A/N: This update took a while since I have been working on an application to take the bar exam this July. My classes begin at the start of next month, which means I will have less time to write. However, I promise you all the end is in sight. Please read and let me know what you all think.

Gia was disappointed to find Erik was not in bed with her when she awoke in the morning. He could have been up for long though, as the side of the bed he had slept on was still faintly warm from his presence. Impulsively she crushed the pillow he had slept on to her face, inhaling the scent of him. It was spicy and smoky and so very Erik. She perked up her ears, expecting to hear him playing, but the chamber was oddly silent. She quickly changed into the practice uniform that he had laid out for her, and she noted that her somewhat tattered skirt had been mended in places. He was so good to her.

She found him hunched over his desk busily scribbling, but in front of him were not the usual pages of music, but in their place his stationary. He had already completed one letter, and she picked it up to see to whom it was addressed. She could feel his eyes on her as she read the envelope. It read: "To the Monsieur and Madame le Viscomte de Chagny". She dropped the letter as though it were a hot teakettle, and it made a soft papery sound as it hit the desk.

Erik could she was stunned and a million questions as well as concern were etched on her face. "Gia, please don't be angry with me. I want them to know I am to be married. I dare say it will come as something of a relief to Christine."

"But both of them, Erik?" she asked. "Her husband could still make trouble for us."

"My dear, if he is half as in love with Christine as I once was, and you have assured me he is, I believe she will be able to convince him he has nothing to fear from me. Perhaps they will even want to attend the wedding," he teased. "Unless you are having second thoughts on that score?"

Her blinding smile was all the answer he needed. She looked so radiant standing there, honestly enraptured by the thought of becoming his bride. "Who is that note for, Erik?"

"To Dupoix. My salary is coming due. He might need a reminder." He did not mention that the note contained another much more personal request. He wanted that to be surprise for her.

"Erik, you cannot take money from him any longer! The poor man has had quite enough to deal with in the past week to be concerned with scrounging up money to pay you. Any more stress might be the death of him. You really can be quite a beast sometimes!" she said, but her voice was light and full of happiness.

At her remark Erik let out a low growl and launched himself across the desk to capture her in his arms and kiss her soundly. "You wouldn't have me any other way, my love. Or do I have to remind you about how we spent last night?" His mouth trailed down her neck and he buried it just behind her right ear.

"Erik, you make me want you! And there is simply no time for that now," she said protesting feebly. "Besides, we should probably refrain from this sort of thing until we are married. It will make our wedding night more exciting, don't you think?"

"I am afraid, my dear, if our sex life becomes much more exciting we will spontaneously combust one of these nights. Therefore, it would be most unwise. You are too delicious in that outfit for me to keep my hands off you anyway." To punctuate his words, he licked her ear and he could feel her tremble. He knew she would let him have her if he pressed the matter, but she was correct that there was no time to do things properly.

He much preferred to take his time with her, savoring their encounters, slowly making her mad with desire for him. She was just so responsive to his touch. Why after so many years of unending solitude had God seen fit to send him this woman? Had it all been some sort of bizarre penance? Taking control of the situation, he turned her about to kiss her once more, but he kept the kiss a relatively chaste one on the lips.

"We should be going. I would not want you to get in trouble with Antoinette for being late."

Gia signaled her agreement with a single nod then dashed back to their bedroom to fetch her slippers. They linked hands and went to the boat. As he pushed away from the bank she asked him, "Are you going to speak with Madame Giry today?"

"I hope to speak with her during the break for lunch but much will depend on whether I can speak to her without us being overheard. But I shall try," he promised. They made their way into the passages near the practice rooms, and Gia was surprised when he pressed the letter for the viscomte and viscomtess into her hand.

"You are not coming to rehearsal?" she inquired, disappointed he would not be observing her from afar. That had been a strange comfort the last few days. Just knowing he was there helped settle her nerves.

He smirked, "Don't fret, I shall be along this afternoon. I have to make some arrangements for us, unless you prefer to be wed without a proper wedding gown or a priest. Will you see the letter is posted properly?"

