A powerful trait of Erik's nature was that he was inherently generous to women. After being removed from his mother, he had had little more than the clothes on his back to call his own. He'd detested being poor, and his contempt for being without had been the driving force behind his monetary success.

It pleased him greatly to be able to present the women in his life with expensive jewels and the occasional fur, rather than a simple box of candy.

With Christine, Erik's past habits fell away. He'd given this girl more than any of his other women had received. Instead of some expensive bauble, Erik had offered her a place in his life, for as long as she wished to stay with him.

Erik hoped her to stay for years; if things went well between them, Erik could see himself asking for her hand…but it was far, far too soon to even consider such a step. There was so much that laid ahead for them.

He took a deep breath. He was in his room; Christine was still beside the fireplace where he'd left her. He went through his dresser and found a pair of sweats given to him by the students from Columbia. Much too big for Christine's svelte frame, but it would be better for her to sleep in them rather than the black dress.

The only alternative would be for her to sleep nude.

Erik's pulse quickened at the thought.

He left his room and returned to Christine. She'd been staring at the flames dancing in the fireplace, the fire gilded her face. She turned and smiled at him as he approached. "Here you are," he said, handing the clothes to her. "They'll be too big for you, but they are comfortable,"

Christine took the clothes and rose on her toes to kiss him. "Thank you, Erik,"

She was thanking him for other things than the clothes, of course, but Erik would not demean their situation by telling her "you're welcome". He wanted his generosity to be accepted with the unspoken understanding that, as the man in her life, he would provide her with whatever she needed so long as she remained loyal to him.

She went off to the bathroom to change her clothes, and Erik sat down on the sofa with a drink in hand to ponder what gift he should purchase for her, something to declare her as his woman to the world. He decided that a necklace would be the best thing, surely.

Christine returned a moment later, looking incredibly vulnerable and also very young standing there barefoot, her slim body practically swimming in his sweats. She'd washed her face free of cosmetic, and unclipped her hair. The lone mane of Nordic blonde fell down her back, neatly aligning with the deep curve of her waist.

Erik held out his arm and Christine moved into the space he'd created for her, nestling against his chest. He held her, and glanced down. The gaping neck of his sweatshirt allowed him a prime view, but he looked away.

No. She is yours, but only once you take her will you be free to look at her. Wait until she's severed all ties with that club before you even think to ogle her!

Erik ticked his head slightly and decided that, yes, a necklace would be the best thing.

Christine was in the guest bedroom, her legs tucked up against her body, curled like an unborn child. She had been through so much in one night, they both had. She should be exhausted, certainly too tired to still be awake, and yet she was. Blue eyes roamed the dark room, too restless to sleep.

She had not expected that Erik would have gone to such lengths to uncover her past or to reveal his own; she had never dreamed that he would ask her to surrender her misery and be with him. Christine had been speechless. How could a man like Erik, who knew everything and who could do so much, how could he have wanted her?

She hadn't believed him; she'd hated herself for so desperately wanting to go to him, to abandon her responsibilities and forget all about the mounting piles of medical bills and most of all, bury the humiliation of all her nights spent dancing on the stripper stage.

But Erik was a man- what men in her life had ever been worthy of trust?

His hurt eyes had haunted her as she'd fled from his arms and his home. She'd been halfway down to the lobby before she'd pressed the button to stop the elevator. Why shouldn't she believe Erik? He was a man, more of a man than any of the monsters she'd known.

Besides her real father and Raoul, Erik was the most wonderful man she had ever met. He was kind, cultured and he had such respect for her. Christine supposed that she had forgotten what it was to be treated as a woman rather than an exotic dancer, a sexual object.

But he'd never treated her that way, Erik had only ever extended his hand in kindness.

Why shouldn't I stay with him, for however short our time together may be? He's so wonderful, and for whatever reason, he wants me. Me! God, for him I would be perfect, I could never give him anything less…I want him…Erik, I…

Christine felt a tear escape her eye, and rubbed her cheek. For once, Christine did not cry from anger, or pain, or humiliation, but from happiness and another emotion that she didn't yet feel ready to name.

In the morning, Erik served coffee and was disappointed when Christine politely declined his offer to make breakfast. "Are you sure? I'm a master of the Spanish omelet," he'd coaxed.

Christine was still attempting to recover from the shock of seeing him without a shirt for the first time. She sat at the small table in the dining room and watched as he maneuvered about the kitchen, setting the coffee machine and slicing oranges. He'd since put on a sweatshirt, much more worn than the one he'd provided for her. Perhaps he thought he'd made her uncomfortable.

He had, but not in the way that Erik had assumed.

Christine had woken early in the morning and had moved down the hallway, heading towards the kitchen for something to drink, when she'd seen him. Erik had been standing before his wall of windows, staring out at the city while it was still dark.

New York never slept, and neither, apparently, did Erik.

