A/N: Thank you so much for the continued kind words and encouragement. I hope you all enjoy this installment, and let me know what you think of it.

As Meg walked with her mother back to their rooms, she tuned out her mother who was saying something about her woeful behavior during rehearsal. All she could think of were the snatches of the notes that Gia had written. No wonder she had not wanted to discuss her lover! They must have argued because Gia had been pleading for him to forgive her for her foolish mistake. The man's name was familiar, but she could not immediately place it.

Erik.

It was an unusual name, and as far as Meg could recall, she knew no one at the opera house had that name. Meg would have been willing to bet money that Gia's mysterious lover would have to be someone who lived at the Metropolitan. She rarely left the place, and if she had been sneaking out to meet someone the grooms would have been the first to talk. Then why did the name seem so familiar? Perhaps it would come to her later.

"Marguerite Giry, have you heard one word I have said? Where is your head child? Answer me, girl!" snapped Madame Giry. The child had been in a fog the entire afternoon. Ever since she had come from Gianna Burnside's room with that book. The book itself was a collection of poetry, and seemed innocuous enough. They must have discussed something that was preoccupying her daughter. Meg was far too inquisitive for her own good and she might have learned more than she wanted to. But Meg did not seem upset, merely giddy and distracted. Had Gia told her about Erik? Antoinette could not imagine she would do so freely.

In the meantime they had reached their quarters and Meg knew it would be best if she waited until they were safely inside to answer her mother's question. The door slid shut nearly silently and Madame Giry drew the bolt across the door firmly. That was the signal it would be relatively safe to speak without anyone overhearing as long they kept their voices low.

"Maman, I am sorry, but I have been trying to remember if there is anyone at the opera house with the name Erik. The name seems so familiar, but I cannot think of anyone here with the name," Meg said and flopped gracefully onto the bed.

At the mention of Erik's name, Madame Giry's eyes grew wide and she had to fight to keep her composure. "Meg, where did you learn that name?" she asked as evenly as possible, when what she wanted to do was shake her violently.

"From Gia. It's her lover's name," she said casually.

"Did she tell you that herself?" Madame Giry knew Meg must be holding something back. She was fidgeting and she was not looking directly at her. "Do not lie to me. You know I cannot abide falsehoods."

"Oh Maman, I did a terrible thing this afternoon. I saw that she had been writing a letter to someone, and I thought it might be her lover, so when her back was turned I took a couple pages. In the letter she calls him Erik," she said as her eyes filled with tears. It had seemed like such a harmless thing to do a few hours ago, but having to admit to stealing to her mother filled her with shame.

Giry took a set next to her child on the bed. "I will not say I am not disappointed in you my child, but what is done is done. And now that you know his name, I will admonish you not to mention that name to a soul at the Metropolitan."

"Who is he? Do we know him?" It was as she spoke that Meg suddenly recalled where she knew that name. Christine had told her that Erik had been the Phantom's real name. Christine had only learned it when he had forced her to put on the wedding dress after he had abducted her. She had demanded to learn the name of the man she was to marry willingly or no, and he had simply said it was Erik. He had given no last name. He most likely did not have one. "No, it cannot be the same man! How could Gia be with such a monster? After what he did to the Opera Populaire and to poor Christine and Raoul?"

"I thought you felt sympathy for Monsieur le Fantôme," Madame Giry reminded her daughter.

"I suppose I do. It must be dreadful going through life with such a face. But Gia told me she loved him. Doesn't she know who he is? We must warn her! He could hurt her!" exclaimed Meg, becoming agitated. She got up to leave, but her mother clamped a hand on her shoulder.

"I can assure you, Gia knows who Erik is and what he has done in the past. If she does love him as she told you, that does not matter to her. Remember Meg, this is not our business. They are grown people."

"But he is a wanted man! We are breaking the law by not reporting him to the police. How do we know he will not kill people again or try to control this place as he did the Populaire?"

Madame Giry sat her daughter back down, and stared at her squarely in the eyes, "What makes you think he has not already made his influence evident?"

Meg gasped. It all made sense. Now she knew why Giselle had been selected as the current production and why she and Gia were given such prominent roles in the production. "Does Christine know he is back?"

Her mother nodded. "He asked me to send a letter to her from him. I do not know what his intentions are toward her, but I am hopeful that now that Gia is in his life he can put her behind him. I believe he loves Gia, even if he has not yet admitted that to himself. I can only hope the two of them can overcome their stubbornness long enough to forgive each other!"

