Chapter 3

Eponine was stunned. No one had ever called her beautiful before.

"Excusez-moi?" she said, certain she had misheard him.

"You are beautiful," he said simply.

"Oh non, monsieur, I am filthy, only a common street girl."

Erik leaned forward slightly.

"Then what am I?"

"I beg your pardon?" she was taken aback by his sudden change in tack.

"If you see yourself as a 'common street girl', then how do you see me?"

Eponine's eyes narrowed as she studied him.

"You are a wealthy member of society, a gentleman who has lost his love. And yet there is no reason for you to speak to a commoner like me."

"Why is that?"

She raised her eyes from the table to meet his.

"It is an insult to your class, monsieur."

"Damn class."

Erik downed another glass of scotch.

"That was the greatest fantasy tale I have ever heard, my dear Eponine."

Eponine's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

Erik began ticking them off on his fingers.

"I am not wealthy, and I am surely no member of society. I built this opera to be my haven from society, in fact. You got one right: I have been mourning a lost love for the past week. And… what was the last thing?"

Eponine bowed her head in shame, but he leaned forward and gently tipped her chin up.

"I have every reason in the world to speak with you," he said softly.

A quiet tear slipped down Eponine's cheek.

"If you are not rich," she countered, "how did you come by such extravagant things?"

"I was a thief, mademoiselle. A nameless shadow. A phantom."

Then, as an afterthought, "And I also have useful contacts in the East."

She smiled mischievously through her tears. "And I'm supposed to believe that you hauled that organ down seven floors? And the bed?"

"No, my dear," he replied patiently. "Those were built on this floor."

She giggled, tugging a smile to his lips.

But the smile was almost instantly replaced with a frown, and Erik's features turned ugly.

"What's wrong?" Eponine asked.

"There's a problem with your self-evaluation," he pointed out. "You are not a filthy street girl."

"What do you mean?"

"My definition of a street girl is a prostitute, and you are most certainly no man's whore."

Eponine stuck out her chin defiantly.

"And how do you know that?"

He chuckled darkly. "Your pure features are enough to tell me you have never been touched. Your mannerisms also hint at a decent upbringing, instead of the brash attitude I see in most street wenches. You are a true innocent, mon cherie."

Eponine glared at him. "You arrogant son of a bitch! I suppose you have never wanted for women in your bed, either?"

He actually smirked. "I've had my fair share of pleasure."

Eponine stood up quickly. "I've got to—"

Several heavy thuds drowned her words, and Erik gazed at her expectantly.

"I don't recommend trying to leave now," he said. "You'd run the risk of getting killed."

"Then what do you propose?"

He rose, towering over her by a good eight inches.

"Stay here for the night, where it's safe."

Eponine sighed in defeat. "Fine."

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A/N: Well, they did have a nice tender moment earlier, but then Erik had to go and ruin it with his "Life Definitions". I swear he's gonna write the book someday. Tell me what you think! Also: if you've read this, go to my profile page immediately! There is a highly important notice!