A/N: Well, may I just start this chapter off by saying "WOW!" You all left me a record number of reviews (13 to be exact) for the last chapter! You have no idea how much I appreciate that. And here, I thought it was just a "regular ol' chapter." (lol) I was actually quite taken aback by the positive reactions, so I thank you.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

"You should wear the blue one, Angelique. Blue really is your color."

"Oh, why did I ever agree to do this? This is ridiculous. I am going to be miserable there tomorrow night!"

Justine laughed. "Well, just keep telling yourself that, and I'm sure you will be. Now come on, try it on!"

"I don't want to."

"Do it anyway."

Angelique sighed in exasperation. "Fine." She managed to get the frock on with little trouble and turned to face her sister, smirking. "Well?"

"It's perfect!" Justine cried, hugging her younger sister, who was too stunned to respond in kind.

"Why are you so excited about this?"

"Because, like I told you...Maurice is going to be there, and all of the "nobility"...don't you just love to see them come all dressed up and perhaps get the chance to speak with them, if you're fortunate?" She looked off dreamily at some unknown point on the flowered wallpaper.

"Actually, no, I don't love it. But I will tolerate it. For Father."

"At least try to smile when you're there. Scowling won't win you any dances."

"Who said that I wished to dance?"

Justine shook her head. "You really are hopeless, you know?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sunlight trickled in between the gaps in the drawn shades, and he rolled over to avoid it. An insistent tickle on his bare chest, however, mercilessly roused him from his slumber despite his efforts to scratch the itch. After several moments, the tickle still hadn't ceased. Erik squirmed, but then he felt warm breath on his neck, and he smelled something...lavender and roses. Christine. He pried one eye open slightly, still pretending to be asleep. She moved closer and placed herself within the circle of his arms, which he allowed to hang limp.

He's awake...I know he is, she grinned devilishly. She began to lightly kiss his neck, and he could hold back no longer, releasing a low chuckle in his throat. He tightened his hold on her and brought her against his chest. She giggled.

"Good morning, ma belle femme." He kissed her forehead, closing his eyes again and reveling in her sweet fragrance and the softness of her skin against his own. Will I ever become used to this?

"Good morning. I knew that you were pretending," she smiled, leaning up to look into his eyes.

"Did you, now?"

"Mmmhmm. I always know when you're pretending."

"How?"

"By the way you breathe."

He lazily cocked an eyebrow. "Something I shall have to work on, I suppose."

"Come on. Let's have breakfast. I'm famished!" She pecked him on the lips and slid off of her side of the bed.

Groaning, he stretched languidly, knowing that his wife's eyes were drinking him in the entire time. "Do we really have to get up now?" Suddenly, Christine's stomach growled as if on cue. He laughed in surprise. "Apparently so! Breakfast it is, then."

After preparing a light meal of fruit, tea, and croissants, they sat at the kitchen table together...not across from each other, but adjacent...taking every opportunity to hold hands and give each other light caresses each time they reached for their food. Soon they found that they were feeding each other small pieces of fruit, not even speaking...sharing a wordless bond. It was enough, it seemed, and their eyes clearly reflected the pure oneness that they felt.

Christine was the first to break the sweet silence. "Erik?"

"Hmmm?" he answered, caressing the hollow where her neck met her shoulder.

"I have been meaning to ask you something...and you don't have to tell me if you don't wish to, but..."

His expression grew serious. "What is it, mon amour?"

"Oh, it's just...on our...on our first night together...our wedding night..." she said with a blush, "you said some things to me that were..."

"What?"

"Well, they were so passionate and poetic. I'd never heard them before. Did you write them?"

He relaxed, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. "No."

"You didn't?"

"I didn't." He popped a small piece of croissant in his mouth.

She paused, as if waiting for an explanation, while he sat there, chewing. Frustrated, she crossed her arms and leveled a glare at him. "Well?"

He swallowed and grinned. "Well, what?"

"Well, where did you get them from?"

"You really need to know?"