"Gia was asking him to forgive her in the letter. She said she was sorry and knew what she did was wrong. What did she do?" she asked her mother. Love was never this complicated in books. People simply fell in love and would tell each so and live happily ever after. But if Meg thought on it, she had never known anyone who had found love in an uncomplicated way. Look at poor Christine! And now Gia was in love with Erik. Maybe they could find their happy ending together. She echoed that sentiment to her mother.

"I hope so, child. They have both had a great deal of tragedy in their lives and deserve some happiness." At that, Madame Giry settled into the bed with her daughter and began telling her the tale she told Raoul two years about how she had made Erik's acquaintance and brought him to the Opera Populaire. Meg listened intently, and Madame Giry continued to speak until she concluded by telling her daughter what she knew of Erik and Gia and how they had become estranged when Gia admitted to reading the letter that Christine had recently sent to Erik. The ballet mistress admonished her daughter that none of this information was to be discussed with anyone outside of the room. She also took the pieces of the letter Gia had composed, tore them into small pieces and tossed them into a dustbin.

Meg nodded. In the wrong hands, information that the Phantom lived could be the death of them all at the hands of the hangmen. Or the guillotine.

Sitting in front of him on the massive English walnut desk were two letters. They had been delivered by Piquet five minutes ago. As yet Raoul had not been able to bring himself to open them. He had never intruded into his wife's correspondence and he did not which to breach the trust between them. However, he knew he would never be able to forgive himself if anything happened to Christine and he had nothing to protect her.

He set them aside and tried to turn to his own business correspondence, but the presence of letters on his desk was a continued distraction. He picked up the letters again, one in each hand and studied them. One letter was addressed to Madame Giry and Meg, the other was to Gianna Burnside. He had not expected that Christine would write to her without receiving a letter from her first. Such a thing was beneath a viscomtess. But those social niceties had never really mattered to her, or to him frankly. He supposed that Christine was writing to congratulate her on the role in Giselle and perhaps invite her to dinner once again. She had been an entertaining dinner companion and he hoped that Gia would consent to joining them. Raoul set that letter aside unopened.

He was far more interested on what Christine was writing to Madame Giry and Meg about. It had been their letters that had caused the change in her temperament, and it stood to reason that she would write to them about her concerns. He broke the seal as gently as possible that way he could reseal it easily. The contents of the letter ultimately proved to be disappointing. It read:

Dearest Madame Giry and Meg,

Today Raoul and I learned from the newspaper that the Metropolitan has made Giselle its next production. We are so happy to hear that Meg shall be the star! We had been invited by Monsieur Dupoix to attend the opening performance, and since Meg shall be making her all important debut as prima ballerina we would not miss it for the world. I imagine Raoul shall write Dupoix to tell him we will be attending.

We were also surprised to learn that Mademoiselle Burnside will be playing a large role as well. You must tell us how that came about! Please offer her my congratulations. I am sending a letter to her as well, and I hope that she will want to see me when we come to Paris. If you are agreeable I should like us all to have dinner together once again.

Raoul says we may make this trip a second honeymoon and spend two full weeks in the city. I am still not certain I want to be away from Philippe that long, but the idea of spending two weeks with you both would be wonderful! Once the season ends you both must come visit us in the country.

I look forward to your next letter most eagerly.

With all my love,

Christine.

Raoul put the letter down and was assailed with guilt. It gave no clue as to why Christine was so adamant that Paris was not safe for their child. The tone of the note was relaxed and jovial. Her only mention of their child was that she was concerned she would miss him if she was away so long. God, he had invaded her privacy for nothing! Sometimes he was still very much the stupid boy the Phantom had accused him of being.

Using a candle, he carefully heated the underside of the seal, and re-affixed it to the letter. He rang for Piquet and in a few moments he arrived with the tray and Raoul placed the letters on it and instructed that they be delivered express. The servant simply responded, "Yes, sir," bowed and retreated from the room as silently as he had entered it.

Once he left, Raoul raked a hand through his hair. He was no closer than he was five minutes ago to discovering Christine's secret. He could only hope that he was overreacting and that nothing was wrong. Perhaps he was looking for something because he had never been satisfied that they would ever be truly safe in their marriage. He wanted to believe that the Phantom was dead, but no body had ever been recovered. That had never sat well with him. Still, if he had survived, would he not have come for Christine long ago?

