Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Phantom of the Opera (stuffs Erik into a closet to hide him from lawyers). See?

AN: And now a Phantom-fan's dream: having dinner with Erik. I hope that everyone enjoys the chapter and will review it. Thanks!

Chapter 5: Dinner in Paris:

I let Erik whisk me away in a taxi cab to a small corner restaurant. The eatery was dark and looked empty on the outside, but once he'd escorted me past the front door, I noticed that it was meant to look that way. In fact, the place was beautiful and mysterious, the candlelit interior very elegant in dark woods and red velvets, the walls a deep maroon that absorbed light instead of reflecting it. All together, it was one of the most romantic settings I could ever imagine.

'It's like a scene from a movie,' I thought as the hostess smiled and led us inside.

Erik gently took my hand in his and escorted me to our table, which happened to be a cozy booth in the back right-hand corner. He took a seat to my left while I sat in the center of the curve of the booth and the table. All around the back were lanterns that flickered with light, and there was a small candelabrum in the center of the table, the candles set in delicate cups of cut crystal. I felt horribly underdressed in my jeans and sneakers, along with a bulky travel bag, but the way Erik smiled at me made it feel as though it were the most expensive and gorgeous outfit in the world.

"You look lovely," Erik whispered as the hostess gave us our menus. "Do not worry, many of those who eat here come directly off the streets and are dressed as you are." A teasing smile played upon his lips. "However, I should mention that this place is a well-kept secret known only to a few people, so try to keep it between us, hmm?"

I giggled at him before looking down at my menu to see the choices. After my first glance, however, I knew I was in trouble.

The whole thing was written in French.

Since cursing aloud was not an option, I settled for blushing instead. Like most Americans, I did not speak French, and hadn't studied it at all before traveling to the center of French civilization. Chewing my lower lip, I tried to figure out the situation without embarrassing myself; the last thing I wanted to do was pull out my French-English dictionary, since that would practically scream that I was a tourist and needed help.

'Well, I could always ask Erik.' That idea, while a good one, seemed as embarrassing as the rest. I barely restrained myself from rolling my eyes. 'Oh, yeah, that would be a good way to impress someone! 'Hey, Erik, would you mind translating my menu for me? I can't read it.' Oh, yes, very nice, Alisa.'

However, I didn't have any other choices, so I shyly peeked up from my menu and glanced over at the man sitting beside me. To my surprise, Erik was giving me a sweet, understanding look while his menu lay flat on the table.

"Would you like me to translate it for you, Alisa?" he asked, nodding at the menu in my hands. "Or would you like me to order for the two of us instead?"

I could feel the blush in my cheeks deepen as I cleared my throat. "Well, you see…" I sighed and put the menu down as well. "I've never had French food before, though I've heard all sorts of things about what you do and don't eat, but…"

"But you are not sure you can, how do you say, 'stomach' our food?" Erik asked in a teasing voice, laughing as I clapped a hand over my eyes in embarrassment. "No, do not fret," he said as he place a gentle hand on mine, removing it from my face. "Do you like seafood or beef?"

Nodding, I reached for the cloth napkin-wrapped silverware and freed the utensils from their cloth prison, spreading the napkin over my lap to keep my hands busy. "I like both, actually, though I can't eat lobster." He gave me a puzzled look. "I'm not allergic to it or anything; it just doesn't agree with me, that's all. Crab and shrimp is fine, though, as is everything else."

Erik nodded. "You are not vegetarian?" he pressed, as though he wanted to be absolutely sure he wasn't going to insult me by ordering the wrong thing.

"No, but don't order any veal or baby animals, okay?" I said with a half-smile. "No snails, either!"

He chuckled. "As you wish," he said as the waiter approached the table. "Now, do you trust your stomach with me?"

I smiled. "Of course I do," I replied, leaning back in the booth.

When the waiter arrived, I watched in fascination as Erik used that wonderful voice of his to speak in French as he ordered our dinner. How in the world could watching a Frenchman order dinner look and sound so sexy and fantastic? Not wanting to interrupt, I merely sat there and listened in as the two chatted. A moment later, the waiter left and Erik and I were left alone once more.

"Thanks for ordering for me," I said as a busboy placed water glasses on the table and filled them before scurrying off. "If I'd tried doing it, I'm afraid I would have ordered something terrible or gotten funny looks!"