She planted a quick kiss on his mask, and gave him a coy wave goodbye. Once she had gone, he made his way out onto the streets of Paris, mentally going over what had to be done. The most daunting would be speaking to the priest. He had overheard the old priest at St. Etienne's volunteer to marry them, but what would the man say when he caught a glimpse of Gia's perspective bridegroom? And then there was the issue of his name. Or rather, his lack of one. It had never really been something that had overly concerned him, but the fact he did not have a surname to give to Gia was something he regretted. If he hurried he would probably be able to catch the man after he said the morning Mass. Erik increased his pace, his strides increasing as he made the turn toward the church.

The morning Mass was just ending, and Erik found himself moving against the traffic of people coming down the steps. A few of them cast odd looks his way, most of them not in disgust, but normal curiosity. Who was this man striding so purposefully up the steps, almost as though the devil was on his heels, yet he could not be bothered to attend Mass? Erik could swear he could almost hear the old women tut-tutting under their breaths. He ignored them, simply wishing to have this over and done with.

The nave of the church was deserted and silent, and Erik would himself at a loss of what to do next. He plopped himself down into a pew and waited, figuring eventually something would come to him. He did not have to wait long. From the front of the church he heard the shuffling steps of the old priest, he was carrying long handled device used for putting out candles. The old man was busily going about his business, and did not seem to notice Erik sitting there. Oh well, the man was probably blind as a bat anyway.

Nervously Erik approached the priest. He did not want to scare the man into a fit, so he did not attempt to move silently as was his custom. The noise did get the priest's attention, who to his credit, did not look the least bit startled by Erik or his appearance. It was almost as if he had been expecting him.

"May I help you, my son?" he inquired in a kindly, understanding voice, free from rancor, as though the man was completely at peace with the universe.

"Father I am here because I have recently become engaged to one of your parishioners. I would like to arrange for a wedding," he stated simply, hoping he did not sound as edgy as he felt. His hands felt suddenly overheated in their leather confinement.

A toothy grin broke out across the man's face, and he reached out to shake Erik's hand. "How marvelous! And who is the lucky lady, may I ask? Is this to be a large affair or just something small?"

What sort of man was this? Did he not notice that he was standing before him wearing a white mask covering half his face? The man acted as though this was somehow a regular occurrence. "The woman is Gianna Burnside, from the Metropolitan Opera. For rather obvious reasons, Father I do not imagine there will be many attendees. I doubt there will even be any witnesses save yourself," he replied coldly.

The priest arched his eyebrows and looked the gentleman over. He was certainly well turned out, despite the mask. The clothes were expensive looking. Gia had done quite well for herself, indeed. "So you are the man she came to speak to me about! Glad to see you are going to make an honest woman of her. I have seen many a young lady come in here over the years to fret over some young man, and I could tell the moment I saw her, the child was in love. But you know that don't you?"

"I do, Father."

"I must say though, I am a bit puzzled that you wish to keep the ceremony private. I would think Dupoix would at least want to be present to give the bride away. She has been like a daughter to him. Or is there perhaps a more pressing reason for this marriage?" he asked archly.

Good Lord, the old priest was nosy! "No Father, there is no immediate need for marriage, other than the fact we are very much in love and I know she will want to formalize our union. It will make her happy."

"I take it then you have little use for marriage?"

Erik answered the man honestly, "Father, I have little use for religion or its trappings. I would just as soon go before a magistrate, but Gia grew up with the Church. I cannot deny her this."

"You are wise to want to please her, young man. Now will you tell me your name so I may properly address you?" he asked with a smile.

"That, Father, is another concern. I do not have a proper surname. Erik is the only name I have ever known," he answered sheepishly.

"I must say, that is a bit irregular, particularly since I need your full names to record in the parish register once the date for the ceremony is set. Perhaps you both can choose one together. Just think, you can start your lives together with new names! How romantic!" the man positively cooed.

Erik had not considered that. It did seem fitting. "I shall have to mention that to Gia, Father. I thank you for your suggestion."

"And when will the blessed day be? "

"I have only promised her that we will be married soon. However, considering she is busy with rehearsals and then there will be an entire weekend of performances, I believe the soonest would be on Wednesday two weeks from now."

"Fine then, Monsieur Erik! I look forward to getting a confirmation from you," he said as he pumped his hand rather enthusiastically. The priest noticed the man's obvious discomfort, and added, "Monsieur, you should not be so concerned with your appearance. To God, we are all beautiful. Do not allow your self-hatred to poison your mind. Most people have seen far more ugly sights that you in that mask."