She must have made some sound as she'd been standing there, staring at the hard muscled planes of his back. He had a tattoo, but it had been too dark for her to know what it was. Christine hadn't meant to let her eyes absorb him so fully; it seemed almost rude to watch him so closely while he was unaware.

Erik had turned to look at her, his face unmasked in the dim light of his home. In turning, he'd presented his chest. Her eyes had widened slightly, and her lips had parted. Her primitive brain had the instant recognition of what Erik truly was under his masks and expensive, tailored suits.

Man. Strong man.

The planes and contours of his torso were powerfully defined, it seemed every inch of him had been carved from granite. As she'd let her eyes roam him, she hadn't been able to understand how his arms, so thick with raw muscle, had been able to hold her.

"Christine?"

He'd said her name, snapping her back to reality. Out of embarrassment, Christine had run back into the guest room. Thankfully, Erik hadn't mentioned anything about it as he set a steaming mug of coffee before her. He sat down across from her at the table and smiled, though Christine was confused as to why he was wearing another mask- his face didn't bother her at all.

"I thought we might move your things in sometime today," he said.

Christine raised her brows. "So soon?"

He reached over and took her hand into his. "Yes. I meant what I said last night; I want you with me as soon as possible. You do still want this, don't you?" he asked. Erik felt his pulse quicken slightly. She wouldn't change her mind now, would she? After everything that happened the night before?

Christine leapt at the chance, and quickly leaned over the table to brush his lips with her own. Erik liked that. She was very young, but unafraid to show him affection. He had worried that the differences in their ages would have been an obstacle when it came to intimacy, but Erik dismissed the idea now.

The only thing keeping them apart was the timing and Christine's memories of an abusive past- Erik would not pressure her, yet at the same time he would encourage and reassure her whenever he could.

"Yes, Erik, I do. You know I do," she asserted.

He smiled. "Good. No taxis today, I'll drive you myself,"

Erik rose from the table to retrieve a pair of shoes and his keys, leaving Christine to finish her breakfast and coffee. Her heart sped up- Erik had never been to her home, he didn't even know where she lived. Nervous heat rose to her cheeks as she looked around Erik's elegant loft, visually comparing it to her pathetic little hovel above the bakery in Chinatown.

Erik had a panoramic view of the city, while the only window at her place faced a brick wall of the building next door. Christine took a deep breath. Well. He can understand why I have to live there…at least my place has always been clean, even if its pipes leak, the door sticks, and it's in the worst neighborhood this side of Queens…

Christine sighed and finished her coffee, then she went into the guestroom to find her shoes and dress from the night before. If anyone thought she looked strange, wearing stilettos with an oversized pair of men's sweats, no one said anything as she dutifully followed Erik downstairs and through the lobby.

"T-that's your car?!"

Erik turned to her and raised his visible eyebrow. He had started down the steps toward a sleek black Range Rover, trimmed with gleaming chrome. He opened the passenger side door to her. "One of them," he informed. "I don't drive often enough to merit a car, but this one I use for weekends, the other is when I need to make an impression on opening nights."

Christine hesitantly slid into the buttery leather seat. "What kind of car is it?"

Erik climbed in and swung into traffic. He glanced at her, smiling. "Let me keep my secrets until the time is right, eh, Christine? Now, where do you live?"

Timidly, Christine gave Erik directions and tried not to cringe as the passing scenery became more and more desolate and impoverished. Finally, her place came into view as Erik turned a corner. "It's, um, it's right here," she said uneasily.

Erik narrowed his eyes as he looked where she'd indicated and parked at the curb. "You live in a Chinese bakery?"

Christine shook her head and cleared her throat. "No. Just above it."

Erik followed her around the side of the bakery, her familiar path through the litter-strewn alley, and up an old, rickety staircase to her door. Erik glared at the door she was unlocking. The paint was chipped and faded, the whole area seemed dangerous.

He couldn't imagine a worse place for a young woman to be living on her own.

Christine unlocked the door, though Erik didn't see why she didn't just kick it in- if she had, he could tell that the old wood would snap right out of its frame. Erik followed her inside, and as he looked around he was a little relieved to see that the interior of her tiny home was at least, very clean and organized.

He stood in the doorway and watched as Christine quickly set to work, digging a suitcase out from under the tiny bed, and moving to the closet to stuff it full of her clothes. Erik didn't know what to do- there were so few things in the apartment, but so much of it was personal. He wouldn't feel right handling the framed family pictures that she had arranged on a nightstand.

This was Christine's space, he felt like an intruder.

Christine had thrown all of her clothes into the open suitcase, and then tossed a few pairs of shoes over her shoulder and hoped that they landed in the case. One of the shoes missed its mark, and bounced on the floor to land beside Erik's feet. He glanced down and his brow instantly furrowed, his eyes glaring.