She stood abruptly. "Never mind. Forget I asked." She turned away from him, crossing to the kitchen and pouring herself another cup of tea.

"You're angry?" he asked, his eyes reflecting genuine surprise. "There's no need for that." He got up from the table and strode quickly to the bookshelf, pulling down the Bible that he read from daily. "Sit down, Christine...please."

Reluctantly, she plunked herself down on the chair next to him and gave him a questioning look. "What are you doing?"

"What you asked me to do. Showing you where it came from."

He flipped the pages until he found the Song of Solomon, pointing with his finger to a passage and pushing the Bible nearer to her. "Here."

"You're joking."

"I'm not," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "Read it yourself."

She scanned the page for a few seconds before her face reddened and her mouth began to curve into a smile. She let out a single laugh, which quickly turned into a fit of giggles. "Oh...oh ho ho my goodness, Erik!"

He gave her a wry smile. "Satisfied?"

"Very," she replied, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his mouth. "It was...quite effective."

"Yes, I certainly thought so," he grinned.

She straightened in her chair. "Well. Now that the mystery is solved, I was also wondering about something else--"

"Oh, Christine, mon ange, why so many questions this morning?" Erik asked wearily.

"Well, because you were very quiet last night after our dinner with the Laurents. Monsieur Gregoire acted as if he had an urgent matter to discuss with you. You said nothing to me about it, and you seemed a little...withdrawn."

"Did I?"

She nodded at him, and he sighed. "I'm sorry."

There was another long pause. "Are you really going to make me drag it out of you again, my elusive husband? You can't hide from me anymore, Opera Ghost," she quipped, regretting her words almost immediately as she saw the expression of sadness on his face. "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, Erik, I didn't mean any--"

"He knows."

"What?"

"Gregoire knows. He knew somehow that there was more history between you and I and the boy. He asked me what it was, and I...I told him."

Christine put her face in her hands, near tears. "No...oh, no...he'll tell Raoul, Erik! He'll...he'll find us, and you'll be arrested! Oh, Erik, why? Why did you do this?"

He could hear the fear in her voice and quickly moved to wrap his arms around her small frame. "Christine, it's alright. We're safe. He will not tell the boy."

"But the Laurents have been friends with the Chagnys for years, Erik! Raoul told me so himself!"

Erik rested his chin on her shoulder, speaking reassuringly into her ear. "Apparently, quantity of time has little to do with the quality of friendship."

"What do you mean?" she asked him, raising her head up to lean against his cheek.

"He swore to me that he would take the information with him to his grave, Christine. And he didn't ask us to leave. In fact, he said that I was a man of strength."

She turned around slowly then, taking his unmasked face in her hands. "Oh, Erik." She kissed him soundly, a tear trailing down her cheek. "He's right. You are that and so much more."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"It's been a while...you'd better let me go in alone."

"Of course."

Erik slowly approached the gate and smiled as the black mare, Baptême du Feu, whinnied and trotted over to nuzzle his upraised hand. "Looks like she hasn't forgotten me."

Christine smiled. "Well, you are rather unforgettable...at least, I always thought so."

Erik winked at her. "We don't have much time if we're going to ride. It will be time for supper soon. Did the Laurents invite us to the house again?"

"Yes, but..."

"But what?"

"I thought that perhaps we could...go in town to see Meg?"

"What? I can't just go walking about downtown Paris, Christine! The church is the only place that I feel safe enough to--"

"I know," she said softly. But they would be glad to see us, and...and their flat is fairly private. Please?" She looked up at him, doe-eyed, and his resolve crumbled, as it typically did in her presence.

He sighed. "Alright, we'll go. I know how much it means to you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Feeling invigorated after a short ride, Erik and Christine took a carriage to downtown Paris. On the way, Erik decided that it would be best if they stop by the Girys' flat and take them to the church, where he felt more secure. Christine reluctantly agreed, wondering if the constant hiding would ever end. She was hopeful, but also had to be realistic. Her husband was a wanted man, and he wore a mask...he would surely be recognized wherever they went in Paris. She prayed that beyond Paris, the "Phantom" would be viewed as more of a superstition than a reality.

