It truly was the strangest thing how quickly time could pass when one was utterly, perfectly happy, Erik thought as he stared out of the library window, watching his wife walk up the snow-covered garden path. Spring had turned to summer, and then came fall, and before he knew it more than a year had passed since Christine had walked into his life and turned it completely upside down. He still remembered so clearly the first time he had laid eyes on her. He had been standing in this very same spot, watching like a spectre from the shadows as a beautiful young girl and her gravely ill father struggled through the pouring rain, seeking shelter from the storm. Now her father was as healthy as ever, and Christine had been his wife for eight blissful months, two delightful weeks and five heavenly days, not that he had been counting.

He heard her call out a greeting to Madame Giry as she entered, and he quickly left the room to go welcome her home. She had just returned from an outing to town, where she had wanted to run some last minute errands and post a letter to Raoul, who was spending the holiday season with his brother and his parents in their chateau somewhere in the south.

If he was being honest, Erik had to admit he was not too pleased with Christine's continued acquaintance with the de Chagny boy. Not that he begrudged her any connections to people outside of his estate. On the contrary, he knew her years of travelling with her father had robbed her of the opportunity to form any lasting relationships, and was truly happy for her that she finally had that chance now, but the fact that the first friendship she formed was with a man who had once proposed marriage to her made him feel terribly insecure.

Jealousy was not an emotion he was particularly familiar with, and once he had experienced it, he was quite sure he never wished to be acquainted with it at all. It was a vile beast, whispering poisonous thoughts in his ear, of how surely the other man would seduce his wife and steal her away, of how Christine would inevitably come to regret her decision to marry him and would soon want to leave him. Not for the first time he wondered what she could have to tell Raoul in all those long letters she wrote him. He had already lost count of all the times he had imagined searching for the letters she received from him in return, just to reassure himself that he was imagining it all, only to discover that their correspondence contained plans of her imminent escape and that awful voice in his head had been right all along.

One night a few months into their marriage, a night he would rather forget, he had become so frightened, so convinced of the truth of his fears, that he had confronted Christine with his suspicions. It was a moment he was not proud of. Christine had been furious with him at first for insinuating such terrible things, then hurt that he could ever doubt her love for him. He cursed himself when he noticed the wetness burning in her eyes as she questioned him as to what had brought this on. It nearly killed him to know that she was once again crying because of something he had said, even though he had sworn long ago that he would never again be the cause of her tears.

He would have run then, hiding in shame in one of the many abandoned rooms in the house, but she had stopped him, pulling her to him, keeping him there with a gentle touch to the unmarred side of his face, assuring him that he had nothing to fear, that he was the only man she loved and that nothing would ever change that.

His insecurities had not disappeared after that, but he had grown better at dealing with them. Whenever he heard that traitorous, villainous voice in his head again, he would glance at his wife, the loving look she never failed to give him in return enough to at least temporarily put his mind to rest.

But tonight, there was no room in his mind for thoughts like that. It was Christmas Eve and he was determined that they would enjoy their first holiday season together as a married couple.

He met Christine in the entrance hall. As soon as she spotted him, she hurried to his side and he wasted no time in pulling her close, pleased when she immediately wound her arms around his neck.

"Welcome home," he murmured in her ear. She shivered in his arms, and he was quite sure it was not the low temperature in the hall, but rather the deep, rich timbre of his voice that caused it. He could not help but feel a proud satisfaction that even after all this time, she still reacted so strongly to his voice.

She pressed her cold lips to his in a whisper-soft caress and made to step away, but he pulled her back into his embrace, claiming her mouth a second time in a deeper, lingering kiss.

A smile spread on her lips. "Hmm, what was that for?" she asked, stroking his unblemished cheek. "Not that I'm complaining."

"I've missed you," he answered simply.

"Erik, I've only been gone for a few hours," Christine chuckled. The musical sound of her soft laughter seemed to warm him from the inside.

"Oh I know. They were a dreadfully long, tedious few hours." Christine pulled back and he reluctantly released her, allowing her to remove her gloves and heavy winter cloak.

"I trust you were able to entertain yourself."

"I was," he confirmed. "In fact, I thought I'd spend my time usefully by finishing your Christmas present.

"A present?" Christine's eyes sparkled with childish enthusiasm at the mention of a gift.

"Well, since our official Christmas feast with your father and Nadir and Rookheeya isn't until tomorrow, I thought we could have our own private celebration tonight. Are you hungry?"

