Author's note: This is my first time posting a multi chapter story so hopefully I'm doing this right...

Also! Shoutout to my one follower! [*points a microphone into an empty auditorium, a singular person claps politely from the back row*] Made my day, so thank you! :')

Chapter 2: Marital Disputes

[featuring 'Christine Being Overdramatic']

Warm sunlight pouring through the window woke Christine from her heavy slumber. As her eyes slowly peeled open and scanned the room, she realized she was not in her bedroom in Paris. Christine sat up hastily, but hissed at the agonizing pain in her abdomen. She gingerly sank into the pile of feather pillows propping her up.

What happened?

"You were shot," Madame Giry replied from the doorway, causing Christine to jump in surprise. She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud, and she certainly hadn't realized she was being watched, even though Madame Giry's dark figure contrasted the pastel colour palette of Christine's current lodgings.

"I was shot…" Christine repeated as memories of the incident flooded her mind. The performance...The pier...Gustave. Her angel. Meg!

Christine had been shot by her best friend! A treacherous look of pure rage overcame her face when she spied her attempted assassin cowering in the doorway behind her mother.

"I'm so sorry, Christine…" Meg whispered sincerely as she cautiously approached Christine's sickbed. Christine stuck her nose in the air and crossed her arms over her chest, but she refused to verbally reply to the contrite woman.

"Meg, why don't you find Gustave?" Madame Giry suggested to ease tensions. "I'm sure he'd love to speak to his mother, if you feel well enough, Christine?"

"Yes, I would love to see him," Christine said kindly to Madame Giry. Meg turned on her heels and stalked out of the room in search of Christine's son. Madame Giry looked at Christine as if she had something to say, but shook her head and followed her daughter without another word.

When Madame Giry left her alone, Christine bit her lip and huffed in frustration. She should've been nicer to Meg, but a little bit of snubbing was nothing in comparison to being shot. She could've died! Christine's face fell into her hands, but her heart stopped when her fingers ran over her head. Her hair had been sheared! Christine had once had beautiful chestnut curls tumbling below her waist, but all that remained was a poorly cut head of cropped fringe to keep her cool in her feverish state.

Oh, great! Now I've been shot and I'm bald, Christine lamented.

"Hello, Madame de Chagny," said a voice from the doorway. When Christine turned toward the voice, her sour mood melted away. The visitor was not her son as anticipated, but this guest was just as welcome.

"Hello, Angel," Christine said breathlessly, leaning toward the man as he entered the room. He frowned at the old alias but quickly forced himself to smile as sat in the chair at Christine's bedside. His golden cat eyes examined his darling Christine in her feeble state. Her face was sickly pale, and the life had vanished from her blue eyes, not to mention that horrid haircut didn't suit the shape of her face at all.

"Madame de Chagny," said her Angel graciously, "I'm very sorry this has happened while you were under my care. You are comfortable, I hope?"

"Comfortable enough," Christine replied with a small laugh. Why was her Angel of Music being so formal? Why wasn't he pouring out words of love and begging for her lips? Her heart raced when she thought of their kiss after the performance, before everything went terribly wrong.

"Madame de Changy, I have something to confess. Your husband and I, we did something terrible. Something very, very shameful," said her Angel sheepishly.

"What the devil did you do!" exclaimed Christine, lacking the poise of a vicomtesse. She sat up sharply, ignoring the excruciating soreness in her abdomen. Her Angel had better choose his next words wisely because her hand was ready to clobber him.

"We made a bet."

"A bet?" Christine lowered her hand and resettled into her pillows while her lifeless eyes focused on her Angel's vibrant golden ones.

"Yes. We placed a bet on you. If you sang, you stayed with me. If you refused, I paid your husband's debts and you left with him. Gustave, of course, would stay with you in either scenario."

Christine froze, remembering the note Raoul had left in her dressing room after the performance. She'd assumed her husband finally realized he was nothing compared to her Angel of Music, but no! Raoul had just lost her in a bet, and her Angel was in on the deal too!

"You have no need to worry, Madame de Changy," said her Angel when Christine didn't reply to the news. "I've called off the bet. You will return to France with your husband and Gustave as soon as you are well enough." Her Angel sat proudly in his chair, waiting for Christine to respond to his act of good conscience.

"My husband? He already left," said Christine. "The note in my dressing room...you were there when I read it-"

"He stayed. In fact, here he is right now!" Her Angel grinned uneasily at the scowling Vicomte in the doorway. Gustave was at his side, peeking around the corner of the doorframe to catch a glimpse of his mother.

"May I speak with my wife, Mr. Y?" Raoul sneered with clenched teeth and false cordiality.

"Be my guest," Mr. Y replied. He'd already abandoned his chair as was hastening out of the room to give the de Chagny family privacy.

"Gustave, I'd like to speak to your mother alone," Raoul commanded in a severe tone.

"But I want to see her-"

"You will. I need to speak to her alone for a few minutes."