The priest excused himself before Erik could muster a response, and he found himself alone again. The silence was disturbing. From a large cross at the front of the church, the crucified Christ looked down at Erik, his face serene, not betraying the suffering he must have endured at the hands of the Roman centurions. Regret for his past actions filled his soul, and for the first time he felt the need to unburden himself. Unbidden Erik fell to his knees, and clasped his hands together, his heartfelt prayer only two words, "Forgive me."

Before he could return to the Metropolitan, Erik made another stop, this one to the couturier Madame Collette. The woman had balked when he said he needed a wedding gown made to fit the same woman he had requested other garments recently for in two weeks. He was not sure if she was more concerned about the fact this was the second wedding gown he had requested in a little over two years or that he was giving her so little time to complete it. He had promised to pay her whatever it took, and told her he would be back to consult with her on a design. At that the woman had given an imperious sniff and nearly thrown him out of her office. It was only when he threw down a packet of 100 franc notes that she was mollified.

There was no time for him to visit a jeweler if he was to speak with Antoinette, but he reminded himself that would have to be his next errand. Gia should have an engagement ring, although he doubted she would not wear it in public. He kept his pace brisk as he made his way to a side entrance of the Metropolitan. Once inside he deposited his note for Dupoix on top of his mail. Thank goodness he had not forgotten those slight of hand tricks! He had palmed the letter while Gia had admonished him for his treatment of the theater manager. The note was not sealed, but it would convey his message adequately.

Stealing back stage he waited for the rehearsal to end. Most of the dancers were milling about as from the sound of things they were in the middle of the first act of Giselle. He saw Gia out of the corner of his eye. She was standing in the wings, her eyes fixed on the stage. He knew that in heart of hearts she would have liked to play the title role, but even he had known that was impossible. Her back was to him, but he could picture her eyes, seeing and yet not; inserting herself in Meg's place.

"No, no Meg," came a cry from in front of the stage. "You must concentrate more, girl! Remember it is not only the steps that are important but you must convey Giselle's emotions as well. You are giving the audience nothing!"

It would seem that Gia was correct. Something was bothering Antoinette, and it was more than the woeful dancing of her daughter. There was more than frustration in her voice. It contained a certain hollowness, a distance, that reeked of something terrible lurking beneath the surface. She sounded like he had two years ago when he had descended on the masked ball to taunt the managers and discovered Christine's secret engagement.

The orchestra had stopped playing and he could hear the noises of people hurriedly quitting the theater, anxious to escape the voluble ballet mistress. He heard two sets of footsteps coming toward him, and he would recognize them anywhere. One was the light footfalls of Meg, the other were the steady clicks of Antoinette's boots. She was tearing into her daughter, criticizing everything from her dreadful technique and lack of turn-out and blaming her distractions on the boy she had been seeing.

"You are seeing too much of that boy! I see the way he looks at you, Marguerite Giry! Have you let him lift your skirts yet? You are no better than those girls chasing after any man who will have them!" Erik could hear the young girl sobbing, and then she ran off.

"Is that really necessary, Antoinette? The girl is your daughter, for heaven's sake!" he said as he emerged from the long shadows.

Madame Giry was oddly startled to see him. She usually felt his presence when he was near, but had thought she was alone. But she found her voice quickly. "Would you have me coddle the girl then? We open in less than two weeks and she is not ready. If you have been watching the rehearsals you know that. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Erik?"

He took stock of Antoinette. Her outward appearance was as impeccable as ever. Not a hair was out of place in her elaborate hairstyle, but her eyes betrayed her. They were wild, blood-shot, and darting. She gripped her cane just a little too tightly.

"Gia is worried about you. She asked that I speak to you. And having seen you for myself, I would have to agree with her. What the devil is wrong with you, woman? You look like hell."

"It is the ballet. It is not going as I had hoped," she said by way of a response. It was a pathetic attempt at a lie, but she made it nonetheless.

"Come now, Antoinette, we have known each other for years. There is something greater bothering you than the progress of your dancers. From what I have seen things are going well."