"It was no trouble," Erik replied as he took a sip of water. "Would you care for some wine?"

"Oh, I'm afraid that I'm not familiar with wine," I said, feeling uncomfortable.

I watched as his left eyebrow rose. "But you are of drinking age, yes?" he asked.

"Well, yes, of course, but I've never actually-" was as far as I got before Erik signaled to another waiter.

Lowering my eyes, I felt a sense of dread creep over me. Why, oh why, did I feel like an uneducated, backwoods girl next to this man? He was so handsome, and so experienced in the world that it made me feel as though I should have stayed in the small town I came from. It also didn't help that Erik was extremely well-dressed, too; a dark blue dress-shirt, black pants, polished leather shoes, and gold cufflinks all screamed good taste, and the dark colors only made his white mask stand out even more.

"Here you are," Erik's voice cut into my thoughts.

I pulled myself back to the present and watched a waiter pour some very expensive wine into two glasses. After his task was done, the wine server wrapped the bottle in a white cloth and set it in a silver ice bucket (which had appeared while I was lost in thought) before leaving us with a polite bow.

"A red wine to go with our meal," Erik said, raising his glass as though for a toast.

I hesitantly picked up my glass, suddenly feeling very timid about proceeding. Nonetheless, I raised it and the sound of the two glasses coming together rang across the table. I watched as Erik took a sip of his wine, rolling it through his mouth with his tongue, and I suddenly felt the need for some cold water. Placing the wine glass back on the table, I picked up my water and sipped, savoring the coolness of the ice as it helped stop the blush that I could feel spreading through me.

'Oh, god, I don't think I've ever blushed this much in my life!' I thought as I took another sip of water while trying to avoid eye contact with Erik.

Then again, I didn't have much experience talking to ordinary males, much less handsome men who asked me out to dinner after serenading me on the stage of the Paris Opera House! Personally, I was very flattered by all this attention, but I just couldn't believe that this remarkable man was interested in me. I just happened to be a young woman with good timing, that's all!

"You have not touched your wine," Erik remarked, pulling my attention towards him once more.

I looked between my glasses and winced. "I'm afraid I'm not one for alcohol," I said, sipping my water once more. "Besides, the wine I tried once did not turn out to be a very good experience."

"Ah," he replied as he reached out and took my wine glass from its spot on the table. I watched in fascination as Erik used his other hand to pick up one of my own and place the glass in my hand. "Americans, I'm afraid, are not raised on good French wine, and therefore it takes them time to accustom themselves to its taste. I promise that this is one that will be far better than any you have previously experienced."

Looking into his green eyes, I saw that there was a flicker of hope, as though the fate of his entire world rested on my opinion of his wine choice. Inwardly sighing, I took a sip of the dark red liquid. An explosion of sweetness flowed throughout my mouth, and I nearly spit it back out in surprise. The wine was actually quite good, though there was a light tang to it, as it did have alcohol in it. Still, it was very pleasant, and after I swallowed, I took another sip, keeping an eye on Erik's expression as I did so.

A relieved smile pulled at his lips. "You enjoy it, then?" he pressed, as though to make sure.

I finished swallowing the sip I had taken and smiled at him. "Well, I'm not a wine-lover yet, but you're right; this is better than the one I previously had."

He chuckled before taking a drink from his own glass.

Inside, Erik could feel his heart melting as she smiled at him. He had taken a great risk at ordering the wine, but as with most Americans who were inexperienced with the beverage, he had ordered the sweetest, least-alcoholic wine the restaurant had to offer. Thankfully, Alisa was pleased with it, which helped to quell his anxiety about the evening.

The restaurant he had brought her to happened to be one of the most expensive in Paris, but didn't really have a name. It kept itself a secret by hiding behind a nondescript exterior and catered only to a very specific clientele. If a tourist was fortunate enough to find this place by word-of-mouth, and could speak French fluently, they would be able to have a good meal with very little trouble. However, the place mostly served the wealthy and/or noble classes, and could almost be mistaken for a "club" of the rich and aristocratic.