Raoul never doubted that he loved her. He had seen how broken the man had been at the kiss she had given him. He had watched him shatter emotionally and physically. One moment he had been threatening to kill him and in the next he was screaming at them to get out of his sight, all the while weeping for his beloved, unconscious of his tears. Whatever evil that man had wrought, it had been out of his feelings for Christine, and in that Raoul could sympathize. She could drive a man to do insane things. She truly had never grasped how utterly enthralled both men had been with her. Raoul would have cut the Phantom down without flinching had she not stayed his hand in the cemetery. It would not have bothered him in the least. But she wanted him spared, and he would do as she wished.

It was the closest he had ever come to killing a man, and at that moment it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do. It had not been so much about protecting Christine, but ridding himself of the chief rival for her love. That he had been so willing to take a life was something that disturbed him. He had never told his wife that. He had not wanted to burden her with it. He suspected that he would kill for her if she ever asked him to do so. Perhaps he and the Phantom were not as different as he had thought. He would never know how he would have reacted if on that night she had chosen the Phantom over him. He only knew he did not believe he would have had the strength to let her go.

In that, he had to admit that the Phantom had been the better man.

Gia had reached the point where she either had to turn back or go forward into the unknown. She had reached the water's edge and there was no gondola waiting there. She would either have to brave the brackish, foul smelling liquid or return to her room. She could swim a little, and did not fear drowning, but she knew that she risked disease and illness if she got wet. She had to make a decision quickly, her bare feet were freezing on the cobblestones. Not that the water would be warmer.

She had come too far to be a coward now. She removed her robe not wishing to ruin it, and left it a good distance from the shore. The moment her toes got damp, the sharp chill of the water shot through her system. She wadded the note into a ball, and wrapped her fist around it, hoping that would protect it from the water. She would walk as long as she keep her head above the water.

The brownish water reached her waist, and she trudged forward, each step a great deal of effort because of the cold. Focusing on her goal and using the pain as motivation, she kept moving forward, increasing her pace. The water was becoming deeper, and soon it had reached her chest. She could hear her teeth chattering, and her nipples were painfully erect. Every hair on her body that wasn't wet was raised, trying to protect her body from the assault of the water.

Undeterred, Gia moved forward. It would not be too much farther. The water was now just past her shoulders and the ends of her hair were wet. It would smell foul later. This nightgown was a total loss. To shield the note, she had raised her hands far above her head. In the distance she could see a light and it heartened her. The light called to her, and soon she could hear the unmistakable strains of Erik's music coming across the water. It was so melancholy and beautiful. For a moment she stopped to listen to it, forgetting what she was standing in.

The reverie passed, and she moved ever closer to end of her journey. The depth of the water was beginning to subside, and now it was possible to move somewhat easier through the water. He did not hear her until she was about ten feet from the shore, his music was that resounding.

When Erik heard the sound of lapping water, his hands stopped playing, and he flew around ready to face whoever had dared intrude on his home. He had never expected to find a soaking wet Gia, slogging through the water, her nightdress plastered to her body like second skin. It was far from erotic. She was trembling with cold, and the gown was actually stained from the water. Whatever could have brought her here?

He did not wait for an explanation, nor did he ask for one. Instead he went to his bedroom and came back bearing a blanket that he wrapped her in the moment she emerged from the water.

"You need to take that thing off, it will only make you ill," he said as he gently pulled at the soaked garment. Resigned, she allowed him to help her remove it, but she kept the blanket protectively around herself. Her lips were blue, and she was still shivering violently. She needed to get warm and quickly.

"Gia, I want you to wait right here. I'm going to draw you a bath so you can get warm."

"Nnnn, nnnn, no!" she was barely able to spit out, but he ignored her, and began to fill his wooden tub behind the screen. Once that was done, he added a generous amount of lavender oil and left a lavender bar of soap for her to use. The scent was one she had worn in the past, and it might be help her relax. When she protested, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder then deposited her next to the tub. She made no move to get into it, and he ripped the blanket away. For a moment, she stood there nude. But the inviting steam and smell filled her senses and she stepped into the water.

Seeing that she had done something logical, he left her alone, but he did not go too far because he wanted to be ready for her once she finished. He needed to know why she had come and what she had risked her health for.

