AN: Here's the update. It's a little moved around, in that I deleted Chapter 11. I decided it was wholly "filler" and I didn't like it. So I'm going to incorporate a little of that in here, instead. Also…yes, this is the infamous wedding night chapter. I think it's going to be subtle enough, though, so it shouldn't be too bad…I'm keeping the "T" rating for now, lol.

Raoul sat straight up in bed. A glance at the clock showed he had only been asleep for a couple of hours, having gone to bed early with a touch of a head cold, but something was amiss, something he couldn't put his finger on. He felt her there, felt she was drawing nearer, and knew something had happened.

Running his fingers through his fine hair, he tried to remember the last time he'd felt that way, and it came to him with a sudden, fierce blow: not so long ago, on the day that was supposed to be his wedding day. Instead of celebrating with his wife, he "celebrated" by getting ingloriously drunk with Philippe, who was equally inebriated and kept trying to bring ladies over to the table. But that date had passed, and the trauma had slowly begun to subside.

Raoul lay back on the bed and took several deep breaths, finally realizing the reason for his wakening. It had just been a dream, he told himself, and yet he could not shake the image of that final kiss between his former betrothed and her "angel," playing over and over in his mind. In the dream, she'd been asking for forgiveness, and he wasn't sure who she meant.

You're supposed to be getting over her, he reminded himself. The past couple of weeks entertaining Sarah had been fun, but she was not his former love, to be certain. Sarah, with her lovely blonde hair and green eyes, was beautiful to look at and friendly, but was not nearly as intelligent as some of the other women Raoul had known. Perfectly content to talk about her dresses and shoes over lunch, Raoul was equally contented to stare off into space and nod at the appropriate moments. And yet, the management was pleased with his efforts and the public was pleased with their new diva. As he sat there, he imagined Carlotta was already packing her trunks to head back to Spain. Last night's "episode" had led to a triumph for Sarah that almost matched Christine's when she took over for Carlotta so long ago, and Carlotta had this time not been coddled, but had instead been "given the opportunity" to break her contract in such a way that she dared not refuse.

Still, a nagging sense of foreboding would not let Raoul rest. Over and over he replayed their kiss, wondering why, after all this time, the both of them haunted his dreams. Sighing, he got up, crept down the hall and poured himself a drink. If he could not obtain a peaceful sleep, at least he could ensure a dreamless one.

Sighing, Raoul finished off his drink as the train whistle blew in the distance, signifying the arrival of the last evening train into Paris.

The trip from the chapel had not been an easy one for either Erik or his new bride. Christine had insisted their first night not be in Nadir's home, and Erik had acquiesced easily enough until he had learned of where she wanted to be with him.

"Paris?" he recoiled at the thought. "You wish to return to Paris? My dear, you know I would do anything for you, and yet I must insist you think this over."

"Erik," Christine pleaded, "it was in those cellars I fell in love with you and in those cellars I'd like to return."

"But Christine," he protested, "I don't even know if there's anything left of those cellars, and then what should we do? I can only assume the boy is still in Paris, if that is the case, and he spies you, or worse, spies you with me, there's no telling what will happen. I don't think I can rescue you from another mob," he said grimly.

"By the time the wedding is over, it will be evening," Christine said, "and we can take the train in, get a private car…no one takes the late train into the city anyway."

In the end, she had won, the private car was booked, and now Erik sat, casting sideways glances at his bride who was pretending to watch the scenery but was actually keeping her eyes on her new husband. Even in his new disguise, she could tell how uncomfortable he was.

Erik was indeed uncomfortable, but it was increasingly less and less about his face and more about the evening that lay ahead. Christine squeezed his hand gently, and, for possibly the hundredth time that journey, Erik leaned in to share a kiss with her, marveling at the fact that this simple pleasure was his at last.

