Chapter Sixty-One

Four months later...

"I'm so tired," Christine sighed, putting away the remainder of their clothing in the closet of their new home. "I never thought I could get so worn out just moving in!"

Erik laughed. "Well, it is hard work. I only wish the house would have been completed sooner, when the builders said it would be. That should teach me to be more of a slave-driver, shouldn't it?" he smirked.

"Oh, it isn't all that bad. At least we didn't have to move during the cold winter months. I'm glad for that."

"Hmmm," he replied with a hint of disappointment. "I was actually looking forward to spending our evenings in front of a roaring fire, mon amour. Now it seems we will have to wait."

"Ah, but good things come to those who wait, yes?" she grinned.

He crossed the large bedroom and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. "You really are quite the optimist, aren't you?" He leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek. "I'm afraid I should go into the office today and to make sure things are running smoothly. If I don't, those partners of mine could very well run the business into the ground with their laziness!"

Christine rolled her eyes. "Not everyone is as zealous as you are, my darling," she chuckled, turning to face him. "They are, after all, older than you...perhaps you should relax on them a bit."

"I can't afford to relax, Christine," he frowned. "Not since the Viscomte withdrew his support from the Populaire. The managers have postponed the reconstruction indefinitely."

"So, that beautiful building is just going to sit there in ruins? I can't believe that no one will come forward to help! And I really am surprised that Raoul would just drop everything like that!"

"I'm not. The managers know my name. I can only assume that the young Viscomte knows it as well...and realizes that Erik Durand and the Opera Ghost are one and the same."

Christine reached up, caressing the white mask, which he had taken to wearing again. "But you aren't the Opera Ghost anymore, mon ange. Erik Durand is not the same man that he was then."

He smiled, kissing her forehead. "I understand what you're saying, but most people will never see me that way."

"I know," she replied softly, bowing her head. "And that is very unfortunate...for them."

He sighed, bringing his arms around her back and pressing her closely to him. "I love you, Christine," he whispered, tilting her chin upward and pressing a tender kiss to her lips. "But...I'm afraid that I can't stay here any longer. I have to go and check on the projects that we do still currently have underway. I should be home by dark."

"You're leaving me here alone with all of this work, hmmm? I think this is just an excuse to get away from your extremely domestic wife!" she teased him.

"You know me better than that. I love having you here rather than toiling away at that seamstress shop all day, working for so little...and truthfully, I love being home with you," he winked at her suggestively, kissing her quickly again on the lips.

"Stop teasing me and go to work, Monsieur Durand," she grinned. "I'll try to have your supper ready when you get home."

He caressed her cheek gently before he tossed his cloak over his shoulders and set out in their newly acquired carriage. He was not looking forward to the ride--though the countryside where they now lived was beautiful in the spring--nor to seeing what awaited him at the firm in Melun. He could only hope that his partners had been able to keep the other clients happy, and perhaps had acquired some new business during the week in his absence.

Luckily, his fears had been unfounded. Though the other men were reeling from the loss of the Populaire account (or rather, its baffling postponement), they had managed to secure two new clients in the few days that Erik had been moving into his home. Erik was pleased, and he told them so. His partners soon retired for the day, and he was so busy poring over the new client information that he lost track of time. It was nearly dark when he left, and well past the dinner hour. I hope Christine doesn't worry...how foolish of me to keep her waiting. Dinner must be getting cold by now, he thought. He set out at a brisk pace in his carriage and arrived home fifteen minutes earlier than anticipated.

Opening the door to their home and dreading the worried tone that he was sure to hear in his wife's voice, he was surprised when he stepped into a completely silent house. Where is she? He saw no sign of her in the kitchen, and no dinner had been made. He was slightly curious as to where she might have gone, but more than that, he was uneasy. Would she have left here without me? Did someone come to visit and take her into town? His mind raced as he made his way back to their bedroom, hoping to find her there organizing their belongings. Still, his keen ears heard no movement. He searched the darkening room for any sign of Christine, when he finally caught sight of auburn curls lying across the bed, on top of the spread, head at the opposite end from the pillows. As he crept nearer to her, he notice that she was breathing deeply and steadily. Asleep! He nearly laughed aloud with relief, but refrained, so as not to wake her. All of this moving has certainly affected her. He approached her slowly and knelt down at the side of the bed, brushing a few loose curls from her forehead. Well, it seems that I am to be the chef tonight, after all, he smiled to himself.

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Christine woke from her deep sleep to the sound of clanking pots coming from the kitchen. She stretched and yawned. Why is the room so dark? What time is it? I don't remember falling asleep! She tried to get up, but felt almost as if she had been drugged...her body simply did not want to move. "Ohhhh," she groaned, "I hope I'm not coming down with something." Clumsily sliding from the bed, she grasped the large mahogany poster at one corner. Suddenly, wonderful smells drifted to her nostrils. "Mmmm...what is that?" She stumbled out into the long hallway to head toward the kitchen when she felt a sudden urge to vomit. Oh, my! She gasped, dashing back to the bedroom and crossing into the master bath, barely making it before her stomach emptied itself of its meager contents. She steadied herself against the sink basin as she rinsed out her mouth and patted it dry with a small towel.

