The Newport train station felt absolutely desolate after the bustle of Grand Central. Christine supposed it was to be expected—the quiet seaside town was where New York's elite came to escape the frenzy of the city, where the summer heat was tempered by a cool, salty breeze, seemed perfectly conducive to slow, leisurely days. The lack of crowds at least seemed to put Erik a little more at ease. They had drawn more than a few glances on their journey, and even if that had not been the case, she could imagine that simply having no escape from the crush of people must make him nervous. She had kept her arm looped with his for the whole trip, her hand gently pressing on his forearm in the hope that she might somehow be able to give him some reassurance. If she caught anyone staring, she would look steadily back at them until they dropped their gaze. Occasionally Erik would give her a wordless glance, the corner of his mouth twisting into something between a smile and a grimace, and she could never tell if it was meant to be encouraging or apologetic.

It had been easy enough to discern over the month of their marriage that Erik valued his seclusion, and likely for good reason. He never spoke about why he wore the mask, but she knew perfectly well how people who were different could be looked down upon. Whether the scars from an old injury or one of the many other speculations she'd heard people make since she had first heard about him, whatever the mask covered obviously drew unwanted attention at the very least. She couldn't blame him for how he tensed up as soon as they had left the house that morning.

Of course, now that they were here, there was an entirely different kind of tension. Erik had told her plenty about his dealings with the board, and although he had spoken less about it since telling her that he planned to cast her, she knew enough to understand how important this meeting was. She knew what was on the line for each of them, but especially for him, and guilt sat in her stomach like a rock at the thought of what he was risking to promote her.

At least once they arrived in Newport there was plenty to distract her from these thoughts. As their hosts had promised, there was a carriage waiting for them outside of the station. The Harrisons were better acquainted with Armand than with Erik, but they were hosting a party already and had expressed that they would be more than happy to receive them. Erik had been hesitant. But Armand and his wife had been called out of town on family matters, and the Harrisons were generally known to be some of the more welcoming people of their set, so it seemed that there was no better alternative. While Christine did her best to reassure Erik about the stay, she couldn't deny that she was nervous about it herself. It was intimidating enough to know that she would be spending the next few days among such elite people who could easily look down on her for her humble background and scrutinize her every move; staying with a party would allow for even less reprieve from all of this.

And if she was nervous about the scrutiny, she could only imagine what Erik was feeling. She glanced at him as he helped her into the carriage and climbed in after her. His mouth, pressed in a firm line, softened a little when he met her eyes.

"Everything will go well," she told him, half-hoping that by speaking the words she would convince not only Erik but also herself.

He smiled slightly and gave a nod. "If I have your confidence, then I am sure that is true."

After a short while, their destination loomed ahead of them, and Christine leaned toward the carriage window for a better view of the picturesque Italian-style villa. The estate was larger than she had imagined, the manicured grounds stretching far around the sprawling white house. A few people could be seen strolling around one side of the house toward the shore, the ladies' light cotton skirts billowing around them in the breeze. It was a far cry from the little seaside cottage that she and Mama had occupied. Back then she could not have imagined herself as a guest in a place like this; she could hardly imagine it now.

A middle-aged woman with a kind face—their hostess, Christine assumed—stood at the front of the house to meet them. Everything about Lydia Harrison was immaculately put together, from her perfectly fitted dress to her neatly coiffured hair, and Christine nervously adjusted her own bodice, suddenly certain that everyone here would know on sight that she was fresh from a boarding house.

Erik seemed to read her thoughts. "Don't be nervous," he told her gently. "Anyone with any sense at all is bound to love you."

She smiled at this, but before she could reply, the carriage lurched to a halt.

"Mr. and Mrs. Mason. I'm so glad you made it." Mrs. Harrison stepped forward to greet them as they climbed out of the carriage. "I hope your journey was tolerable."

