The address was right downtown, and she walked and rode several buses to get there. She felt a little silly holding the scarf as she walked, and so she tentatively twined it about her neck once again. It warmed her immensely against the chilly winter day. It was very long, too; she was able to wrap it around her neck several times and still have it hang nearly to her waist.

When she got to the right address, she took a few steps back and looked up and down at the building. It housed ten floors of wealthy apartments, and she looked around in confusion, as if Erik would pop up and tell her what to do next.

Of course that didn't happen, and so she stood there stupidly for a moment before walking up and gingerly tugging on the door. It was locked. Then she noticed the keypad off to the side, similar to Raoul's apartment complex. She glanced back down at the note again and carefully, curiously, punched in the six numbers written. A green light flashed, there was a slight ding, and she heard the doors unlock automatically.

Christine entered the warm, good-smelling complex and went to the nearby elevators, pushing the button for the ninth floor. It zoomed up, and she continued to look around, still wondering if Erik was going to show up but knowing that he wasn't. A friendly-looking older man got in the elevator on the second floor, and they exchanged smiles. His calm, peaceful, friendly nature somehow set her at ease a little. He got off on the eighth floor, and she waved to him as he left. She in turn stepped out on the ninth.

Glancing at the paper once more, she made her way over to apartment 9B. Christine stood there for a moment, knocked tentatively on the door, and then waited, biting her lip. When no one answered, she slowly and cautiously entered the key into the lock. It unlocked smoothly, and she twisted the knob and entered into a very nice apartment.

"Hello?" she called softly. "Erik?"

There was no answer, and she looked around. There wasn't anyone in sight, and there wasn't anything that looked like it was there for a special musical purpose. It looked like a normal, comfortable, small apartment.

Then she spotted the white envelope on one of the end tables, and she hurried to it and opened it, feeling some relief as she saw Erik's untidy handwriting.

Christine

This apartment is at your disposal and will be for as long as you need it. I trust you are aware that your current living situation is not exactly pleasing to me, and it is in no way assisting your progression as a musician. Your development as a singer cannot be delayed by discomfort in your personal life. Therefore you will sort out your affairs and desist your whining to me during lessons. I have left you sufficient funds to purchase any and all necessities, which you will take the time to do today and tomorrow. You shall come to me well-rested and prepared to work on Monday.

E

Christine gaped at the note for a moment and then looked back inside the envelope. She squealed a little as she saw several crisp hundred dollar bills, waiting for her to spend. Then she reread the note three more times, just to make sure that she had understood it correctly.

Erik wanted her to live in this apartment. She felt a huge wave of guilt as well as relief flood through her. It was wonderful of Erik to do this for her, but…she was already so deeply indebted to him. Could she really accept this, therefore adding thousands of more dollars onto her bill? Erik was surely keeping close track of just how much she owed him—and she didn't even want to think about the amount, let alone willingly add more to it.

Yet maybe this was just what she needed. With her relationship with Raoul as precarious as it was, it was undoubtedly good that she had a place to go. This way she wouldn't be a burden to Raoul anymore. Their relationship had thrived when they had been living at separate apartments. (When she thought of it like that, it worried her, but she was still so overwhelmed with everything else that she tucked it into the back of her mind.) Raoul would be able to have his space and privacy back, and she wouldn't have to depend solely on him. She would just have to depend…on Erik. And that thought was rather frightening.

She looked around, noting that it was fully furnished. The front room was done in soft blues and greens, and the furniture was cream-colored and looked soft. There was a wide bay window that took up nearly an entire wall, and she walked over to it, peering out. She put a hand to her heart. It was a very pretty view, and, to her shock, it was very close to the Opera House. She recognized the iconic rooftop.

She had been there once before. When she and her father had first arrived in the city, they had immediately gone to the Opera House. Gustave had gone there first—without even looking for an apartment or anything else. He had held Christine's hand tightly in one hand and his violin in the other and had entered through the front doors. Christine tried to translate for him—but her English had still been rather choppy and very accented as well. They were turned out before Gustave had even had a chance to play. The memory of it still burned her.

Turning away from the building and the bad memories, she set out to look at the rest of the apartment. It was very, very small, but she didn't mind. There was a pretty, bright kitchen with common appliances and a small wooden table in the corner, a miniscule coat closet, a tiny bathroom with the necessities, and a bedroom. Christine looked around and decided that once her father was out of the hospital, he would sleep in the bedroom and she would be perfectly happy sleeping on the comfortable-looking sofa.

For the rest of the afternoon, she looked for and discovered a grocery store. It was strange and a little fun; she had never handled so much money before. After navigating her way back to the new apartment, she tucked everything away neatly and then took the long bus ride to the hospital, playing with Erik's scarf as well as her cross necklace. She tried to think of what she would say to Raoul when she went back for her clothing. He would probably be relieved. However, he was a good man, and he might pretend to be upset and would put up a fuss over it, but, in the end, he would let her leave and silently celebrate as she did so.

When she arrived at the hospital, she entered Gustave's room and was happily surprised to see that he was awake, staring at a book, sitting up slightly.

