A/N: I've been remiss in adding the standard disclaimer. But if I've somehow fooled you into believing that I own any of the principle characters here, then you need to spend more time on this board anyhow. I do own Sarah.

Now, with that out of the way, you need to know that I will be leaving tomorrow to see some family and will not update for at least a week. However, I am getting back into writing more often, so if my computer behaves itself, this should wrap up nicely soon.

Keep reviewing! I love reading them and would welcome suggestions anytime!

Onward.

Erik was sitting at the piano when he heard the sound of Christine's carriage pull up, and he rose to greet his wife.

"My dear," he said, after bending to receive her kiss, "how was rehearsal today?"

Christine and Erik had arrived in Italy the month before and had moved into their home the previous week. Christine had already started rehearsals for "The Marriage of Figaro," which, Erik had pointed out, was not exactly high opera but was still a good opportunity. He longed for the day when she would be able to move from the smaller opera houses into La Scala and take the triumph she was destined to receive, but knew that unless he was willing to resort to his opera ghost tactics once more, patience would be the only way to reach their goal.

Although…but Erik pushed the thought from his mind. As much as he loved duping those undoubtedly less intelligent but far more pompous, he somehow imagined Christine would not approve…

"It went very well," Christine said happily. "Today was the final fitting for my dress, and Madame Medeiros said things couldn't look better costume-wise."

"And your directors?" Erik said drily, amazed at her ability to focus on the most mundane topics and make them interesting. "Did you, perchance, have any singing today?"

"Oh, of course!" She laughed. "I sang quite a bit!" Then her face clouded. "But one of the chorus girls has come down with a nasty case of laryngitis. I hope she'll be ready by the opening. It isn't that far away."

"I daresay Italy is rife with chorus girls willing to take her place," Erik said. "But I hope she recovers, if she has half the voice she should to be singing on stage."

"She does," Christine assured him. "She does. Tomorrow, we'll be doing a full rehearsal, and I imagine we'll be fine."

"Good," Erik said. "Now come to the piano."

"The piano!" Christine said indignantly. "I haven't seen you all day and you expect me to sing?"

"Don't you want to be ready for your grand opening?" Erik asked in a deadpan voice. "As your teacher, I must insist-"

"As your wife," Christine said teasingly, looping one arm around his neck and drawing close to him, "I must insist that you pay attention to something besides music all the time. Besides, too much singing could cause," and here she kissed him once more, "a strain."

Erik rolled his eyes at his wife's logic and allowed himself to be pulled onto the divan that sat invitingly near the piano.

"I do believe this is quite the professional conflict of interest," he whispered in his ear, delighting in the sound of his wife's modest laughter.

"I won't tell if you won't," she whispered back.

Furiously, the scorned diva threw her bags down beside the bed of the lavish hotel room she had taken for the night.

"How dare they!" she fumed to herself, ripping off her cloak and throwing it haphazardly on the coat rack, oblivious as the remarkable fur trim was disturbed. "Twice! That is twice some little whore of the vicomte has taken my place! To hell with Paris! The opera house will be nothing without me!"

Still fuming, Carlotta marched to the nearest employee of the hotel she could find and ordered supper sent up, an expensive array of food and wine that could feed three people.

Her rejection had stung, to be sure, and she had made no haste in packing her things and taking the first boat away from France. She planned to take a small rest and then pursue the stage with a vigor like nothing the operatic world had ever seen.

"Scorn me once," she growled to herself, taking up pen and paper, "and watch what happens to you! Your little Sarah will wilt on that stage as your precious Christine did, whereas I, the greatest soprano you've ever known, will shine for the world!"

Raoul laughed. It had been a long time since he'd been able to honestly laugh, but slowly, he was returning to the idealistic boy the world had come to adore. Philippe couldn't be happier, but it had nothing to do with the nights of drinking he had prescribed for his dear brother. No, the reason was entirely different, entirely more wonderful, and entirely blonde.

"No, I swear it, that's what he said!" Sarah laughed. "'She couldn't hit that note if you gave her a hammer and a step ladder!' I kid you not!"

Raoul laughed again and pulled the stunning apparition in blue silk a little closer. As if noticing the closeness, Sarah, too, pulled closer to the man she was with, one M. Firmin.

For as it turned out, Sarah was no more interested in Raoul than he was in her, though she had taken quite a shining to one of the opera's most influential men after all. Much to the dismay of the entirely jealous M. Andre, M. Firmin was equally taken with the young soprano, though not nearly as taken, he believed, as Raoul was with Sarah's sister, who was 20, just one year younger than Sarah herself.

Raoul couldn't remember feeling this happy. When Sarah had asked if he wouldn't mind too terribly if she brought her sister, just visiting Paris for a few months, to one of their regularly-scheduled lunch appointments, he agreed, just to have a little variety. He hadn't counted on falling for anyone, but Isabel was as charming as her sister and quite intelligent. Even Philippe approved.

"Go on," Isabel encouraged her sister, "then what did he say to la Carlotta?"

At the Teatro Dell'Opera in Italy, M. Romano's eyes widened. He looked down, read the letter again, then scanned it one more time.

"Between this news and Madame Renault," he said, using Christine's married name, "our financial troubles may well be over after all."