After several deep breaths, she made her way down the hall and into the kitchen. There was her husband, shirtsleeves rolled up, making dinner with his back to her. She had to smile at the sight, but also felt horribly guilty. I told him I'd have supper ready, and instead I fell asleep! She crept up behind him and laid a hand on his back. He turned immediately to face her, as if he had been aware of her presence the entire time.

"Did you have a nice nap?" He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, smiling.

"Apparently, I did! I never intended to fall asleep...I don't know what happened."

"You've just been working too hard, Christine. Besides, I haven't cooked in a while...it's my turn. I thought perhaps we'd have breakfast for supper. Eggs?"

"Mmmm, yes! With cheese, please...I'm so hungry! But...I'm afraid I may be coming down with something," she added with a puzzled expression.

He turned toward her, clearly concerned. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, I don't know...I guess it's just because I've been so tired lately, and just now after I woke up, I...I vomited in the lavatory." She blushed a little, feeling very unladylike speaking about such things.

"Hmmm." He stepped close to her, pressing his hand to her forehead. "You don't feel feverish to me. Any cough?"

"No."

"Well, perhaps you should take it easy for a day or two. The house will be put together soon enough...you don't need to rush to get everything done, ma cherie," he frowned slightly, turning back to the task at hand.

"You disapprove of my hard work? Hmph! I will remember that when you complain that there are no works of art on the walls and you can't find your favorite books," she laughed.

He stopped cooking and turned to embrace her. "No, I do not disapprove. You've done a beautiful job in our new home, mon amour. But if you aren't feeling well, then I want you to know that your health is more important than keeping a perfect house. Alright?" He kissed her nose.

"Alright." She wrapped her arms about his waist, laying her head against his chest and smiling to herself. "Perhaps I should collapse in exhaustion every afternoon...if it means that I don't have to cook."

He poked her ribs, and she giggled. "Now, your cooking has improved greatly over the past few months, my sweet wife..." he teased her with a gleam in his eye. "No one's been poisoned yet."

"You're horrible!" She laughed, slapping him on the arm. "Oh, I almost forgot—how did things go at the office?"

Erik stepped away slowly and turned his attention back to cooking. "Better than I expected. Two new clients just this week. Perhaps if I keep out of sight, things will continue to go well," he joked.

"Any word on the status of the Populaire?"

"No. But I'd imagine that the managers won't be able to afford to hold on to it for much longer. If I were them, I'd look to sell it."

"Sell it? To whom?"

"Whoever would buy it...to either rebuild it, or have it demolished completely and raze the site for a new structure."

Christine frowned. "Oh, I'd hate to see that beautiful building torn down. I realize that it's in ruins right now, but...there are so many memories I have of that place. It was my home for so long."

"I know." Erik grew quiet for a moment before Christine realized the reason for his sudden silence.

"Oh. Oh, Erik, mon amour..." she cooed, stepping to wrap her arms around his waist from behind. "I'm so sorry...of course, it was your home, too—for far longer than it was mine. It must sadden you to think of it no longer existing."

He sighed. "No, it doesn't, actually."

"It doesn't?"

"No. I truly want nothing more to do with that place. In a way, I'm relieved that the project has been halted. I think that somewhere, in the back of my mind, I felt that if I were to continue with it, somehow I would be putting us at risk of being discovered. I believe that's why I felt so fearful for a time, carrying my...weapon...with me again." He paused, lost in thought. "I know that such a project would have brought much attention to the firm. I suppose that in the past, I just wanted my talents to be noticed, but now...I think I would like to use my talents for the Lord, and remain unnoticed. What would happen if I were to become well-known in Paris? It wouldn't take long before the authorities learned who I am...or rather, who I used to be. And where would that leave us?"

"Oh, Erik," she sighed, holding him tighter. "You should be destined for greatness...your name should be known the world over! And because of mistakes that we both made, you may never achieve what you were meant to. I'm so sorry." A tear slipped down her cheek as she imagined what might have been.

"Christine," he whispered, loosening her grip on his waist and turning to cup her face in his hands, "it is not what I achieve in this world for my name's sake that matters anymore. I...I've been praying and seeking God, and I think..." He paused to collect his thoughts. "I believe that I am to live my life for others now...not for myself. I've spent enough time living only for my own selfish plans and desires, don't you think? I don't want to make a name for myself. I just want to make a difference, somehow."

"What do you mean? What do you believe that God would have you to do?"

"I really don't know right now. I'm waiting to see where He leads."

She smiled. "I am so proud of you."

"What?" he chuckled, a bit embarrassed.

"You see, you don't even realize it, do you? You are beautiful, mon amour...your heart is truly, truly beautiful. I'm so proud to be your wife."

His eyes glistened with moisture for a moment before he pecked her on the lips, still shocked into embarrassment by his wife's assessment. He turned back to the stove and picked up the skillet. "Well, let's hope that our supper turns out to be as wonderful as you think I am, mon ange. And after that, you'll go straight in for a bath, and then to bed, understand?" He raised his one exposed dark eyebrow, and she shook her head.

"Oh, my husband," she chuckled. "You are truly incorrigible."

He motioned for her to sit down at the small breakfast table in the corner. She did so, and he set a steaming plate before her. "You knew what you were getting into when you married me," he winked. "Eat your eggs."

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A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter. This update has been long in coming...I apologize. Updates may not come as frequently as before, but I promise you I won't make you wait too terribly long, and I WILL finish this story:) Please review!