By the time Christine woke that morning, Erik was already up and was nearly finished dressing. She could faintly hear him moving about the room even before she was fully awake, and for a minute she could not quite remember who would be in the room with her. But then everything came back to her, and she stretched and forced her eyes open. He was standing before the mirror adjusting his cravat, apparently lost in thought as he did not appear to notice that she was awake until she propped herself up.

"Morning," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep, and he nodded to her.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you." She remembered the feeling of his hand enclosing hers and how, even once she was mostly asleep, she'd felt that it was very important that she hold onto him. "And you?"

"Fine, thank you." He was still fiddling with the cravat, and she started to recognize the anxiety in his movements.

"Erik," she said softly. He turned to look at her, though his hands did not still. "Perhaps… perhaps you should not meet with the board today."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you do not need to argue for me. Cast someone else to please them. It is not worth the risk to your career." It was a relief to speak the words as these thoughts had been weighing on her for days. She knew what insisting that she was cast could end up costing Erik. At best, it would lead to closer scrutiny, and that was dangerous enough with his position already as precarious as she had gathered it was. She would sing in the chorus this season, just as she had hoped for, and perhaps next season, when Erik was on more stable ground, she could begin taking on small roles.

"Out of the question." The reply erased her short-lived relief.

"Erik, think about it," she pressed. "There are plenty of singers out there who can play Marguerite beautifully and who would please the board. Their concerns about me are not unfounded. I honestly do not know if I could handle the role."

"Of course you can, and you will be brilliant."

"Erik, please." The words were finally enough to still his distracted fiddling. "I know that you are optimistic about my ability, but just think of what this could cost you. How could anyone think that I am worth such a risk? How could you expect me to perform knowing that I could cost you your career?"

Erik stood and looked at her for a long moment, his stance softening. When he finally spoke, his words were gentle. "I believe that we are alike—that our music comes from the same place. It's at the very core of our beings. I have never been happy with the idea of bowing to others, of playing along with these petty politics at the cost of artistic integrity, but I have done so because I told myself that a long career would be worth it. But to not do my best to honor the very source of my music… it seems like a betrayal of everything I am."

Christine sat silently as she took in his words, the gravity with which he clearly felt this. She understood what he meant when he said that their music came from the same place. It had always felt so deeply a part of her that it was indistinguishable from the very essence of her being, and she had recognized the same in Erik. Just as she had felt she had no choice but to approach him on the street that day even though he might have dismissed her before her career began, he felt that he had no choice but to follow a similar impulse. It didn't exactly put her at ease, though, to know that her success would not only mean something for him, but to him. Seeming to read her thoughts, he went on.

"I am certain you can tell that I do not place my faith in others lightly. I would never flatter you or convince you that you are better than you are. When I tell you that you are wonderful, that you will be brilliant as Marguerite, it is because I believe it. You have a very bright career ahead of you, Christine, and I consider myself lucky to be working with you now. You will be perfect in this role and you deserve all of the success that will follow."

He watched her, then, seeming to want her to confirm that she understood. Her throat was tight, and she knew that if she spoke she would betray how close she was to tears, so she simply nodded. Erik had never withheld praise during their lessons, despite what he said about not flattering her, and of course she had known that he must truly find her promising to offer to teach her in the first place. But the soft sincerity in his voice now struck her hard. And as weighty of a responsibility it seemed to live up to his expectations, his words did somehow manage to soothe her fears a little. As uncertain as she was about her own ability, she did not doubt Erik's. If he believed she could do this, then who was she to question him?

Swallowing hard, she managed to find her voice. "Thank you."

For a moment she imagined it looked like he wanted to come to her, to sit down beside her on the bed, but he did not move. "I ought to thank you," he said gently. "I appreciate your concern for me. But I wish to do this."

Christine smiled. "Then I am very fortunate to have you in my corner."

Soon after breakfast had finished, Erik slipped away for his meeting with the board members, leaving Christine seated in the parlor with the other ladies as they settled in to play cards. She claimed not to know how to play and insisted that she would be happy enough observing the game, privately glad that she would not be forced to gamble Erik's money since she had so little of her own remaining from her meager shop pay. Even if that had not been an issue, she doubted she would be able to play well with her mind constantly drifting to Erik's meeting.

