an exquisite dinner dress, and it must be completed before the week is out."

Instantly, the old woman's smile faded and her gaze narrowed. "Impossible. I have too many previous orders to fill."

"Nothing is impossible with the proper financial incentive," he returned smoothly.

"It will cost you," she paused, giving him the opportunity to withdraw. He gave a short nod indicating he was prepared to meet whatever she would charge him, and she continued, "Then come with me, and I shall show you the plates."

Erik took her arm, and together they went into her private salon where they could hold their conversation in private. She took a seat behind an elegant Louis XV secretaire, and began rifling through some drawers looking for the notes she had made on his previous commission. He sensed what she was doing, and he stopped her.

"Collette this gown is not for the same woman. Those measurements will do you no good."

Madame Collette gave no outward appearance of surprise. He would not be the first man whose wife and mistress wore her creations. But she would have thought that a man who had been so intimately involved in the process of creating a wedding dress would not be straying to other women so quickly. It was not her place to question him. Sometimes the happiest of matches often turned sour. Drawing out a pen and a sheet of paper, she turned to Erik and indicated that she was prepared to begin taking down the information.

Erik briskly gave the woman all necessary numbers which he had gleaned from examining Gia's dresses and shoes. As was her custom, she began quizzing her patron about the lady in question so she might have a better idea of what would best suit her. The measurements indicated a tall woman with wide hips and an impressive carriage. She would draw attention to the bosom to keep the focus away from the waist. With the correct corset, she would give the woman the hour-glass shape that was desired.

"Monsieur, how old is this woman? One dresses a mother and a mistress in entirely different ways," she inquired hoping to learn the identity of the person he was buying a dress for.

"She is in her middle twenties. And before you ask, she is not my wife or my mistress."

"A friend then? Men do not usually come to me to dress their friends. In fact, I cannot think of one man who has a female friend," she shrugged.

Erik would not discuss the subject any further, but over the course of a half hour together, they settled on an appropriate design. As down payment he gave Madame Collette a single 100 franc note, and he promised to return on Thursday for the complete order.

The first full dress rehearsal of The Magic Flute began on Monday morning. Erik positioned himself in the manager's box in such a way that he had a complete view of the stage, but the cast members could not observe him. Dupoix had elected to observe from the stalls, so he was unconcerned with accidental discovery. This rehearsal would feature everyone in their assigned roles, it would not be until Wednesday that the understudies would have a run though. Today would be his first opportunity to see Gia in her lady in waiting costume.

To contrast with the Queen of Night whose costume was a deep violet dotted with golden stars, her handmaidens were arrayed in white Empire waisted tunics scattered with flecks of silver. Each wore a pair of short angel wings to add visual interest. Gia made her entrance from stage right, the last of the three attendants who she topped by nearly a half-foot. He could see peeking out from underneath the dress silver sandals as she glided across the stage, spear in hand. He had been correct, the high waistline and plunging neckline made her a feast for the eyes, and he became caught up in absorbing the way her chest would move as she breathed rather than the opera itself. As she stabbed at the snake, her chest heaved, and Erik noted that the tenor playing Tamino looked less terrified that he was about to be eaten and more hopeful that Gia would bend farther over to give him a better view.

The ladies in waiting figure fairly prominently in Act I, and Erik found himself looking forward to Gia's appearances on stage, and not just because of her costume. Her deeper voice provided an excellent counterpoint to the vocal heights of the Queen of Night. He should commend Reyer on his selection of her. Erik made a mental note to mention that in his next communiqué to Dupoix he should mention it. The nervous old man deserved a raise.

Closing his eyes to better concentrate, he let the music flow through his veins, and until the break for lunch he let go of all his animosity toward the world. He forgot about his plans to seduce Gianna with open-mouthed kisses and soft caresses, and drifted away on a sea of sound. His plans could wait until later, they would keep.

The day of the gala dawned unseasonably warm, it seemed that Spring was determined to assert herself after all and banish Winter for another year. The trees were budding, and soon the Bois de Boulogne would be a bursting with fountains of flowers. Gianna could not help frowning, the taffeta would probably be far too heavy this evening, but it was the best she had. If the vicomtess and her husband were offended by perspiration they would simply have to deal with it, she thought.