Erik himself had come across the place quite by accident. He had been heading home from the Opera House, walking to enjoy the fine weather, and had accidentally stumbled through the door after a group of tourists had crowded him off the sidewalk. At first, the hostess had been surprised to see him, but after a moment, she seemed to recognize Erik as the wealthy owner of the Opera House. That shouldn't have been difficult to deduce, as his picture sometimes appeared in various parts of the Paris newspapers, mostly in the society pages. The woman had then asked him if he would like to sit down to dinner, and after that, the place became a regular dining experience for him.

Since he spent quite a few evenings a week eating here, this very booth, the one that he and his lovely date sat in this evening, was always reserved for him. True, as a force of habit from his past experiences, Erik did not usually go out very often; but then, most places weren't as dark as this place was, nor was the seating as ideal as it was here. If he was seated facing away from the crowds, no one could see his mask, and therefore, no one would stare at him and whisper behind his back until he'd left the place. The dim lighting of the restaurant, combined with the perfect seating, quickly became his favorite place to eat.

'Though before tonight, I've always eaten here alone,' Erik thought as he sipped his wine. 'I can only imagine what could happen if I brought a date along with me.' He shuddered at the thought. 'Those dates would probably order the most expensive things on the menu and coo over everything in sight!'

Thankfully, Alisa was not like that. She seemed quite shy, actually, which only appealed to him even more. He noticed that she was alternately sipping the wine and her water, probably to either not become drunk, or to try and appease him in drinking the wine he'd ordered. Whichever one it was, Erik could only think higher of her.

'The last thing I want to do is carry her out of here after unintentionally getting her drunk,' he thought, smiling in amusement. 'That would only embarrass her later, and it would be a shame if she decided to no longer see him because of one little 'situation.''

"Erik?" Alisa's voice asked. "Are you paying attention?"

He turned his attentions away from his wine glass and back towards the present. "Yes?"

"I believe our food is arriving," she commented as she leaned back in her seat, allowing the servers to set a plate in front of her.

Erik leaned back as well, inhaling the smells of their dishes. The waiters quickly refilled the wine and water glasses and bowed before leaving the two alone once more. Curious as to how his lady would react to her meal, Erik carefully watched Alisa's expression as she picked up her fork and began to investigate her food.

'I have no idea what this is,' I thought as my eyes stared at my plate.

To be truthful, I thought it looked like raw beef, but I could have been wrong. However, the smells coming it was unmistakable: it was indeed beef, but whether or not it was cooked was the question.

"It is cooked," Erik whispered to me. I looked up at him in surprise. "The sauce is red; that is why you look alarmed and hesitant to try it, no?"

I blushed and nodded before picking up my knife and cutting into the meat. To my relief, it was cooked perfectly, and I was relieved to see that the sauce was indeed red from the herbs and wine, not from the meat itself. Slicing a piece of the beef away from the rest, I poked it with my fork and put it in my mouth. The first thing I tasted was the wine used in the sauce, but after that, a wonderful, savory flavor coated my tongue, and I couldn't stop myself from taking another bite before the first one had been swallowed. Erik chuckled before digging into his own dinner, a mixture of seafood that consisted of shrimp, scallops, and mushrooms, along with other things I couldn't name, but which certainly smelled wonderful.

We ate in silence for a few moments, getting about halfway through our meals before attempting conversation. Erik asked me if I was enjoying Paris, and I casually remarked that it was my first day here, though it was indeed a memorable one. I listed the other things I hoped to see, but Erik merely waved them aside.

"If you will permit it, I will happily show you the city as it should be seen," he said with a hopeful smile, green eyes glittering in the candlelight.

I gladly returned the smile after swallowing another mouthful of beef. "That sounds wonderful," I said, blushing while cutting another bite to eat.

"Tell me, Alisa, why are you in Paris alone?" Erik asked as he polished off his dinner.

A chunk of meat lodged in my throat, though I managed to force it down by swallowing a bit of water along with it. "Well," I replied once the food was safely in my stomach, though I had now lost my appetite. I gently put the fork and knife down onto my plate. "You see…I'm embarrassed to say that I don't have many friends in my life, and since a relative of mine just left me some money, I decided to use it to visit Paris while I was young enough to enjoy it and look around."

Erik nodded. "I, too, do not have friends in my life," he said softly, his right hand reaching out to clasp my own. "But then, I am an artist, and we tend to only meet people in our own circle during special events, and rarely even then." He visibly winced and I saw his right hand twitch upwards, though just slightly.