"Very much so," Erik replied, his words polite but possessing the same stiffness they had when Christine had first met him. "Thank you for your generous hospitality, Mrs. Harrison."

She waved the thanks away. "We have been looking forward to knowing you both better. And please do call me Lydia."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Christine said, finally finding her voice, and Lydia turned to her with a warm, appraising look.

"You as well. The other ladies and I have all been looking forward to your company."

"That is very kind of you." Christine noticed Lydia's eyes occasionally flicking over to Erik's face, but her expression at least remained placid and discreet. Although she was sure Erik noticed her glances anyway.

Lydia turned to lead them inside, and Christine took Erik's arm without thinking, finding that the contact steadied her nerves. For a brief moment he reached over and covered her hand with his, but in a flash he'd pulled it away again, as if catching himself doing something he shouldn't.

They followed Lydia through the grand house and out onto a wide veranda overlooking the water where a handful of people were gathered. The hum of conversations hushed some as they stepped outside, curious gazes settling on them. Christine kept glancing back up to Erik as they were taken around and introduced to the other members of the party, but his stance was impassive and unreadable; he wore blank civility like a suit of armor. Most of the guests met them with a similar polite indifference, making it clear to Christine that they were at best a curiosity, and not an entirely welcome one. There was one young woman who she guessed to be around her age who greeted them with a genuine smile, but her husband took a step forward and spoke before she could.

"So you're the one I've heard about from those poor fools who decided to resurrect the Metropolitan Opera." He spoke jovially, but there was something steely in his smile. Christine noticed that he did not extend his hand to Erik. "George Wright—one of the ones with enough sense to keep my money far away from that mess. This is my wife, Dora."

Dora's gaze dropped to her hands, clasped demurely in front of her, as her husband put a hand on her shoulder. Christine shifted uncomfortably, wishing more than ever to be away from here, vaguely aware of Erik making some polite reply and Lydia laughing as if the whole interaction was the most pleasant joke. It felt hollow and artificial. And then they were being ushered away for more introductions. The skin prickling on the back of her neck alerted her to George's gaze following them, but she couldn't make herself turn around to see whether he really was still watching.

Fortunately, it wasn't long before the afternoon lounging on the veranda began to wane and the others began to disperse to rest and dress for dinner. Lydia, who had left them after all the introductions had been made, reappeared and offered to show them to their room, and Christine started a little at the words. Of course she and Erik would be expected to share a room, but somehow this hadn't occurred to her until now. Judging by the way Erik tensed beside her, it hadn't occurred to him either. She followed Lydia back through the house, feeling a bit hazy; between the forced interactions with these people and now the reminder of the marriage she had to act, she felt very far from herself, like she was only watching the actions of someone distantly familiar.

They stopped at a room at one end of a spacious hall, and mercifully Lydia did not seem to notice how they both hesitated in the doorway.

"All of your luggage should have been brought up," she said. "Do let me know if you need anything."

Christine faintly heard herself assure their hostess that they would be perfectly comfortable. And then Lydia was hurrying back down the hall, leaving them alone, and for the first time that afternoon Christine felt like she could take a breath.

The relief that she felt at being left alone was short-lived, though, as they stood in the doorway surveying the room, neither one of them daring to move forward. She supposed that she had been so concerned about Erik's meeting with the board and the time she would be spending with strangers that it hadn't even occurred to her to think about their accommodations. As far as anyone here was concerned, she and Erik were an ordinary married couple, and that had been their intention. Of course that meant that they'd be expected to share a room… to share a bed.

"Forgive me," Erik said quietly. "I did not think about—"

Christine shook her head, letting out a small laugh. "Nor did I."

"Perhaps I can spend tonight in the library."

"No," she said thoughtfully. "No, you would not be comfortable, and you need to rest tonight if you're to present your plans for the season tomorrow. Besides, how would it look if someone saw you?"

"Then what do you propose?"