She sat slightly back from the table where the others played their game, and for a little while they seemed content enough to let her fade into the background, which she did not entirely mind. Being left alone allowed her to indulge her nerves. She almost wasn't sure what she hoped the outcome of the meeting would be. Perhaps it would be better for both Erik and her if the board simply dismissed his suggestion outright, if they didn't even give her a chance. Erik would be disappointed, but surely it was not something that would cause him to resign or create some kind of fuss over. His position would be secure for the moment and she would not be given the opportunity to fail him spectacularly. But how could she not hope for him to get what he wanted? He had been quiet and steady during their conversation that morning, but there had been an intensity radiating from him. When he'd held her gaze, she had all but forgotten her own apprehension; what mattered far more than that was the beauty and fervor of his vision.

"Christine?"

She looked up at the sound of her name to find Lydia watching her expectantly. "Yes?" she asked a little dazedly.

"I asked if you were feeling all right, dear," Lydia replied gently. "You looked like you were miles away."

The other ladies at the table were looking at her too, now, and Christine ducked her head to hide her warming cheeks. "Yes, I'm only a little distracted."

"Oh!" Dora exclaimed, drawing Christine's attention to her. "Of course, I should have remembered. You mentioned last night that your husband had some business to take care of for the opera. Is it important, then?"

"I believe it matters to him," Christine said vaguely. It felt a little strange to be talking to these near-strangers about Erik, and she decided she preferred not to say much.

"And you are worried for him," Lydia finished, giving her a sympathetic smile. "Of course you are. It's good of you to worry, dear, but I'm sure everything will be fine."

There were murmurs of agreement from the other ladies, and for the first time, Christine looked over their faces to find genuine warmth. She wondered, then, if perhaps Erik's thought that marriage would make him more palatable applied to her as well—perhaps she was more acceptable to these women as a devoted young wife than as a singer. Something about the idea amused her, and she pressed her lips together to keep herself from smiling suddenly.

"Come and sit over here with me," Dora said, moving her chair over to make room. "I would offer to teach you how to play, but I'm afraid I could only teach you how to lose."

Christine did allow herself to laugh a little at this, and she was surprised by the touch of relief she felt as she moved her chair to sit beside Dora. Although she remained mostly quiet as the game and the conversation resumed, she did feel a little less isolated. Smiles were offered in her direction from time to time, and occasionally a question was directed at her, and her replies became longer and easier as she could feel herself gradually warming to the company of these women. It wasn't the easy, natural friendship that she'd formed with Meg, but she supposed it was as much friendliness as she could expect considering the differences between her and them. It could not completely turn her thoughts from Erik, but it was a much pleasanter distraction than she'd thought it would be.

Their conversation quieted suddenly and Christine looked up to find Erik standing in the doorway. "Forgive me for interrupting," he said, his voice too even for her to get a sense of why he was there. "Christine, may I borrow you for a while?"

"Of course," she replied, standing from the table and quickly excusing herself before following him out into the hall. She hadn't expected him to return so soon, which meant this was likely either very good news or very bad news. Her stomach fluttered at the thought. Before she could ask what was going on, Erik stopped walking and turned to her.

"They want to hear you sing."

She felt her breath leave her, and it was a second before she could manage a hushed reply. "What?"

"I'm sorry this is so sudden, but they want to hear you now."

"Now?" She suddenly felt terribly cold. "But I'm not ready yet, Erik. I have nothing prepared."

"I know." Erik's voice was low and surprisingly calm, and he held her gaze steadily. "I tried to convince them to wait, but they insisted that I come and get you immediately."

Feeling that she could not catch her breath, Christine began to turn away, her mind filling with every possibility of what could go wrong, of what she could do wrong. Erik continued, though, and something in his voice kept her from fleeing.

"Christine, listen to me," he said firmly. "I need you not to panic. You can do this. Stay as calm as you can, and when we enter the room, imagine that it is only the two of us, that we're at home having a lesson. Sing as if you are only singing for me, and do not think about anything else. Can you do that?"

His words washed over her like a warm bath, and when the panic began to recede, she noticed that he was holding both of her hands, though she could not recall if he had reached out to her or if she had grabbed onto him. She did not let go, and after taking a deep breath, she forced herself to reply. "Yes, I can do that."

"Good. The carriage is waiting for us outside. Do you feel well enough to leave now?"

She nodded, although leaving this house to audition for these powerful men was the absolute last thing she felt she could manage. But she knew that they were waiting, and she owed it to Erik to do what she could. So she forced one foot in front of the other as he led her outside and into the carriage, gripping his arm with both hands as they went. Once they were in the carriage, he spoke soothingly, and although she was too distracted to hear most of the words, the cadence of his voice kept her nerves from entirely running away with her. She had not been anywhere near this nervous for her audition for the chorus, or even when she sang for Erik for the first time. This was not just her career at stake—it was his, too. She pushed the thought away, knowing that she could not possibly do this if she focused on it. Instead, she cleared her head enough to hear what Erik was saying to her.