"Pappa!" she said, hurrying over to him and kissing him. "I'm glad to see you're up!"

He smiled a little at her, and she saw that he still looked white and somewhat frail, but at least he was awake and talking.

"I'm glad you're here," he said. "They gave me this book to read, but I don't understand a word of it!"

She took it and glanced at the cover, setting it aside when she didn't recognize the title.

"I have such good news for you!" she said, taking his hand.

"The doctors signed for my release?" he said teasingly. He coughed a little and then winced, his mending ribs undoubtedly hurting him.

"I wish!" she said. "That would be the happiest news. But I only have happy news."

"Well, then tell me," he said, still smiling. Much of his hair had grown back, though it wasn't long enough to curl. She missed his curls.

"I moved into a new apartment today!" she said. "It's really nice, Pappa. It's right downtown, just right next to the Opera House. You'll love it when you're finally allowed to come home with me."

Instead of celebrating, he looked a little pensive. "Prinsessa, I don't want to spoil your good mood, but…how are you affording a new apartment? Have you gotten a job you haven't told me about?"

A hurried wave of thought rushed through her mind. There was no way she could tell him how she was really "affording" to live in a downtown apartment. All of the lies she had been forced to tell him hurt her, but telling him the truth would result in nothing better.

She nodded. "Just to get me by until I start singing in a month or so…"

Gustave looked somewhat relieved by the invention of this job, and they spoke quietly for a couple of hours. A nurse entered with his dinner, and he poked at it unhappily. She chided him when he told her that he was not hungry, and so he ate a few bites to please her, but most of it went away untouched.

"You have to eat everything to get your strength back!" she said, pinching his arm playfully.

"The only thing I need is to get out of this hospital," he said, trying to shift to a better position. His foot was no longer in a sling, but it was still in a heavy cast, and there were still some bandages on him.

"Soon," she promised him. "Just be patient and do everything the doctor tells you to. Please, Pappa."

"I would if I could understand him," Gustave said shortly. "He uses complicated words just to confuse me."

She resisted rolling her eyes at his grumpy comment, and instead she smoothed his sheets.

"How is Raoul?" Gustave then asked, sounding somewhat anxious. "Everything with him is still…good, isn't it?"

"Uh—yeah, sure," she said. "Yeah, it is, Pappa."

"It isn't good if he hasn't proposed to you yet," Gustave then said matter-of-factly, and Christine blushed and squeaked in embarrassment.

"No," she said firmly. "Pappa, I don't think that that's what he has in mind."

Gustave leaned back onto his pillows and closed his eyes with a tired sigh. "I may need to have a talk with him soon. If he is not going to marry you, he is giving up an ängel."

"No—Pappa, please don't. Everything's fine." Marriage was undoubtedly the last thing on Raoul's mind concerning her. Having Gustave lecture him about it was a mortifying thought.

She left soon after, as it was dark and she still needed to collect her things from Raoul's apartment. She felt her nerves flutter and jump the entire way, and she ran through several scenarios in her head and what she would say in each. The most important thing, she told herself, was to be calm and apologetic.

He was watching a game when she walked in, sprawled out on the couch and looking incredibly attractive. If it had been a month ago, she probably would have gone straight over and cuddled with him. However, she merely closed the door quietly and stood around awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed.

"How's your dad?" he then called by way of greeting.

"Fine," she said. She stood by the door, nervously shifting her weight and pulling at Erik's scarf.

The television erupted in a blast of noise, and Raoul sat up quickly and shouted 'Foul!' at the screen repeatedly. Then he rubbed his face and slumped back down.

"Um…" she then said by way of announcing her intention to speak.

"I left some dinner out for you in the kitchen if you're hungry," Raoul said, waving a hand toward it.

"Thanks," she said automatically. Then she gave an angry tug to the scarf, took in a deep breath, and forced herself to say loudly, "Hey, Raoul?"

"Hmm?" he grunted, his eyes still fixed on the game. Christine huffed silently.

"Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure. What about?"

She counted to five, and when he hadn't turned off the television, she said, sounding a little shrill even to her own ears, "Will you turn that off and talk to me?"

He turned around at that. She blushed deeply. It was already not going how she wanted it to go. The last thing it needed was hysterics and tears. He clicked off the television and stood, approaching her.

"Do you want to talk about last night?" he then said. "I know we should. It was…kind of rough for both of us." He put a warm hand on her arm. "Look, I know I was kind of harsh last night, but that's how I really feel, Christine. I feel like I'm putting all this work into our relationship, and it's just…one-sided. Like I said before, I'm not trying to pressure you into anything you're not comfortable with, but maybe if you just…I don't know, let me take you out once in a while or something. Know what I'm saying?"

She nodded immediately, staring up at him. What he was saying was suddenly sounding incredibly reasonable to her, and she almost allowed herself to be swayed by the idea of staying there. But then she reminded herself of just how guilty she felt by allowing him to provide everything for her.

"I'm leaving," she blurted, and then she felt a blush light up her cheeks.

"What?" He sounded worried and a little panicked. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean…I have an apartment now. I came back for my clothes and to tell you…um, thank you for letting me stay here for a couple of weeks while I sorted everything out." She was not doing a good job. She had thrown herself off by blabbing out a stupid 'I'm leaving' instead of using one of the many segues she had mentally rehearsed.