Meg threw her arms around Christine upon answering the door to their upstairs flat. "Oh! You've come back! How was your trip?" She blushed suddenly, pulling back, wondering if she had perhaps asked an inappropriate question. "I...I mean, did you have fun? I--I mean..." She bit her lip, and Christine laughed, her eyes sparkling.

"Yes, it was fun...and the scenery was as beautiful as ever. I'm so glad we went, even if it was cut short. Erik's employer passed away, and--"

"What's that?" Madame Giry asked sharply, entering the room mid-conversation. "Erik's employer passed away? That's terrible!"

"Yes, Madame," Christine nodded. "But Erik has inherited a third of his company...it was in the will."

Both of the Girys stood staring at the young woman before them, not quite believing what they had just heard. "How can that be?" Madame Giry asked, wide-eyed. "Erik has only worked there for a short time, hasn't he?"

"Yes, but apparently his employer thought so highly of him that he added him into his will. It was quite a shock...especially for Erik."

"I can imagine...he isn't accustomed to receiving any sort of approval."

Christine smiled. "Well...he is trying to overcome that. Speaking of Erik, he's downstairs waiting in the carriage. We wondered if you'd care to have a visit with us...but it—it would have to be at the church, because Erik doesn't feel--"

"Doesn't feel safe in the city. Correct?" Madame Giry raised an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Of course he wouldn't. Meg, get your cloak and for heaven's sake, put on some sensible shoes! You can't wear ballet slippers everywhere...it isn't good for you." She fetched her own heavy shawl and put a scarf around her head for warmth. "Ready?" she said, glancing at Meg, who clearly was not.

"You go ahead, Maman. I'll be down in a moment."

Madame Giry sighed and followed Christine out the door and down to the waiting carriage. As they approached, the small black door was pushed open slowly from the inside and a hand was extended to assist Madame Giry.

"Erik."

"Monique."

"How are you?"

He smiled. "Surely, you already know the answer to that."

She gazed at him for a moment before her lips curved into a smile of their own. "You're happy. It is a rare sight," she said, seating herself opposite him.

"Not so rare anymore, Monique. Thanks to my lovely wife," he added, reaching out to help Christine inside as well. "Where is little Giry?"

Madame Giry smiled at the term of endearment that Erik used toward her daughter. "Meg is upstairs putting on her cloak and shoes. She should be down in a moment."

As if on cue, Meg rushed out of the building doors, flitting toward the carriage like a blond butterfly. Her cloak was hastily thrown over her shoulders, and she gripped it with one hand to keep it on. "Sorry!" she whispered, as she came to the carriage door. Upon seeing Erik, she froze for a moment, her look of embarrassment fading into one of hesitation...as though she were recalling memories in the not-so-distant past.

"Hello, little Giry," Erik greeted her with a low, soft tone, as if reading her thoughts. He offered her his hand and she took it, smiling sheepishly.

"Thank you." Upon seeing Christine, she grinned again and seated herself next to her mother across from the newlyweds. "Where are we going? I've forgotten."

Her mother smiled knowingly and patted her knee. "The church, ma cherie. Remember?"

"Oh. Yes, of course." She shyly glanced down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap.

There was an uncomfortable silence as the carriage rumbled toward the church, and Erik tried not to make it worse, avoiding eye contact with the women present. He pretended to look out the window, all the while watching his wife's reflection as she smiled in anticipation...no doubt, at being alone and gossiping with Meg about their honeymoon. He only hoped that she would show tactful restraint... The very thought made him squirm. Our private life should remain our private life, he thought to himself. But I have heard how women gossip at the Opera house...they can be entirely too detailed. He turned his head to face his wife, and she leaned into him, smiling.