Gia basked in the warmth of the bath. She had never thought she would be warm again. As she relaxed into the water, she opened her palm, and the note dropped out onto the floor. She dunked her head under the water and washed her hair, hoping that the scent of lavender would mask the odor of the water. If it did not, she would have to consider cutting a good chunk of her hair off. After washing and rinsing it twice, she moved on to washing the rest of herself.

As though he could sense her thoughts, Erik appeared, carrying a large towel, a robe, a nightgown of some sort, and a hair brush. He set everything down but the towel, and opened it, averting his eyes so she could step into it. Grateful at his show of modesty, she took the towel from him. He left her alone so she could see to herself, and he noticed out of the corner of his eye a stray ball of parchment lying not far from his feet. He made a mental note of it, and reminded himself to take care of it once she had gone to sleep.

Both the robe and nightdress were made of red silk and slid sensuously along her now warm flesh. The nightdress was relatively simple, with no lace embellishments. It had small straps and a deep v-neckline than plunged into her cleavage. From there, it simply flowed down her body, ending at her ankles. The robe was a perfect match although it included some oriental detailing. Had he had this made for her? It had to be since it fit her so well.

Once she ran the brush through her hair to rid it of tangles, she walked out from behind the screen to face him. He was waiting for her behind his desk, impeccably dressed without a hair out of place. His imperious pose was quite a contrast with hers. She cleared her throat and took a seat in the chair in he provided. She noted he did not stand or move to assist her.

"Why did you come here?" he asked evenly, determined he would not lose his temper with her.

It would be best not to equivocate, and Gia was not one to beat around the bush. "I wanted to inform you that I believe Meg Giry knows about us and who you are precisely."

"And how did that happen? Did you tell her?"

Annoyed that he would have such little faith in her, Gia coldly responded, "She had already discerned I had a lover. I refused to tell her his name. When my back was turned she took some of the cast away papers I had been trying to write to you with. That is how she learned your name. I can only assume that she will figure out who Erik is. She is not a stupid woman."

He cocked his visible eyebrow at this little revelation. So, she had been trying to write to him? Had he been all wrong about how she felt about him? "But why the urgency? You could have waited to tell me. You could have simply given a note to Madame Giry. I know you got my message."

That could only mean that he had been spying on her again. Had he seen her with Georges? From a distance their chat would not look innocent to his eyes. It would go a long way to explain his standoffishness. "I did not want you to think I had betrayed you again. I felt obligated to tell you myself, in person, that my carelessness had compromised you."

Erik was uncertain how to respond to that. If she did not care for him, she would have done nothing. Rising he said, "Thank you. I appreciate your forthrightness. It is an added complication, but Antoinette should keep the girl in check. That woman has a way of knowing when someone has been up to no good. I expect she had already gotten Meg to confess her naughty behavior."

Gia stood, thanked him for the clothes, and turned toward the boat, but Erik came to her side and took her by the hand. "I want you to stay with me the night, Gia. Please."

He had never said that to her. Was he ready to forgive her? It was too much to hope for so soon. "Erik, I do not think I would be comfortable—it's too soon,"

He interrupted her, and interjected, "I expect nothing from you. But you should stay here. I do not want you to catch your death on the way back. You need to stay warm for a few hours. If you do not want to stay I will bring you back." Although she did not say anything, he could see her assent in her eyes. He brought her to the bed, holding her hand the entire time, wanting to have some contact with her. Once she was under the sheets he added extra blankets.

"Aren't you going to join me?" she asked, disappointment hanging on every word. She preferred the warmth of his body to any blanket.

"I will join you later. I find I am not tired at the moment." He further admonished her to rest, and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, like that he imagined a mother would give a sick child. That brought a small smile to her face as she closed her eyes.

After a few minutes, he left her to clean up after her bath. He saw the paper lying on the stone floor and put aside, being careful not to get it wet. Once everything had been tidied up, he brought the paper to his desk and began to uncurl it. The handwriting was slightly messy as though the note had been written in great haste. The script was not especially feminine, and it did not appear to be anyone's he was familiar with. The writing was slightly smeared as the writer had not waited for the ink to dry completely before abusing the paper. Gia must have carried it with her in her hand which would account for much of the damage. But as the words became clear, he had to remind himself to breathe. The note consisted of six words:

Dear Erik,

I love you.

Gia.