"We shall both sleep here." She spoke with more confidence than she felt, but this was what needed to be done, and she doubted that Erik would acknowledge that fact if she didn't; someone needed to push past the discomfort to do what made the most sense.

Erik shifted, his eyes darting to her uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

"I am," she replied, stepping into the room as if to prove her statement.

She crossed the room to where their luggage sat and began to remove what she needed, hoping that she appeared calmer than she felt. After another moment she heard Erik step into the room and softly shut the door, and she wondered how a single action could simultaneously fill her with relief and nerves. This should be no different from them sharing Erik's home, she told herself, although the argument sounded flimsy even in her own head. She turned to say something to him but stopped when she found him standing in the middle of the room looking utterly lost, and she couldn't help the giggle that rose in her throat. She brought a hand to her mouth as her shoulders shook, and then Erik seemed to relax a little, almost smiling himself.

"I suppose this means that our marriage appears real enough," she said, surprised when he chuckled in response. The sound was warm and melodious, and she wondered how she had never heard him laugh before.

"I am sorry for not thinking this through," he said despite the small, amused smile that lingered on his lips.

She shook her head. "You had plenty of more important things to worry about."

Wavering for a second, she examined the dress that she held in her hands and then glanced to the changing screen. She didn't relish the idea of changing with a man in the room, but something made her hesitate to ask Erik to leave. She had no desire to make a fuss, and she knew that if she was happy to have a break from being under the scrutiny of the other guests, Erik must be doubly so. Besides, if they were to reach any level of real comfort with this arrangement over the next few days, she knew she would need to be the one behaving as if this really was nothing out of the ordinary. If she appeared to be at ease about it, Erik would be put at ease too. So without comment, she ducked behind the screen and began to undo the buttons on the bodice of her traveling suit. A few seconds passed and there was no sound from the other side of the screen, and she forced herself to speak again.

"Will any of the board members be here tonight?"

"No, not that they informed me. I would imagine it will only be the Harrisons' guests tonight." His voice uncertain and distant, as if he was standing turned away from her despite the fact that she was completely hidden by the screen.

"At least you do not have to worry about facing them until tomorrow," she offered. There was a swish of silk as she pulled on the new dress—a pale blue ensemble with short, full sleeves and elaborate beading embellishing the bodice. She had never worn the dress before as it had seemed too ornate, but she was thankful that she had chosen to bring it now. She was also thankful that she was accustomed to fastening her own dresses and, although she struggled with this one a little, did not require the help of her husband.

When she stepped out from behind the screen a moment later, Erik was, indeed, standing with his back to her. He only chanced turning when he heard her approaching, his mouth twitching in a way she couldn't quite read when he looked at her.

"It suits you," he said softly, and she gave him a nervous smile, running her hands over the skirt.

"Well, the dress is down to your fine taste, as you are the one who ordered it. But I… you do not think that I look like I do not belong in something so fine?"

Now he did smile a little. "Not at all."

Feeling a little more at ease now—perhaps her intention to make herself appear comfortable for Erik's sake was actually helping her as well—she sat down at the dressing table to attend to the matter of her hair, and she noticed Erik also beginning to gather his clothes before disappearing behind the screen. Just the sound of fabric rustling as he dressed was enough to make her cheeks heat, and she kept herself resolutely focused on arranging her hair. It was no different than sharing a home, she told herself again, hoping that she might believe it more this time.

Erik emerged in a sleek black suit and white waistcoat, and brushing off her momentary discomfort (was it discomfort, exactly?) Christine rose and crossed the room to him, giving him a playful smile as she took his arm.

"I daresay we make quite a fashionable couple," she said lightly, and again he chuckled.

"Only half of this couple could ever be called fashionable."

"That's not true. Think of just a matter of months from now when the opera house opens. You will be credited as the brilliant mind behind a dazzling and successful opening night and the highly anticipated season to follow. I imagine you will be quite fashionable then."