"Famished," she admitted.

"Well then, follow me, madame." He offered her his arm and led her along the corridor. When he walked straight past the dining room, she gave him a confused look.

"Erik? Where are you taking me?"

He did not answer, but instead opened the door to the music room and gestured for her to enter. Her eyes lit up as she took in the sight before her. A blanket was spread out on the ground in front of the fireplace, a variety of food placed in the middle. There was bread, a basket full of pastries, several platters with different types of cheese and a selection of cold meats, and a large bowl of fruit. It all looked very idyllic and inviting, exactly as he had instructed.

It had taken some convincing for Madame Giry to arrange everything – "An indoor picnic? What a preposterous idea! Dinner is meant to be had at the dinner table, not on the floor!" – but he would gladly have a thousand discussions with his housekeeper if it meant he got to see that radiant smile on his wife's face.

"Oh Erik, this is wonderful!" she exclaimed happily as she sank down on one of the cushions by the brightly burning fire. The pleasant heat of the flames painted her cheeks a healthy pink. Her tongue peeked out to wet her lips at the sight of all the food set out before her, and the motion inevitably drew his eyes to her mouth, making him temporarily forget all about eating. He would much rather taste her lips instead. Maybe he could even have both, he thought, imagining picking a strawberry from the fruit bowl and feeding it to her, watching her bite into the fruit before bending towards her to taste its sweet juice on her lips.

Getting his hands on strawberries in December had not been an easy feat, but Christine had mentioned a craving for them a few times over the past few weeks, and he would always endeavour to give her what she desired, no matter the cost. Luckily, his gardener Jean, who had become a close friend of Christine's, was only too glad to help when he heard about Erik's plan. He had told him he knew of a man who had a way with fruit and grew them out of season. Erik had paid more for those few strawberries than he thought any fruit should cost, but it was all worth it if it made Christine happy.

"I thought an indoor picnic might be to your liking," he said. With a smaller yet no less genuine smile on his own face, he sat down opposite Christine, immediately removing his mask, as had become his habit when the two of them were alone. During dinner, Christine chatted animatedly about people she had met in town, relating the latest gossip as Erik contentedly sipped his wine. He did not particularly care about town gossip, but he loved to simply hear Christine speak, no matter what subject she was discussing.

As the meal came to an end, he looked longingly at the fruit bowl before flicking his gaze to Christine's lovely pink lips, unable to get the image of those sweet strawberry kisses out of his head. But as tempting as the thought was, he knew that if he started down that path, his mind would soon be too preoccupied with other, decidedly less innocent things, and he would soon forget all about his initial objective of presenting her with her gift. Dessert would have to wait, he decided reluctantly.

"I believe it is time for your present now," Erik announced once the remainder of their little picnic was cleared away, and Christine's features once again lit up with excitement. He left her in her spot by the fire and walked over to the piano. Before sitting down, he reached underneath the bench and withdrew the sheet music he had taped to its underside, ignoring Christine's slightly offended gasp that quickly became a laugh. He knew his wife well enough to realize that such a small deception was warranted. She was a curious creature. If she had somehow learned of the gift he had been planning, he was sure she would have set out in search of it, so he had hidden it where he hoped she would not think to look.

Settled on the bench, he briefly closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began to play.

Music had been his sole companion and only friend ever since he was a child. Before he met Christine his compositions had always reflected the feelings he was most familiar with. Grief. Anger. Loneliness. Regret. This song however was something else entirely. Inspired by Christine, his muse, his angel, his saving grace, this music spoke of longing and adoration, of true beauty and deepest happiness. This music was bright and warm, and in listening to it he hoped she would recognize and understand those feelings which he could not express in words.

As the last note faded away, he was abruptly torn from his musical haze by the sound of Christine's sniffling. He looked over and to his horror saw tears glistening on her cheeks. Soon she buried her head in her hands, her small body racked with loud sobs. Her distress spurred him to his feet and he rushed to her side, kneeling down beside her.

"My love, what is it? Did you not like it? Did I do something wrong? I swear I did not mean to hurt or offend you. Please tell me what I did so I can fix it," he begged, putting his arm around her in an attempt to comfort her.

When she finally calmed down a little and looked up at him, he was even more puzzled to notice that she was smiling through her tears, or at least he supposed that was what she was trying to do. It was difficult to tell since she was still crying.

"Oh Erik, there's nothing wrong at all! How could there be? That was so beautiful, of course I loved it!"