"You can do this. There is nothing to be afraid of. You are wonderful."

She nodded weakly, and then the carriage lurched to a stop in front of a new house, larger and grander than even the Harrisons'. Not allowing her a chance to hesitate, Erik ushered her from the carriage and led her inside. Just beyond the entrance in the front parlor stood a group of somber-looking men in suits, and summoning every ounce of courage she possessed, Christine squared her shoulders, forced her face into a pleasant, demure smile, and released her death grip on Erik. She felt unsteady, as if her knees might buckle beneath her at any moment, and the blood rushing in her ears only allowed her to catch snatches of the quick introductions that Erik was making—names like Astor and Vanderbilt among others she knew only from the society pages of the papers. She replied as brightly as she could to their half-hearted greetings, and then Erik was guiding her over to the piano, a steadying hand on the small of her back.

For just a second, he turned to her and held her gaze, and she forced the world around her to fade into the distance. It was only them—only his intense, golden eyes on her, only his careful, exacting attention. If she could sing well enough to please him, she could sing well enough for anyone. It occurred to her vaguely that she was not warmed up, but she would just have to ease herself into the piece and do the best that she could. Her heart was still hammering, but her head felt clearer, and she gave him a slight nod. With this confirmation, he sat down at the piano, and after a second the opening notes of The Jewel Song rang out, and there was no more time to worry.

From the first note that she sang, Christine felt a little easier, the music coming to her naturally. The melody began to fill her until Erik's playing finally drowned her anxiety, and then she was letting the music carry her, sweep her away. If her voice had faltered at all in the beginning, it quickly grew strong and sure, and she could feel the coquettish smile naturally forming on her lips as she sang. Erik's eyes remained on her and she resolutely kept her attention on the familiar sensation rather than risk becoming aware again of the others who were watching her. Her voice rose is a joyful crescendo, and then she was left to catch her breath as Erik played the final notes.

The silence that settled around her was jarring and she returned to awareness abruptly, looking first to Erik and then to the half dozen men across the room. One of them—she somehow had no memory of being introduced to him although it had only been minutes ago—thanked her and suggested that she might like to walk in the garden while they finished talking with Erik. She agreed and gave Erik another uncertain look before she left the room, hoping she did not appear too eager to be away from this place. Blindly walking back the way they had come in, she burst out into the warm summer air and continued walking around the side of the house until she was certain she was out of sight of the men who had just heard her sing. Then she stopped and brought her trembling hands to her face and breathed deeply until her heart returned to its normal pace. Nerves still knotted her stomach as she thought of what they might be saying to Erik, but at least she did not have to face them again. Now all there was for her to do was to wait and see what news Erik brought.

The minutes ticked by slowly, and Christine began to wander simply because she thought she might go insane if she remained still. She found it difficult to appreciate the beauty of the gardens, though, and she kept glancing back toward the house, hoping to find Erik walking out to meet her. She wasn't sure how much time passed in this anxious state, but finally Erik did emerge from the house, and she hurried toward him. Even as she came closer to him, she could not quite read his mood; he mostly just seemed tired, his shoulders hunched, one hand running over the seam of the mask at the top of his forehead. But then he smiled at her, easy and genuine, and her heart skipped a beat.

"Erik?" she asked softly when she reached him, the words that she meant to ask catching in her throat.

His smile broadened—she'd never seen him smile like this before. "You have the role."

For a moment she was sure she hadn't heard him correctly. "I have the role?" she repeated, half hopeful and half fearful that she had somehow misunderstood.

Erik nodded. "You do. Congratulations, Christine."

She could feel the grin spreading across her face as his words sank in and a short, disbelieving laugh escaped her lips, and then her arms were around him and after only a second of hesitation his arms were encircling her waist. She laughed giddily as she clung to him, the joy of it all making her dizzy, and the forwardness of her actions did not occur to her until she had pulled away. Erik did not seem displeased, though—a bit shy, perhaps, when he met her eyes, but not uncomfortable. But when she looked at him again she remembered with a jolt that her future had not been the only one in question, and her nerves flooded back.

"And you?" she asked urgently, but Erik gave her a small smile and shook his head.

"I am under close scrutiny, as usual, but my career is in tact for the time being. You do not need to worry about me."

"But I do worry about you," she told him. "You are risking your career for me. And I know that you do not see it as something you are doing for me, but the fact remains that if I do not perform well, you will suffer."