"If there is to be any hope of that, it will be because of the charming and talented woman who makes me seem even a little bearable." The fondness in his voice made the heat return to her cheeks, more pleasantly this time, and she glanced away. Instead of answering she walked to one of tall windows on the opposite wall, keeping her arm linked with his to urge him over with her. For a minute they stood there and looked out over the vast grounds of the estate, all lush green grass and thick hedges and towering trees.

"It is beautiful here," Christine said eventually. "I suppose it's easy to forget how much space there is in the world when your existence is contained in the city."

"It is lovely," Erik agreed. "The city has always held great appeal for me, but this is… peaceful."

"Perhaps one day we can retire to the country," Christine said, and he looked at her with a small, soft smile.

"That would be pleasant."

Dinner was not as thoroughly exhausting as Christine had feared it would be. She was seated between two gentlemen who she had only briefly spoken to before and who barely acknowledged her presence now, but across from her was Dora Wright, and Christine found it easy enough to keep up friendly conversation with her. Dora seemed utterly fascinated by her presence, though not in the slightly condescending way that some of the others in the group appeared to be.

"So you are a singer?" she asked, and Christine smiled self-consciously as she sipped her wine.

"I intend to be, at least," she said. "The fire happened before I ever had the chance to perform."

"Oh, how awful. So you've just been waiting all this time?"

"Waiting and hoping."

"And you met your husband during that time?"

Christine nodded.

"How romantic," Dora gushed before seeming to catch herself. "Forgive me if I am too forward. I'm afraid I have a… a certain love for the dramatic."

"I do as well," Christine assured her. "I suppose that's what draws me to performing—otherwise I would be happy with the music alone."

"It must all be wonderfully exciting—the lights and the costumes and the applause. You must be eager for the season to begin."

"I am very eager."

"I think I should have liked to be an actress in another life," Dora sighed, tucking a wisp of blonde hair that had freed itself behind her ear. "Of course, after hearing what you've gone through, I don't know if I would have the fortitude to bear it."

Christine laughed a little at this and Dora's smile widened. "I have to cling to the hope that it will not always be so trying."

"I'm certain it won't be. Anyway, perhaps if you're the one singing, I will finally be able to convince George to stay seated and listen to the music for longer than a minute. He only accompanies me to the opera when he has business to discuss with someone. I, on the other hand, become so distracted by the performance that I forget to say hello to a single person."

"I would be honored to know that you were listening. Do you attend the opera often?" Christine asked, careful to match the lightness of Dora's tone and pretend not to notice the veiled complaint about her husband. She had already seen enough to decide that she did not care for George Wright, and she could not begrudge Dora the slight bit of criticism, even if she did not know either of them well. And anyway, Dora seemed like the kind of person who was quickly familiar with everyone she met, and if it meant that she had a friend among the Harrisons' guests, Christine could not complain.

As the dinner stretched on, Christine caught herself sneaking glances down the table to where Erik was seated. He did not seem overly uncomfortable, at least, but he sat rigidly, and she could tell that his replies, when anyone bothered to address him, were brief. She wished that he would look her way so she could catch is gaze, give him some kind of reassurance. Although she had definitely noticed how much easier things between them had started to feel, she wasn't sure that she had noticed until now just how much things had changed, how comfortable they had become with each other. The man she saw now was much like the man who had sat across from her at the dinner table on their wedding night. She could not remember reading his stiffness as nervousness then, but she recognized it easily enough now. But the dinner would be over soon, she told herself, and relief would come. For both of them.

It was quite late by the time everyone retired, and Christine was very much looking forward to climbing into bed. Except there would be someone beside her tonight, she remembered suddenly, glancing up at Erik as they walked to their room. The thought made something in her flutter. It was not a repulsive thought—the idea of being so close to him while they slept—but the arrangement, as innocent as it was, certainly felt… intimate. When she was dressing for bed, she slipped her dressing gown on over her nightgown, the thin cotton fabric of the latter feeling a little too flimsy on its own.