At last, they arrived at the church, entering through the side door, as was Erik's custom. Father Michel heard them, and poked his head out of his study doorway, eyebrows raised in question. "Oh! Hello there!" he said, recognizing them at once and stepping into the main sanctuary. "Madame Giry, Meg, how have you been since the wedding?"

"Just fine, thank you, Father," Madame Giry answered politely.

"Well," Erik interrupted, "I suppose we should let you three ladies have your visit now. Father Michel, do you mind if I join you in the study?"

"No, not at all."

The old priest shot him a curious glance as he entered the study and sat down in an armchair. "Erik, is there some particular reason why you've come here today?"

He looked surprised. "Oh. Are we bothering you?"

"Goodness, no! I was just wondering..."

"I know. I apologize for just barging in here. Christine was desperate for a visit with her foster mother and sister, but I felt this was the only safe place to do so. Is that alright?"

Father Michel smiled. "Of course, Erik." Then he chuckled. "You know, about four months ago I'm certain you would never have seen a church as a 'safe place.'"

Erik shook his head. "No, quite right. I wouldn't have. But now...I see why you call your place of worship a 'sanctuary.' I feel safe...it's as if I can feel God's presence here."

Father Michel nodded in understanding. "And you don't usually feel safe?"

"Never. I'm always wondering who will try to arrest me or accost me...or who will send me once again into a murderous rage..." He shook his head. "And I don't want to be that man anymore. But, if anyone were to threaten my wife or those that I love, I know that I would not hesitate to protect their lives by taking that of another."

"Erik, you are not the man you were before. Murder should never be taken lightly...and you should do whatever you can to protect your family, with killing being a last resort. Do you understand what I'm saying, my boy?"

"Of course I do. But I have made myself some more...weapons...at home. And I've begun to carry one with me again...I just seem to have this idea that our lives could be endangered by anyone at any time."

"Anyone, Erik? Even me?"

Erik chuckled. "No, not you, Father. Your heart is as transparent as a pane of glass...there is no deceit in you. It's other men that I worry about."

"My boy, you cannot live in fear. Fear is not from God...you must live in faith, knowing that it is He who looks after you. And He has even promised that His glory will be your "rear guard" in times of trouble. So even if you have no knowledge of someone trying to do you harm from where you least expect it, He will be protecting you. Does that make sense?"

Erik nodded, pursing his lips. "Well, enough about me...how have you been, Father? Is anything new happening in your life?"

He smiled. "Oh, I've been fine. Nothing too out of the ordinary going on around here...but I have been prayerfully considering some things."

"Such as?" Erik leaned in, genuinely curious.

"Oh, nothing that should concern anyone at the present time. When I hear of a definite direction from the Lord, I will let you know. Until then, I don't want any outside influences to sway my heart. Not even you, my dear boy." He spoke with a kind smile in his eyes, and Erik's heart swelled with love for the old priest.

"Father..."

"Yes?"

"You're not thinking of leaving, are you?"

He sighed. "Oh, my son, I have to commit this to much prayer, do you understand? I shouldn't have mentioned it...now I can see that you are uneasy."

Erik's posture was rigid. "I...I just...can't imagine not having you here..."

Father Michel leaned toward Erik, laying a hand upon his shoulder. "I feel the same way. But let's not speak of this any further before I receive clear direction from the Holy Spirit. Agreed?"

The question hung in the air for several seconds. "Agreed," Erik responded at last. He couldn't erase the sudden feeling of sadness that washed over his soul. What would I ever do without this man? He is the only man who has ever truly loved and accepted me as a father should... Lord, please don't take him from me now.

"So," Father Michel said cheerfully, startling Erik from his thoughts, "have you eaten supper yet?"

"No."

"Well, then, you may all have supper with me, if you like. I would enjoy the company."

Erik forced himself to smile a little. "Of course. Thank you."

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A/N: I can feel the tension already. -bites nails nervously- Are you all glad that there was no Raoul in this chapter? (Ha!) Thanks for reading. Please leave me your thoughts—REVIEW!