"That is because you only have eyes for Mademoiselle Burnside. Your love for her blinds you. You have a tendency to allow that to happen," she replied, knowing it would rile his temper. She didn't even care anymore.

Why was she baiting him? If she wanted to play things this way, he would let her. He let the anger rise up, and took her by the shoulders giving her a sharp shake. "Do not speak of her that way! She is to be my bride, Antoinette. My bride!" He gave her another shake and she simply took it, moving limply back and forth. He let go of her, it was futile to try to get anything out of her. There was no fight in her. He turned to leave, but Antoinette spoke.

"Congratulations, Erik. I am happy. For you both." Her voice was soft and almost wistful. He turned to look at her and her eyes were wet with tears. He had not seen her cry in a long time. The last time had been not long after her husband had died. She had been nearly despondent then, but she had maintained her dignity, refusing to allow him to comfort her. She had only accepted a handkerchief that he proffered to dry her tears.

He asked her again, "Tell me what is wrong, Antoinette. Something is weighing on your soul. I am the one person here who knows what is like. Whatever it is you must share it with someone. It will kill you if you go on like this."

He was right. It was killing her. She could barely sleep or eat anything. If it had not been for her work, she would have gone mad. There were times when she was not sure if she was even sane any longer. Everything seemed to irritate her and yet she felt so little. Last night after Meg had fallen asleep she had jabbed a needle into her inner thigh just to feel something. She had welcomed the pain.

She was happy that Erik and Gia were to be married. At least it had not all been in vain. They deserved their happiness. But he was looking at her with those pleading eyes of his, and that broke her. She wanted to sob, but it came out almost like a cackle. The tears were on her face, but she felt something unwind inside her. "I did it you know. I killed that bitch Adrienne. I went into her room, and I pressed a pillow to her face, and then I just walked away. It wasn't the least bit hard. The next morning I got rid of the pillow. Aren't I clever. Erik?"

He looked at Antoinette with growing horror. She had killed Adrienne and it was slowly making her insane. She was starting to lose her grip on reality. He knew the feeling all too well. There was no need for him to ask her why she did it, her lips were moving in a constantly litany, repeating the same thing over and over, "I did it for you, Erik, I did it for you. Must save Erik." Oh God what had he done to her? What could he say to her though? He had killed when he had thought people were expendable. What right did he have to make any sort of moral judgment on her? But someone had to snap her out of this.

"Antoinette Giry," he roared, "You will pull yourself together this instant! You should not have done that. I did not need you to clean up after the mess I made. Your intentions were good, your heart in the right place, but you took a life! Not an innocent one, but you took it, and you must live with it!"

She ceased her ravings, and stared him. It was not the reaction she had expected. But she felt better. She had felt like the cork on a bottle of champagne that had been shaken, the pressure building up behind here with nowhere to release. Now after the explosion, the foam was fading and she was beginning to feel like her old self. She swallowed hard, "Thank you, Erik. I needed that."

"You did. I know there is little I can say to comfort you, but I will not let you fall apart. Meg needs you. This damn place needs you. Hell, I need you! What will I do without you to instruct me on how to be a proper husband?"

This brought a small smile to her lips, the first she had been able to muster in days. "Very funny, Erik. From what I have heard from Mlle. Burnside, you need little in the way of instruction from me on how to be a husband. She seems quite satisfied," she returned, not bothering to conceal the double meaning inherent in the last sentence.

"Good. That is the Madame Giry I know. You have not completely lost your rapier wit. Now I must go, I have another errand I should run before I watch the afternoon rehearsal." He was going to leave, but before he did, he asked her, "Will you be all right, Antoinette?"

"I do not know, Erik. I do not know if I can ever be all right again."

"Then you are moving in the right direction. It is when you feel nothing that there is reason to despair."

She watched him leave her, and she was struck at how much more control he seemed to have. He had shouted at her, but he had been concerned about her, and it had not been for completely selfish reasons. Erik had put his needs and desires first, even when it had come to Christine. He was beginning to open up and see that there was world outside of his own. She prayed that Erik and Gia would be able to marry and make a life for themselves. But did he really expect her to live her life in darkness with him? Antoinette prayed that he would realize that neither of them deserved to be condemned to a life alone, with only each other for solace.