I'm glad you all enjoyed the smut...this chapter bounces around a bit...backtracking and memories...I think you all are smart enough to follow it...;)

Now back to the story...

Enjoy!

-Nico


Although it was a bitterly cold January day, the sun warmed Erik's face as it never had before.

Christine handed him a steaming cup of coffee, smiling as she noticed his fascination with everything around him.

It had taken some time to convince Erik to leave his home, to step out into the daylight.

She had woken in his arms, his piercing blue eyes watching her sleep.

Christine had smiled up at him, placing a kiss on his chin.

"Good morning," Erik said softly. "You slept well, I trust?"

Christine stretched her legs. "You tell me," she replied. "Weren't you watching?"

Erik's face reddened a bit. "Only for a few minutes," he said.

Christine laughed. "I've made a decision, Erik," she said suddenly. Erik propped his head on his hand, resting on his elbow.

"And that decision would be?" He had asked.

Christine took a deep breath. "I've only one more performance remaining at the Opera House," she said. "I believe that performance will be my last."

"I was hoping you would not return at all," Erik replied. "It isn't safe…Emily…"

"If Emily shows her face, I will immediately call the police," Christine said. "I don't think she would be stupid enough to be at the Opera House anyhow."

Erik lay on his back, looking up at his high ceiling. "Never-the-less," he said. "I shall be accompanying you if you insist upon going back."

Christine smiled and curled next to him, fitting herself in the crook of his arm. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Erik dropped a kiss on the top of her head, wrapping a possessive hand around her waist.

They lay together for several quiet minutes. Erik had nearly drifted off into sleep again when Christine suddenly shot up, propping herself on her elbows. "Erik," she said excitedly, "I have a wonderful idea!"

"Those just might be the five most frightening words I've ever heard," Erik commented.

"Let's go into town today…let's see Paris…all of it…" Christine continued, ignoring him.

Erik scoffed and flipped the sheets off of his naked body, stretching as he got out of bed.

"Oh, come on!" Christine had pleaded, watching his muscles flex from her spot in bed. "You've always been so cooped up…and now…without your disfigurement…you can walk around without feeling like people are staring…you can truly enjoy yourself!"

"Christine," Erik said, facing her. "I've survived just fine for nearly a hundred years without strolling about Paris like some dim-witted tourist."

"You won't even do it for me?" Christine asked, batting her eyes dramatically.

"Dear God," Erik sighed. "It seems that I am already…what's that colorful phrase Edwin uses to describe his fiancé…whipped."

Christine had burst out laughing.

That smile had been on her face the entire day, reveling in Erik's obvious interest of Paris in the daylight.

They had quietly moved through the Louvre, appreciating painting after painting, sculpture after sculpture, photo after photo.

Erik had reveled in the artistry, the like he had only seen in books.

They had taken a stroll down the Champs-Elysees, stood beneath the Arc de Triomphe, and finally ended up at the base of the Eiffel Tower, where they now sipped their hot coffees.

"So?" Christine said, blowing on her drink. "What do you think?"

Erik nodded. "It's different," he answered.

"Different good or different bad," Christine asked.

Erik considered the question, and then looked at the woman standing next to him.

Her cheeks and nose were bright pink, responding to the chill in the air. Erik had given Meg a hefty sum of money the previous day instructing her to select an entirely new wardrobe for Christine. Today, she wore a long black coat with red trim, black pants and a bright red scarf that was covered with her golden brown locks.

"Any time you are nearby it is good," Erik replied honestly.

Christine's eyes softened and she leaned in to kiss him.

"Excuse me," a female voice interrupted the moment.

Christine and Erik turned to see a young woman holding the most enormous camera Erik had ever seen.

"I'm sorry," the slightly chubby woman said, smiling. "I was just wondering if the two of you would mind terribly if I took your picture."

Erik's eyebrows raised. "Why?" He asked suspiciously.

"I'm a professional photographer," the woman explained. "And the two of you make such a beautiful couple…and the scenery," she gestured to the enormous Eiffel Tower, "well, it doesn't get any better than this."

Christine wrapped her arm around Erik's waist. "Did you hear that?" She asked him. "We're a beautiful couple."

Erik smiled down at her.

"What do you say?" The photographer asked.

Christine looked up at Erik who nodded slightly.

"Okay," Christine said, pulling Erik even closer. "Go for it."