Gustave pouted and left the room, throwing a sad wave at his mother. Christine blew her son a kiss and sweetly smiled to tell him everything was okay even though that was far from the truth. Gustave timidly smiled back, relieved to see his mother alive and moderately well. After Gustave trudged into the hallway, Raoul firmly shut the door behind the boy, and Christine dropped her happy act.

"Raoul, he's a child," Christine criticized. "If your mother had been shot, I think you'd be desperate to see her as well."

"I will give you two plenty of time together, but we have to talk," Raoul protested as he lowered himself into the chair Mr. Y had vacated.

"Yes, I think you're right. Mr. Y has been telling me all about your little bet together." Christine scowled and crossed her arms incredulously. "You failed to mention that in your note!"

"Oh, well…" Raoul stammered, guiltily running his hand over the back of his neck. "It was more romantic to say 'I'm leaving you with your Angel' than 'I lost you in a bet'."

"I can't believe you! Gambling away your wife and son!" the offended Christine scolded.

"Oh really? I was under the impression he wasn't my son." Raoul folded his arms across his chest while his wife tried to argue her way out of that one. Christine huffed and averted her eyes toward her lap.

"Well...I'm still your wife!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, you are, which is exactly why I'm putting an end to this little saga between you and Mr. Y or whatever he's deciding to call himself these days."

"Hmph. I bet he wouldn't gamble me away…"

"Oh come on, Christine! You don't really think that man loves you, do you? This is the second, or should I say the third, time he could've easily had you, and he's giving you up yet again! He's just as much a gambler as I am except he plays for the thrill alone, not for the prize." After his declarations, Raoul sat back proudly in his chair, but Christine didn't find his words as clever as he did.

"Hmph. Well, if I might add, you were playing to pay off your stupid debts, not to save me from him!" Christine countered angrily.

"That's not true-"

"But it is true! Would you have tested my loyalty if he didn't offer to pay your debts? Answer me honestly!" Christine crossed her arms and waited for her husband's response.

"Fine," Raoul admitted. "I wouldn't have tested you, but-"

"There are no buts! You gambled your wife away to pay off debts! I know you have an addiction but this is too far. I expected this sort of trickery from him, but not from you!" Christine cried into her hands before dabbing her tears with the corner of her blanket. Raoul attempted to give her his handkerchief, but Christine ignored the peace offering. She gasped and grabbed her abdomen, hoping to massage away the pain caused by her heaving sobs.

"Christine," Raoul said gently to calm her down for the sake of her health and his sanity. "Little Lotte, please don't be this way."

"Hmph." Christine folded her arms and turned away from him with her nose in the air. Raoul rolled his eyes behind her back. No matter what he did, his efforts weren't good enough for his wife. He'd been asking himself why she loved him, but sometimes he questioned why he loved her.

"Christine, I have business to attend to in France-"

"You mean debts to pay," Christine interjected saucily.

"Fine! I have debts to pay! But I was going to stay here until you recovered-"

"So you could avoid the debtors?"

"No! So I could be here with you," Raoul said lovingly. He placed a tender kiss on Christine's pale cheek. "I think, however, a little time apart might do us well. Mr. Y said you're welcome to stay as long as you need."

"Well, I might need to stay here for good. Honestly, gambling your wife away! How could you?" Christine shook her head. Raoul pinched the bridge of his nose, telling himself he wasn't going to bring his grievances toward her. And boy did he have plenty of them right now.

"Christine, I know you're angry with me, but I'll return as soon asI receive word of your recovery and we'll go home to France."

"Like I'd return to France with a wife gambler!" Christine wailed melodramatically, reaching for the corner of her blanket again.

"You will return, Christine," Raoul commanded. "When I go back to France alone, there will be suspicion. If I return to France alone a second time, there will be scandal and we want to avoid scandal at all costs, don't we?"

"Says the wife gambler."

"That is enough, Christine!" Raoul snapped. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I gambled you away, but the bet has been broken and Mr. Y is letting us go."

"Hmph."

"Listen, Christine." Raoul patiently took his wife's hands in his own and held them tightly as she tried to pull away. "Perhaps you think you're in love with this Mr. Y, but after spending a few months in his presence I'm sure you'll find he's not the man you think he is."

"Or perhaps I will find he is."

"Fine, then!" Raoul dropped Christine's hands and clenched his fists at his side. "If at the end of your stay, you two discover you're happy together, I won't make you return to your horribly miserable life in France. But I think, Christine, that no matter how easy you make it for him to have you, he will set you free once more."

"And I think you're wrong," Christine said stubbornly.

"Fine, prove me wrong, but you ought to start by learning your Angel's first name. He told me," Raoul said, smirking at Christine's shocked expression which melted into anger after her husband's words registered.

"I already know his name," she lied.

"Oh, do you?" he said smugly. After Raoul sauntered out of the room, Gustave rushed to his mother's bedside, and Christine smiled at the arrival of her son. At least there was someone who never ceased to make her happy.