I looked up at him and followed his hand's direction up to the mask on his face. How had I not seen it before? It was a beautiful golden-color in the candlelight of the lanterns, shining like a living work of art in the dancing glow of the room, and I couldn't resist a closer look. The thing was perfectly fitted to his face, so much so that it even dimpled where there was probably a slightly hollow in his cheek. Where his forehead, eyebrow, cheekbone, and nose formed ridges, the mask reflected them flawlessly. I swear that I could even see the muscles in his face move beneath the white material!

Just then, I noticed that Erik had released my left hand and placed his now-free right hand on his face…on his mask. I instantly felt guilty for staring and reached for his hand with my own. Gently, I slid his hand down to the table, watching as his green eyes stared downwards.

"You have nothing to be ashamed about, Erik," I said, keeping my voice soft as I stroked his hand with my thumb.

His eyes flicked upwards to look at me.

Alisa was looking at him with the softest, gentlest gaze he had ever seen. Within those brown orbs, Erik could see warmth and understanding, as well as a kindness he had rarely experienced in his long life. Over a century ago, people had pointed and stared, keeping their distance from the man with the unusual face. With the passing of time, people pointed less, but grew increasingly bolder in their stares, some of them actually focusing all of their attention on his mask while they spoke to him.

As modern medicine took leaps and bounds, and as Erik made his emergences into the world time and time again, he had been pressed by others to "fix his problem" and become a 'normal-looking' member of society. Those who tried to convince him to change his appearance had been acquaintances he'd made as an architect, primarily construction business owners, lumber barons, and those he had been hired by. However, Erik managed to avoid these comments by avoiding public places and keeping to his house; back then, people respected the fact that, if a man did not leave his home, it was because he had a good reason.

Presently, the ones most insistent about his looks were the wealthy members in society, usually those who partook in visits to the Opera House and tried to get to know its owner. With the success of the Phantom of the Opera musical, along with his purchasing the renowned piece of property that was the Paris Opera House, hiding away was no longer an option. Today, elusiveness tended to make people suspicious, as privacy meant nothing when it came to the rich and/or famous; the newspapers and tabloids saw to that. Erik had then been forced to emerge as the flawed man that he was, though he'd hoped to be able to continue as he always had: hiding away from cameras and keeping close to home.

However, pictures had become easier and easier to get and develop, and avoiding them was difficult, especially when people in masks had always been a novelty that drew much attention. When Erik had first emerged as a wealthy man and owner of the Opera House, people had thought it romantic and a "stunt" when he'd first stood before the building and posed for a photograph. After a while, many realized that he did, in fact, have a flawed face, and had pressured him to "fix it" with surgery. Opera patrons, society friends, and young women who threw themselves at him said that he could easily afford it, so why not get it over with?

In the end, no matter how tempting it was to do away with the thing that had branded him an outcast, Erik had always refused. In his heart-of-hearts, he knew that the love of his life would care for him no matter what he looked like, that she would look past the mask and feel something for him despite his facial horrors. Tonight, that woman sat beside him and held his hand in hers, offering him comfort while candlelight danced around her figure.

Smiling, Erik gently squeezed her hand in return.

I savored the feel of Erik returning my gesture. I watched confidence and passion fill his eyes, turning them from a pale green to a deep emerald in a manner of seconds. It was incredible to watch the transformation of the man seated beside me, almost like watching a phoenix rise from its ashes, bringing its raging power along with it. Determination seemed to flow off of his body, and when he looked at me, I could feel my insides melt.

"Alisa, my dear," Erik whispered as he signaled for the check. "Would you care to join me at my home this evening? I believe I shall introduce you to more of French life, such as artwork and architecture."

"Oh, um…alright," I said as an intense, cold-heat flowed through me. Wait a minute…did I just agree to go with Erik to his house? I didn't even know this man for more than a couple of hours and I was going home with him? What was I thinking?

'Then again, you only live once,' I thought as Erik paid the bill and got up before reaching out for my hand. Grinning widely, I accepted it and happily followed him out the door.

AN: Hmm, an evening with Erik, alone? It'll get steamy from here on out, so beware and review!