It was one of the cheap, clear plastic high heels that she was forced to wear onstage. Erik kicked it aside and glanced into her suitcase to see that, among her everyday clothes, Christine had inadvertently grabbed a stage costume as well. The Naughty Nurse outfit mocked him from the clothes pile, taunting him with the knowledge of what Christine had been forced to do in the name of family.

Christine had been at the kitchen counter, transferring all her cash from the cookie jar into her purse- there was no way that she would leave nearly $3,000 behind. She planned to deposit it into her account as quickly as possible. She started once she felt Erik's large hand on her shoulder. She turned around to face him.

"Take only what you can't replace, and leave the rest," Erik said. His voice was low and determined, it was almost a demand of her. She read the intent in his eyes, and she nodded, making sure that the jar was empty before leaving it in the kitchen.

Erik had moved back towards the doorway, waiting for her. Christine saw the costume on the top of her other clothes, and she cringed. She had grabbed everything from her closet at once, she had never wanted to take any of the night dancer experience with her. She looked at Erik, and shivered at the look in his eyes. Christine took her photographs and stepped toward him.

"I'm ready."

The drive back to Erik's apartment was silent between them, but for the CD player, which steadily spun one of his opera recordings. Christine tapped her foot and bobbed her head in time to the music. Erik had issued one, and only one very quick phone call on his cell. The language had not been in English, but French.

Christine knew several French words and phrases thanks to her years in ballet training, but she was not fluent, and could not follow the conversation. "Who was that?" she asked as Erik turned a corner.

He glanced over to her and smiled. "Just a friend,"

"Should I be jealous?" Christine asked teasingly, reaching for his hand.

Erik allowed her to lace their fingers. "No, when I said just a friend, I meant exactly that. Claudette is a woman I have known for years, but never intimately. She's more of a...friendly employee. I think that you will like her when you two meet later today,"

Christine raised her eyebrows. "Why are we meeting?"

Erik shrugged. "She might explain it better than I. Claudette has a very…elegant way of communicating with le femmes."

Christine smiled and enjoyed the rest of the ride back to what she had come to think of as her true home.

"Ah, Erik, she is exquisite, just as you said!"

Christine had been startled upon entering the apartment to find a stranger inside, already waiting for them. She backpedaled on instinct and backed right into Erik's chest. He splayed his hands flat over her stomach, and then moved to cup her hips to steady her. Christine blushed furiously, and not only from the embarrassment.

Erik winked at her, and then made introductions to the chic women standing in the living room. "Christine, this is Claudette. Claudette, I think you said it best, this is exquisite Christine."

The two women shook hands and Christine looked at Erik for assistance. "Since I forced you to leave it all behind, Claudette will be taking you out today for new clothes. That is, unless you'd prefer to wear my sweats and your stilettos from now on. I have no complaints," Erik said teasingly.

Christine felt her cheeks grow even more heated. She was tempted to tell him that the stilettos, just like the dress, belonged to Tawny, but she kept quiet about that. "No, Erik, you really don't have to do that, I can't-"

"You can, and you will!" Claudette cut in. "You Americans have too much pride. In France, when a man offers his mistress the use of his funds to pamper herself, there are never complaints, now come. You have only the clothes on your back, a shopping trip would have occurred one way or another today and you know it!"

Christine felt that she'd somehow painted herself into a corner, there was no way she could win the argument. "I…I…all right, you win," she admitted, laughing at herself.

Erik only smiled and handed his keys to Claudette.

"I'm not, you know," Christine said once Claudette had taken the wheel of Erik's Range Rover. At first the girl had worried that this Frenchwoman would attempt to drive on the wrong side of the road, but thankfully Claudette seemed comfortable with American traffic.

Claudette was a beautiful woman, perhaps only a few years older than Christine herself. She was dressed in a fine sleek Chanel pantsuit, her nails were neatly manicured, and her dark red hair was shaped into a neat bob that reached just below her ears. Everything about this woman screamed Fashion and Elegance.

Sitting next to her, Christine felt ridiculous wearing Erik's sweats and a borrowed pair of heels.

"Not what?" Claudette asked.

"Erik's, um, his mistress or whatever…"

Claudette glanced at her and laughed. "Well, since you sound so convinced, explain this situation to me. You live with Erik, yes?"

She shrugged, "Well, it's only been a day so far, but yes, I do now,"

Claudette nodded. "And he expects you to be a hostess to him? He demanded your loyalty? Fidelity?"

Christine wondered if Claudette had been listening in on their conversation from the night before. "I…mm, yes," she said, slightly uncomfortable and knowing that she was losing another argument.

Claudette looked over at her during a red light and put a hand on Christine's knee. "Erik has not taken you yet, I can see this. But, as you remain in his home, as his woman, you are his mistress. I will not lie to you. He has taken mistresses before, but never more than one at a time and none have shared his home. Not one. You should look at your place in his life with pride, as Erik does, and find your own happiness in being with him."