As was the custom of the Metropolitan, there would be no rehearsals the day of the premiere. For a place that was so often filled with the music of the opera, or at least the sounds of all the hustle and bustle endemic to such a place, it was strangely, and almost unsettlingly silent. Gia had not been this nervous about a performance in years. She hated to think what might happen if he was displeased. But then again, he must be somewhat satisfied, or he would have let us know it. Aside from Adrienne Leveau uncharacteristically missing part of the final rehearsal, the week had gone well. The notoriously gruff Reyer had even complimented her on being so well prepared to step into Adrienne's shoes. She made her entrance just before Act II, ranting that she was late because her dressmaker had not finished her gown for the gala following the performance.

Deciding to take advantage of the weather, Gia went out for a walk, enjoying the blue sky and the sound of birds singing merrily. If they were facing a dinner with the de Chagnys and the Girys they would not be nearly so cheerful. Still, it was a lovely day, and she was determined to enjoy it as much as possible. As infuriated as she was with Erik for insisting she attend this farce, she had found herself missing his presence. She and her mother had often had many long talks about the operas and whether rehearsals were proceeding as planned, and Erik had given that small joy back to her.

Throughout this week, she had found herself speculating as to where he was watching them from and she could picture him making a running commentary on the events of the opera. Once she even had to suppress a giggle when she clearly heard him in her head complaining about the length of one of the Queen of Night's arias, "I wish that woman would stop her caterwauling! What was Mozart thinking when he wrote this damn thing?" One of the ladies in waiting had seen her grin, and later asked her what she had found so amusing. Her response had been a rather sarcastic, "Well, this is a comic opera after all. No one dies you know. How often does that happen?" The words could have as easily sprung from his mouth as hers.

The walk was invigorating, and Gia paused at a bakery near the Metropolitan where she splurged on an éclair that would no doubt go straight to her waistline. She let out a small moan as she bit into it, savoring the filling laden with butter, cream, and vanilla and the rich chocolate topping that melted on her tongue. That damned costume would be even tighter. Maybe if she got fatter she wouldn't have to wear it. Her mother would have only taken a couple bites, then thrown it into the nearest dustbin, but Gia ate the entire confection anyway. It was too expensive to waste.

She quickened her pace as it was afternoon, and soon she would have to report to the dressing rooms. Before she did so, she wanted to make a stop in her room, just in case Erik had left a note for her. She found a note and far more awaiting her in her bedroom. Carefully placed on the center of the bed were three boxes of varying sizes each stamped with the figure of a pink dove. That could only mean that the boxes came from the dressmaker Madame Collette, as that was her trademark. Erik had also left her another bunch of tulips, red this time, tied with a black ribbon and a note:

Gianna,

Wear these with my compliments. I know you will be hesitant, but you do not want to look a fool in front of Madame la Victomtess de Chagny and her husband. I took the liberty of choosing each item personally for you. I shall await you this evening, and I look forward to our meeting with pleasure. We have been apart too long,

Erik.

Gia set the note and the flowers aside, and opened the smallest box which contained a new pair of black dress shoes. The heel was higher than she would have chosen for herself, but the new leather gleamed, and she could only think of what an improvement they would be over her worn pair. Moving on to the largest box, she audibly sighed at the dress inside. It was fashioned from yards of cranberry colored silk faille with just the merest hint of pink to it. The color would bring out the red highlights of her hair and make her eyes stand out. The bodice was embellished with lavish amounts of black lace along the cap sleeves. It was cut low over breasts in a v-shape, but it was not so low as to be inappropriate. She pulled out the skirt which was fairly simple, with no detailing to speak of. There was however, a great deal of gathering and draping at the bustle, and if she did not want the dress to be spoiled, she must hang it immediately. There was also a matching set of opera length gloves and a shawl to keep out the chill of the evening.

The last box puzzled her. What else could he have possibly chosen for her? She thought a moment and then gasped, "No, he wouldn't dare! He couldn't possibly know!" as she gingerly lifted the lid. The box contained all new foundation garments: a chemise, a petticoat, and a pair of drawers, all in black silk. There was even a new corset, also in black, and she could tell from the construction it was designed to suck her waist in and push her chest out. There was even a black lace garter belt, matching garters, and gossamer black stockings.

It was all very tasteful and simultaneously shocking. He had thought of her as he chose these? She was not worthy of such clothes. She could not do justice to them. They were for an exciting sensual woman, which she was not. A wicked voice inside her head whispered, "But for one night, you can be."

For once, she would listen to that voice. For one evening, she would play the role of a lifetime and set aside her insecurities and emotional baggage. She would exude confidence from every pore and entertain the group with scintillating conversation, all the while tucking information away to report to Erik. All these years of acting would finally be put to good use. And when that night was over, she would carefully wrap the dress and all its accoutrements up, and return them to him.