Finally, the train whistle blew at ten minutes past ten o'clock, and the pair stood, bumping into each other as the train ground to a halt. Erik took the opportunity to encircle Christine's waist with his arm and pull her to him. Her eyes widened at the feeling of being so close to Erik, though she had experienced it before, and hastily he collected their bags and escorted her off the train. Quickly, they made their way through back streets until they reached the Rue Scribe entrance and Erik unlocked the doors.

"It is almost exactly as I left it," Erik said to himself. Before he and Nadir had left, he had cleaned up the torn sheet music and bits of broken mirror and set things right, but part of him had feared returning to find the place ravaged, or worse, someone waiting for him. As the door shut behind him, he gathered his wife into his arms and kissed her once again. This time, he did not pull away from her as he had in the weeks prior to the wedding, not wanting to do something the deeply Catholic Christine would regret.

Now that he was entitled, he was afraid.

"Christine," he said, at last breaking away from her insistent embrace and hands, which had succeeded in the removal of his cloak and were working on his tie, "I-"

"Yes?" she asked, kissing him once more. She really is that innocent, Erik thought to himself. Oh, he knew she'd heard stories, years in a ballet corps would not leave anyone unaware of the things that went on between a man and a woman, but he knew Christine, at least, had not tested many, if any, of the theories presented to her. For that matter, neither had Erik, though he had read a good many medical texts to understand the pain that can befall a woman at first.

"My love, I just want you to know…I haven't…I would have told you if I had," he said lamely. "But I do not wish to hurt you." Christine just laughed and reached for him, this time succeeding in dropping the tie to the ground.

"Let's just start here," she purred, "and see how it goes."

"Oh no," he said, scooping her up and carrying her over the threshold into the room she had once stayed in, kissing her all the while.

"No?" she asked, laughing.

"No," he said. "The sitting room is no place for a wedding night. Unless of course, you'd like some tea."

"I think tea would be lovely," she laughed, embracing him. "Of course, you can't drink tea in a dress like this," indicating her silk "going away" ensemble she'd purchased, "so perhaps you'd like to assist me." With trembling hands, Erik unlaced the back of Christine's dress and let it drop to the floor. And then he stopped, taking in the full view of his wife, hardly believing that she was to be his.

A while later, Erik lay in bed, playing lazily with the curls that rested on his chest as Christine looked at him adoringly.

"I love you," she said, resting one hand on his arm.

"And I love you," he said, sitting up a bit so he could bestow one last kiss on his clearly sleepy Christine.

Raoul fastened his cloak, annoyed that even the drink could not bring sleep to him. Perhaps a walk would do him some good, and with that thought in mind, stepped out onto the deserted, moonlit streets of Paris. Eventually, he stood before the towering opera house, gazing up at its structure and mentally reliving the last moments he'd spent below its stage.

"Christine," he whispered. "I could have made you so happy, Christine, so happy…" Inwardly, he cursed the phantom for his powers over Christine, even from beyond the grave.

"I have no idea what you were," he said to himself, "but be very glad you and I can no longer be near each other." Rubbing the scar on his neck where Erik's noose had given him quite the burn, he turned and headed back toward home.

Erik woke with a start, the silence of the basement a stark contrast to the normal street noises he'd grown used to in his time with Nadir. He smiled as he saw Christine curled up next to him, and gently kissed the hand that clutched at her pillow, but his smile was one tinged with worry.

I only hope I can give you the happiness you so desire, he thought. Paris still made him uneasy, he knew he would not be fully comfortable until he was out of the city entirely. Thinking of Italy, he sat down to write another letter to the management of one of the country's opera houses.

M. Romano,

Thank you for your fast correspondence regarding my student. As her vocal teacher, I can assure you she is ready for the role you have recommended. I will be accompanying her on her trip to Italy in two weeks' time and look forward to meeting you then.

Sincerely,

Charles Perrault

Vowing to post it tomorrow, Erik went back to bed. He had not wanted to arrive in Italy so soon, but as one of his opera house inquiries had led to a rather nice role for Christine and he would be severely remiss in allowing the opportunity to slip by.