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, letting out a soft hiccup as she wiped her cheeks dry while Erik kept rubbing soothing circles across her back.

"Then why were you crying?" She might insist that everything was alright, but she had never cried while listening to one of his compositions before, and he was not convinced her doing so now was a good thing.

"They were happy tears, I promise," Christine answered. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to embarrass myself like that. I suppose I've been a bit more emotional than usual lately."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about," Erik assured her. God knows he had made a fool of himself in front of her often enough. Her unexplained bout of crying really was not all that bad, provided there truly was nothing wrong. Although he did wonder if there was any particular reason for her overly emotional state. Maybe the anniversary of her mother's death was drawing near. Or maybe it had something to do with the changing of the seasons. He really did not know enough about women to be able to tell. He would ask Nadir about it, if he did not think the man would laugh at him for it.

"Actually," Christine spoke as she pulled back to look at him, "I have a gift for you as well."

Erik could not remember the last time anyone had cared enough to get him a gift. Not that he needed gifts, especially from Christine, as she had already given him the most precious thing he could have wished for by loving him, but the notion that she had thought of him and wanted to get him a Christmas present made his heart skip a beat.

"Only I cannot give it to you yet. I believe it will take approximately seven more months to arrive," she said. She looked shy all of a sudden, as if for some reason she was anxious about his reaction.

He had no idea as to what kind of gift would take so long to reach its destination, but whatever it was, he could be patient. It was the thought that mattered most anyway.

"That's quite alright, my love. I'm sure it will be worth the wait."

Now a look of disappointment appeared on Christine's face, although he did not understand why. Had she expected a different reaction? Should he have shown more enthusiasm, insisted she tell him what it was?

"What I'm trying to say is that soon, it will no longer be just the two of us," she said.

Now he was completely lost. What did that have to do with her gift for him?

"I know, love, our guests are coming tomorrow. I had not forgotten about them yet." Why did she feel the need to remind him about that now?

He grew even more confused when Christine let out a deep sigh and rolled her eyes as if he had just said the most idiotic thing.

"Oh for God's sake, Erik, I'm trying to tell you that I am with child," she said with a fond smile at his apparent cluelessness.

And just like that, the whole world stood still.

A child? Christine was carrying a baby? His baby? No, that could not be. Was she entirely sure? Maybe she was mistaken. She had to be mistaken.

"Erik? Are you alright? Are you not happy?" Christine asked, her bright eyes filled with worry.

He wanted to say that of course he was not happy, that that one sentence scared him more than anything else in his life ever had, but how could he tell her that when she was clearly so delighted by the news herself? Her happiness was the only thing that mattered to him. He would not ruin it for her. For her sake, he would swallow his fears, put on a brave face, and pretend like this was exactly what he wanted.

"I am happy, love. This is wonderful news," he said, hoping it sounded convincing enough.

Christine's face fell.

"Don't lie to me, Erik. Please. I want to know how you are feeling about this. Tell me the truth."

Despite her request, his first instinct was still to insist he was glad to hear her news. If she was carrying a child, she would soon have enough to worry about without carrying the burden of his fears as well. But she had specifically asked for honesty, and he could not deny her.

"The truth is I am terrified," he finally admitted, refusing to look her in the eye as he spoke the words. If not a monster, surely she would think him a coward now. What kind of man was frightened by the prospect of becoming a father?

"But Erik, why? A child is such a blessing."

"Not if it bears my face," he argued bitterly. How could a child with a deformed visage such as his possibly be a blessing?

Silence hung heavy in the room for what felt like hours, but in reality could not have been more than a few seconds, until Christine spoke.

"Look at me," she demanded, her voice soft but insistent. When he did not look up, she brought her hands to his face and gently caressed both his twisted and his unblemished cheek, slowly lifting his head and forcing him to look her in the eye.

"I love you exactly as you are. That includes your face. Whether this child I am carrying will inherit your physical appearance or not, we cannot predict, but what I can tell you for certain is that I will love it unconditionally, the same way I love you."

Erik shook his head, taking her hands in his and lowering them from his face. "You are very kind, Christine, so much kinder than I deserve." He knew she would contradict him on that if she had the chance, but he was still convinced it was the truth. "I believe that you will love this child regardless of how it looks. It is in your nature to love and care for all living things, I think. But try to envision what kind of life a child with my face would know. I have lived that life, lonely and miserable, hated and despised by almost everyone around me, even my own father. I do not wish such an experience on anyone else, least of all my own child."