"But doesn't 'mistress' imply that-"

"That you lay with him for money? No! A whore beds a man for money- a mistress is a wife without rings. You are there for each other's pleasure and comfort. Never confuse the two. Don't let semantics stand in the way of your enjoyment of the man. You do enjoy him, do you not?" Claudette demanded.

Christine nodded. "Yes, he's wonderful to me,"

"Then be a proud mistress, and take the effort to enjoy his favors. Today, he has given me permission to build a winter's wardrobe for you. Clothing, jewelry, everything. We have the whole afternoon. Now, is there any store that you prefer above the rest?"

Christine fumbled for words- she knew that nothing found on the clearance racks of bargain stores would cut it with this cover girl escort of hers. She reflected on Claudette's words, and thought that it might be better to let this woman dress her. "I'm in your hands, Claudette," she said.

The woman turned to her. "I am glad to hear this. No fear, I have never led anyone wrong before, and I will not start a bad habit of doing so today."

Hours later, Christine had almost been physically ill when Claudette had read out the total figure of their afternoon together on the chic streets of New York. "What?! It can't possibly be that much! We've only bought a few things, and-"

"And I had the rest delivered to Erik's loft," Claudette finished easily.

Christine stopped. "You did what?"

"What you have today is the tip of an iceberg," Claudette said, indicating the three little bags at Christine's feet. "While you were changing in the dressing room, I had all the rest delivered back to Erik."

The blonde shivered and felt her stomach turn over. So far, they had only bought Christine a shirt, a pair of jeans and a bra to wear for the day, leaving Erik's sweats in the backseat of the Range Rover. Claudette had forced her to try on every piece of clothing in every shop they'd visited- Christine was exhausted, but she'd had no idea that Claudette would have the nerve to buy everything behind Christine's back!

"I can't believe you! Erik is going to kill the both of us over this, oh my God, all that money on clothes?!" Christine put her head in her hands. She would have to pay Erik back, she would have to dance for the next twenty years to pay back a fraction of the debt that Claudette had dragged onto her!

The Frenchwoman barely batted an eye. "You are overreacting. Erik said to take care of you, and I have. When he sees you as beautiful he will not give the money another thought, and neither should you. Now, finish your coffee, we are not finished yet."

The coffee tasted bitter on her tongue as she took the last sip. Christine swallowed. "Claudette, I think we're done for today. I can't possibly spend any more of his money-"

"Damn it, Christine! Erik gave me express orders, and I have never disappointed him before. Now, we have only a few more stops to make. You can come with me or you can walk all the way back uptown, which will be murder on your feet with those shoes," Claudette teased, pointing to the stilettos that Christine was still wearing.

She was tempted to tell Claudette that her feet could take the pain, and more, since she had spent so many years en pointe.

Instead, she nodded and followed Claudette as she led Christine to a chic salon. When Christine asked what she was going to do, Claudette turned her towards a mirror. "Your hair is ragged, and I can tell just by looking that you have tried to trim this mess by yourself. Nail scissors, am I right?"

Angrily, Christine nodded.

Claudette smirked. "Deep conditioning aromatherapy treatment, with a much-needed cut."

Christine whirled on her, "My hair doesn't smell bad!"

"No, it doesn't. It doesn't have a scent at all, and that's the problem. I feel that you have received no formal education at all in the ways of womanhood. A woman's hair should be scented, so should her skin. She must be luminous and sensual, a compliment to her man. Erik cannot tell you what he wants, and so I must. We have already begun today, but clothes do not make a woman. You are Erik's mistress, but you know nothing! I will have to teach you," Claudette said, her hands fluttering like upset butterflies.

Christine was becoming a little frustrated with Claudette's high-handedness in thinking that Christine was empty-headed just because she'd never been anyone's mistress before. It was irritating and reminded her of how Meg used to badger her in school when Christine avoided boys like the plague- her interest in dating had died the moment Michael had started touching her whenever they were alone.

The salon director called her name and Christine went, though she was so incensed that she barely registered what they did until the hairdresser twisted her chair around to face a mirror. She gasped.

Her hair shone with a health she hadn't seen in years! It had body, it had strength, her natural color seemed brighter than ever thanks to so much special treatment. She touched it, reveling in the softness. The excited hairdresser had happily lobbed off the dead inches of her hair, bringing Christine's mane to rest at mid-back, well below her shoulder blades.

In one afternoon, Christine had undergone a subtle transformation that had nothing to do with her hair, the new clothes or the makeup. It was internal; a new determination to make things work between Erik and herself. She wanted to be beautiful for him, but more than that, Christine wanted to be mistress to Erik, to make him as happy as he had made her.

When Claudette asserted that it was time to return back to the loft, Christine put up no fight.