Still, she was sure to portray more confidence than she possessed as she crossed the room and climbed into bed. They both needed rest, and this was the sensible solution; if she had to be the one to swallow her embarrassment, then that's just what she would do.

Erik was clearly uncertain about the situation. Even after he had prepared for bed, he continued to wander the room aimlessly, sometimes glancing in her direction but never directly at her. When several minutes had passed and he still had made no move to join her, she spoke softly.

"Erik? Aren't you tired?"

He turned, then, and hesitated another moment as he looked at her. Not for the first time, she wished she could see the expression that the mask concealed. After a moment he approached, every movement radiating caution, and he slowly eased himself onto the other side of the bed. Christine could feel the slight weight of him beside her, despite the fact that he was as far away from her as he could be, and it made her heart speed a little. He reached over to extinguish the bedside lamp without a word, and in the darkness she could feel him ease himself down gently and then come to lie perfectly still. Unsure whether any further comment from her would only make him more uncomfortable, she closed her eyes and let her body grow heavy, feeling every minute of the day.

She must have fallen asleep quickly, but she had no idea how much time had passed when she vaguely became aware of Erik's voice. Pressing her face into the pillow as she slowly woke, she could feel the cool tracks of tears on her cheeks, a whimper threatening to rise in her throat. Erik spoke again, and this time she could make out his words.

"Go back to sleep. Everything's okay." His voice was gentler than she had ever heard it, like a caress.

"Erik?" she murmured, wiping her face. Her mind wouldn't fully clear and she couldn't quite remember where she was.

"I didn't mean to wake you," came his soft reply. "You were crying in your sleep."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I have dreams sometimes."

"Are you all right now?"

She nodded weakly. "I'll be fine. It just takes a moment to pass." Finally she turned to look at him, able to make out his form beside her. The moonlight filtering in through the windows glinted off the edge of the mask as he faced her. She could not tell if his eyes were open, though, and for a moment she thought he had gone back to sleep. But then he spoke again, his voice soft and hesitant.

"Do you… often have bad dreams?"

"Not as often anymore. They started after my father died. Then within a few years I also lost the couple who had taken me in. For a while after that the dreams were bad, but they have gotten better."

"I'm sorry." There was another pause, and she heard him draw in a slow, heavy breath. "I lost my mother when I was a young boy. There was no one who would take me in and I was sent to live in a boys' home."

Christine rolled onto her side to face him fully. He never volunteered information about his childhood, and perhaps this was why—she knew of the dreadful things that could happen in places like that and had always been thankful that her situation had been different. "Was it bad?" she asked quietly.

He gave a slight nod, swallowing hard. "It's in the past, though. It does not matter now and I do my best not to think of it."

"It can still hurt."

His voice was a little hoarse when it came though the darkness again, and the sound of it made her chest tighten. "You ought to get some rest."

It was true, but these dreams never allowed her to return to sleep quickly. It felt like they opened something inside of her where she had learned to store her grief, and now that grief flooded through her so intensely that she was uncertain she'd be able to pack it away again. She was always glad, at least, that she never remembered the dreams themselves when she woke. The deep sadness they left her with was more than enough.

A few minutes passed, and something about the man beside her, the man who was also sad and broken, who was so near her but so separated from her, brought her to the verge of tears again. Something about the inches that separated them made the expanse between her and another human feel wider than it had when she would wake up alone in her room at the boarding house, and she suddenly couldn't bear it.

"Erik?" Her voice was hardly even a whisper.

"Yes?" His was clearer, assuring her that he had not yet been asleep.

"Would you hold my hand?"

There was a moment of stillness, and then she felt him shift, turning onto his side so that they faced each other. He said nothing, but after an uncertain second he slid his hand across the covers, and she reached for it gratefully. She started a little when their fingers brushed, as if she had not actually been expecting the contact, but she took his hand and held it tightly, glad that his grip was just as strong.