"But don't you see? This child's life will be entirely different," she told him fervently, "and you know why? Because this child will have two adoring parents, who will teach it that it is worthy of love, and that true beauty lies in the heart, not in the face."

"You presume that I will be able to teach the child anything worthwhile," he said, abruptly letting go of Christine's hands and getting to his feet. He could not sit still any longer. He always felt he had to move when his mind grew too restless with worry and anxiety. "What if I am not a good father, Christine?" The whispered question was heavy with shame. He had failed at so many other things in life, and was still learning to live with the consequences, but not being what his child needed from him would be the worst failure of his existence. "I don't know how to be a parent. My own father was a pretty poor example, and my mother died when I was barely ten years old, so I never had anyone to show me how it is done. The only experience I have with children is the time I spent with my little brother, and I made such horrible mistakes back then. What if I turn out to be a disappointment to my own child?"

"You won't," she said with such astounding conviction. It truly was astonishing that even with everything she knew about him and his past, she still held such a firm belief in him. "You have learned from the past, both from your own mistakes and your father's. And that is exactly why I believe you will make an excellent parent. I know you do not wish for your child to experience the same tragic childhood that you did, so you will do everything in your power to prevent that from happening."

She stood up then and walked over to where he was now standing by the piano, slowly, as if he were a frightened animal that would bolt at the slightest movement. When she finally stood face to face with him, she softly ran her hands over his arms in soothing motions, then placed her right hand over his heart, and he began to feel more at peace again. Her presence always seemed to have such a calming effect on him, pulling him out of his head and anchoring him in the present.

"You are not your father, Erik. You'll do much better, I know it. And you do not have to do this alone, my love. I will be there beside you every step of the way. We will do this together."

He wanted to point out that she could not promise that. Childhood was a risky business. His own mother had died in childbirth, and the thought that Christine might suffer the same fate was unbearable, so utterly terrifying that his breathing began to quicken, his heart pounding in his chest, and he had to banish the thought from his mind, take a few steadying breaths to prevent himself from spiralling into blind panic again, but he did not want to ruin her excitement with his bleak thoughts.

"Wouldn't you love a little boy with your golden eyes," she whispered, leaning her cheek against his chest, next to where her hand was resting, "a musical prodigy just like you?"

He wrapped his arms around her, grounding himself in the feeling of her solid and real and alive in his arms, and bent forward to press a soft kiss into her hair. "I think I would prefer a girl," he said at last, "one who looks exactly like her mother." Indeed, the image of a little girl with Christine's dark curls and bright eyes running around the house did not seem so horrible. Then he would have two beautiful girls to bestow his love on, although he wondered if it was even possible for his heart to hold more love than it already did now that he had Christine in his life.

"Maybe both our wishes will be granted," Christine remarked, looking up at him. "Who knows, it might be twins." She was only able to keep a straight face for two seconds before she burst out laughing at Erik's shocked expression. "Oh my love, I'm only teasing. I'm sure twins are not all that common."

'Not all that common' did not necessarily mean that it was not possible, but when Christine kissed first his deformed cheek and then his lips, he quickly forgot what it was he was supposed to be worrying about.

"Why don't we go to our room," she suggested as she released him. "I have another surprise for you."

"Another surprise?" He looked at her apprehensively. "Christine, you know I love you, but if it is anything like the first, I might not survive."

"Oh don't be so dramatic. I am sure you will like this one." She walked to the door, pausing briefly to glance over her shoulder and beckon him to follow with a seductive smile before she left the room, and like a sailor lured to certain death by a siren's song, he followed, powerless to resist her call.

She led him to their bedroom. She opened the door and went in ahead of him, but Erik stopped at the threshold, looking up in wonder.

"Christine, why are all those plants hanging from the ceiling?"

"I did some Christmas decorating. Do you like it?" she asked innocently. "It's mistletoe. Whenever two people are standing underneath it, they are supposed to kiss."

"Every time? But Christine, every inch of the ceiling is covered in it!"

"Exactly," she replied with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I hope you didn't have any other plans for the night."

She took his hand and eagerly pulled him into the room, already leaning forward to kiss him, but right before her mouth could meet his, Erik put a finger to her lips.

"One moment, my dear," he whispered. Impatient as she was, she gave him an adorable little pout at being told to wait, but her face brightened as he put his hand in the pocket of his coat and pulled out a strawberry, slightly warm from being left there longer than anticipated. "You should at least have your dessert first."