"You are too kind, Christine," Erik said gently, taking a step closer to her. "I do not want you to worry yourself over me. I want you to enjoy where you are and work for your own sake, not for mine."

"Can you honestly say that you do not worry about my performance at all for my sake and not your own?" she challenged, her expression softening when he hesitated. "Then we will worry together," she said decidedly. "And we will be happy together."

His smile slowly returned, making her own widen. "Very well."

They did not linger on the grounds of the estate for long, but when they arrived back at the Harrisons', Christine still felt as though her head was buzzing, her stomach fluttering in both nerves and exhilaration, and the idea of immediately returning to the subdued company of the others inside was not appealing. She asked Erik if they might take a walk down to the shore to allow her to catch her breath, and he agreed readily, likely also a bit relieved to be avoiding company for just a little while after the tense morning. Taking his arm without thinking, she led them around the house to the path that she had seen some of the others taking the day before, and just over a gentle, grassy hill, they reached the water's edge.

For a while they walked along quietly, meandering away from the house down the isolated beach. Christine took in deep breaths of the cool, fresh air, feeling a bit as though it was bringing her back to her senses. The breeze whipped her skirts around her ankles, and she thought a little longingly of how nice it would be to just run into the water and let the cold, salty waves carry her for a while. The image of how unsightly she would appear returning to the house completely soaked, trailing wet sand and seaweed behind her across the marble floor made her smile to herself. Erik was steady beside her, carrying his hat in his hand once the breeze had made wearing it impractical, and although he still seemed worn, his stance relaxed as they walked. After a while she could even see a faint smile on his lips. When they had walked quite a distance and had long lost sight of the house, they stopped and stood for a minute, still not speaking and just looking out onto the water.

Erik again ran his fingers across the edge of his mask, a gesture that she had noticed him doing earlier as well. "Are you okay?" she asked.

He looked at her as though he'd forgotten she was there for a moment. "Yes," he said. "The mask just irritates my face a little when I leave it on for a long time."

"You can take it off if you want." She saw his eyes widen and quickly continued. "I won't look. And I imagine the sea air would feel refreshing, don't you?"

He shook his head, smiling a little. "That is kind of you to offer, but it's not necessary."

"I promise not to look," she insisted, pausing as an idea occurred to her. Flashing Erik a smile, she stepped around him and turned until she stood perfectly behind him, her back lightly pressing into his. Even if she turned her head, she would only be met with his shoulder blade. "I'll stay right here," she told him. "I promise."

A minute passed, and she began to think that he would simply thank her again for the offer but tell her that there was no need. But then she felt him raise his arms, and she held her breath until he lowered them again. She didn't dare move and risk making him think that she was turning around to look at him. As much as she wanted to know, she would keep her promise.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yes." His reply was so soft that she almost couldn't hear it, as close to him as she was. "Thank you."

They stood like that in silence for a while, Christine eventually closing her eyes to enjoy the sound of the waves crashing and the warmth of the sun on her face, and the comforting feeling of the body pressed to hers. She wasn't sure if she had truly expected him to do it or not, but the fact that he had filled her with warmth. After the stress of the past two days, he deserved to have a moment of comfort and peace.

When he spoke again, the sudden sound of his voice nearly made her jump. "I used to be very frightened of the sea. When I was a child, the idea of all that untamable space terrified me."

"I have trouble imagining you being afraid of anything," Christine said.

There was a pause. "I'm afraid of many things."

"I am too."

She may have only imagined it, but she thought then that she could feel him leaning into her more. She thought about the night before when she had held his hand, remaining aware of the comforting touch even as her mind had grown hazier with sleep. It had felt as if his grasp was the only thing keeping her moored, and she had wished that she would never have to let go. Now his hand was so near hers that she could almost feel the brush of his slender, elegant fingers. She would barely have to move her hand at all—just the slightest motion and she could lace her fingers though his. She could take his hand and tell him that they didn't need to be frightened anymore, that they had each other and would take care of each other. But the words caught in her throat and her hands remained frozen at her sides.

So instead they simply stood. And maybe that was enough for now, she thought. Maybe it was enough for them just to be here leaning on each other, for him to trust her enough to stand here exposed.

She wasn't sure how long they remained like that before she felt him lift his arms again, and a second later he turned to her. Finally daring to face him again, she met his eyes and found a soft smile on his lips.

"I suppose we should return to the house. We'll be missed if we're away any longer," he said, although his voice suggested that he would not mind staying right here.

Taking his arm, she returned his smile. "Thank you for walking with me."

"There is no one I would rather walk with."

Christine didn't think she had ever been so proud of a distinction.