In the morning, I awake to Christine's musical voice.

"Erik? Your leg, are you alright?" The eyes of an angel; so full of love and concern. I stroke her silken cheek.

"Of course, my Angel. I am perfect, now you're here."

She casts her eyes down quickly; sadly, perhaps. "Erik…" she slips her delicate hand into mine. Her cheeks flush and her eyes flutter rapidly. I think she may cry, but she leans forward and kisses me sweetly. "Erik, when you were hurt…I was all alone, I didn't know where to go, what to do! I told Raoul that if he helped me, I would…I told him I would go back to him. I tried to get out of it later, I told him I would think about it–but when I first asked him for help, I promised him I would do anything if he would only get you to a hospital." Now she is crying softly. "Oh, if only you could realize how sick you were! I was terrified! I thought you would die, I had to do something!"

"Christine…are you saying that when you were with him just now…"

"No, no! I must go back to him! I promised him."

"You're not obliged to keep a promise you made under such duress, Christine! It was wrong for him to demand guarantees from you when you were in extremity."

"Erik, I agreed; for your life, I did it happily!"

My heart is entombed in ice. She traded her love for my life? But, why would I live without her?

"You don't love him, Christine, you don't want to go back to him. Do you? Do you love him?"

She leaps from the bed and buries her face in her hands. "I don't know! Erik! When I'm with you, when you sing to me, I think I know, and then Raoul tells me that I belong to him, and it's wrong that I came with you, and I get so confused! I'm so tired of feeling confused!"

I am trembling inside, but I struggle to appear calm and confident to Christine. I know that she draws strength from my conviction. "Christine, I'm your husband. If you're confused, you should let me guide you. It's my duty to help you decide what's best. Let me help you, Darling." I reach for her and she comes into my arms easily. I caress her slowly, gently. "Whatever you want, Christine," I begin to sing to her. "Just tell me; I will let you go, if it is what you want. Tell me, Christine."

She says nothing. She touches my face as if it was a precious jewel; kisses my forehead, eyes, cheeks, lips, as tears slip from her eyes.

"Shall I love you?" I sing. "Do you want me? I want you, Christine. If only you could see inside my heart, Angel." I take her gently. She closes her eyes and raises her hips for me. "You want me, too; you see? You love me, Christine." Her hands slide under my shirt, stroking my back, pressing me close as her need increases. She hooks her legs around mine; whimpers, frustrated. "What is it, my Angel?"

"Closer," she whispers.

I bring her near the pinnacle once, twice.

"Please," she moans.

"Christine, don't leave me," I beg. I have neither pride nor shame; I only know I must keep her. I kiss her and my tears mingle with hers. "You love me. Say you love me."

"Erik, I do love you."

"Say you'll stay with me."

"I will; I'll stay."

Now she's said what I want to hear, I'll give her what she needs. I drive deeply, stroke harder. Her fulfillment milks mine from me.

I know she is mine, and I shall keep her.

Christine sleeps again, but I lie awake, thinking of our future. We are cursed with Chagny. My serenity shatters as I think of him abusing her gentle trust yet again. She turned to him as the only friend she had, and all he could think of was his base satisfaction and his animal lust. And he dares to call me the monster! I worship her!

-0-0-0-0-

Later, I compose and Christine putters about, unpacking her things. When she pauses to listen to what I'm creating, she smiles. There is nothing in the world I need; my wife is here, and she is smiling. We finish dinner just past nine and go above for a walk in our beloved city.

"Christine, my love, I think we should take our wedding trip. What do you say to Italy?"

Her hand squeezes mine reflexively. "Erik, I...Italy is so far from home," she worries.

I slip my arm around her shoulders to reassure her."I will be right by your side, every moment; I promise."

"I get frightened when I'm alone," she reminds me.

"Yes, I know; I won't leave you, Christine. So many beautiful things to see; Michelangelo's works in Florence and Rome; the Medici palace; the canals in Venice; perhaps we'll even see the Pope, would you like that?"

She nods. I watch her eyes as she warms to the idea. They dance and sparkle, but still there is something…a cloud which interrupts the sunshine of Christine's happiness.

"Alright then, I'll see to it tomorrow. You'll want to shop for some traveling clothes. We'll come upstairs after breakfast."

That night, Christine sleeps on my shoulder as effortlessly as a newborn. I must make her every waking moment as serene as her dreams are now.

Every time she thinks of that boy, I know it. I can see and feel him between us. How can her thoughts turn to him, when I've given her everything? How can she doubt our love? How can she permit the memory of a childish infatuation to poison our life? How?

I must help her to eradicate his memory. He will haunt us forever so long as we are here. I must build Christine her castle and remove her from this place. Should we leave Paris? Leave France?

But really, it is he who should go.