The photographer looked through her camera for a moment and then pulled it away from her face, which held a contemplative look.

"Would you mind terribly if I asked you to kiss?" The photographer asked. "I think it would capture the romance of the moment."

Christine smiled again, leaning up at Erik to receive a kiss.

Erik slowly lowered his mouth to hers, unwilling to pass up an opportunity to taste her.

Even if the gesture was about to be recorded on film.

"Perfect," the photographer declared after snapping a few shots. She walked over to them. "Truly, you should both consider modeling," she commented, handingErik her business card. "Give me a call if you guys are ever interested in making some money of your great looks."

"Thank you," Erik said, looking down at the small card in his gloved hand.

Christine wondered if the photographer truly knew how grateful Erik had been to receive such unabashed compliments.

As the woman left, Christine hugged Erik tighter. "What a perfect day," she sighed.


"What were you thinking?" Raoul demanded. "What on earth were you thinking?"

"I hate her," Carlotta said, filing an already perfect nail.

"You've ruined everything!" Raoul wailed.

"Hardly," Carlotta replied, tsking as she looked at her now uneven nail. "She has no idea who I am."

"You're certain you didn't say anything that would indicate who you and I are?" Raoul asked desperately.

Carlotta thought for a moment, knowing full well she had revealed her knowledge of Nicholas. "No," she lied. "I didn't say a thing."

"And you're certain you didn't kill Erik," Raoul pressed. "You're certain he will be alright?"

"Who cares if he is?" Carlotta spat. "You already have all the paperwork you need, don't you?"

Raoul placed his head in his hands, sitting on the edge of a plush armchair. "I need one more signature," he said. "The most important signature."

Carlotta stared at him. "You told me that everything was complete!" She shrieked, throwing the nail file at him.

"I said it was almost complete!" Raoul yelled back, dodging the makeshift weapon. "I still need him to sign over his accounts into my name."

Carlotta placed her hands on her hips. "And just how would you agree to get him to do that?"

Raoul sighed. "He trusts me," he said. "He never reads the paperwork. And now, after what you've done, he's either dead or suspicious…of everyone."

Carlotta walked closer to Raoul, her almond eyes narrowed. "You had better figure this out," she growled. "Because now you know what I am capable of." She ran her fingers coldly down the side of his cheek. "And if anyone," she grasped his chin, "anyone comes between me and what I am owed…well…I suppose you know the rest."

Raoul felt his blood go icy.

Carlotta was evil, but he never suspected she would turn against him.

And now she was promising to do just that.

He wished he had never escorted her home that evening so long ago…

"Brava! Bravo!" Raoul whistled loudly, ignoring the disapproving stares of the patrons who shared his box.

Christine curtsied again and again, smiling broadly as dozens of roses landed at her feet.

It had been nearly a year since the performance of Don Juan Triumphant, a year of rebuilding following the fire…a year without the mysterious Opera Ghost.

Christine had reluctantly agreed toact in the Opera Populaire's first major production since the chandelier disaster.

Her performance was flawless.

As the curtain fell, Raoul left the box, eager to bestow praise upon his young wife.

He slipped through the curtains in the back of the box, nearly running into Carlotta.

She was standing in the hallway, her hair in a ridiculous upsweep, her clothing at least two sizes too small. In her arms was a fluffy white dog with a bow on its head that matched Carlotta's full skirts.

"Vicomte," she greeted him, her voice lilting and authoritative. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"Hello Carlotta," Raoul said cordially. "I was about to congratulate Christine on her performance."

Carlotta's eyes narrowed. "Christine Daae," she said disdainfully. Then, taking on a more seductive tone, she moved closer to him, playfully running her fingers down the front of Raoul's elaborate lapels. "I was actually looking for you," she purred. "I can't seem to find my driver…I don't suppose you could bring me home?"

Raoul looked down at her. She wasn't unattractive, he thought…just…so different from Christine.

And, as patron of the Opera Populaire, it was his responsibility to ensure the happiness of the cast…especially Carlotta.

"Alright," he relented, knowing that Christine would need to change anyway. "But we must be quick."

Carlotta's red lips curved into a smile. "Don't worry," she whispered. "This won't take long…"

Now, she stood before him, radiating a glare of pure evil down at him.

It was then that Raoul realized he had precious little time to make good on his promise of wealth to Carlotta.

It was only a matter of time before her scorn would be taken out on him as well.