"I…I don't get it," Raoul said. "I thought the whole point of your living here was so you didn't have to worry about paying for an apartment. And where—and why? Christine?"

"I just don't…" She took another deep breath. "Raoul, I just don't think that this whole living together was working out well. I'm so sorry."

He was silent for a long while. Then he said softly, "Is this moving out also a breakup?"

She had debated on that as well, and she had come to a conclusion: "Not unless you want it to be."

"No," he said instantly, some tension leaving his features. "I mean, I don't want to break up with you. But…Christine, are you sure? I mean, yeah, I know it's been kind of rough these past few weeks, but it's only natural, what with your dad and stuff. Are you sure you just want to…you know, give up on it all? We've been dating for a while. It's natural for us to grow out of that…initial honeymoon phase. But this is where we should work together to make it work out. Don't you want to?"

"Raoul, you know that I didn't feel good about living with you anyway," she said softly, trying hard not to stare at the floor while she spoke. "It isn't—it's not right. At least I don't think it is. And I can't have you work hard and pay for everything for me. That's not right either."

"It's about the money issue?" he said. "Christine, you know that I don't care about that at all! I really like having you here! I've never cared about paying for any of your stuff. And I have that extra bedroom that just basically goes to waste, and…Please don't tell me that this is about money, because that's ridiculous. You know I don't care. And if you didn't know, you do now."

He was making her feel bad about moving out, and that was the last thing she had expected. She tugged at the scarf around her neck, pulling on the dangling end, and she said,

"Raoul, you're really…you're a great guy. A perfect guy, really. I just think that I need this. Thank you so much for letting me stay here, but can't you see that an apartment of my own is better for both of us?"

"No," he said flatly, looking unhappier by the moment.

"You get your privacy back," she said, trying to name everything she could. "You can have your friends over whenever you want. And your mom can come over anytime, and you don't have to worry about the sleeping arrangements. And you can watch your games—no more nature shows or Hello, Dolly! to suffer through." She tried to tease, but his lips hardly twitched. "Hey." She reached out and took his hand. "Maybe you don't think this is good now, but it really is, Raoul. It's better this way."

He still looked incredibly miserable, but he nodded. "Okay," he then said. "If you say so."

As she packed her clothes into a couple of bags, he watched her from the doorframe, his hands stuck in his pockets, his mouth still pulled downward.

"I'm really going to miss you," he then said.

"Don't be so negative," she said lightly. "We've lived in separate apartments for nearly all of our relationship. It'll be fine, Raoul."

"I know, but…you know, it was nice knowing that you were here when I got back from work." She looked up at him quickly, and he shrugged. "I liked it."

When she was finished, she tried to argue with him about how to get it to her new apartment, and she conceded eventual defeat. He grabbed the bags and led the way down to his car, tossing them into the backseat when they arrived.

As they drove, he held her hand tightly, as if he was dropping her off somewhere and would never see her again. She didn't understand why he was acting this way. She had thought that he would be glad to have his apartment all to himself once again—or at least relieved that he didn't have to provide for her anymore.

"So how long have you been looking?" he asked. "How did you find your new place?"

"Um…" She thought for a few moments. "Not that long. My—my voice teacher actually found it for me."

"Your teacher? Geez, this guy sounds nuts…Telling you your dad borrowed money from bad guys and then finding you some apartment..."

"It's a nice apartment for a really good price," she insisted. "And it's right by the Opera House!"

"Oh, right, of course, because you're going to sing there soon, aren't you? I guess that means that you didn't apply for any of the colleges I suggested…"

There was a pause. "Sorry," she then whispered.

"Whatever." He shrugged lightly. "It's your life."

He was being mean to her, and she was hurt and a little more than shocked. He had never treated her this way. Even if he really was upset that she was leaving, why would he be mean to her like this? If he was doing it to make her feel bad, then it was working.

As they rode the elevator to the ninth floor, Raoul said, "You know what this means, right?"

She shook her head.

"It means that you have to spend time with me now—more dinner dates and movie nights. Okay?"

"Uh…okay," she said carefully, afraid that he would say something mean if she didn't reply.

He put the bags in her room once they were inside, and then he looked around.

"It's small," he commented. "But it's nice, I guess. How're you going to fit your dad once he's out of the hospital?"

"I'm still working that out," she admitted with a little laugh. "But it'll be fine, I'm sure."

"Yeah, you two have a good enough relationship that this tiny space will be fine. Now if it was me and my mom…I'd go crazy." He laughed a little as well, and she allowed herself to smile, hoping that his usual good mood was returning.

Thankfully, they ended the night with a long, warm hug and a kiss, and he promised to call her the next night to see how she was settling in. She shut and locked the door and turned around with a long sigh, still feeling a little unable to process all that had happened. That morning she hadn't even known of this apartment's existence, and now it was all hers. Even if it meant more money she owed to Erik, it still felt a little good to no longer be a burden to Raoul. And she was auditioning soon, which meant that she would finally be bringing in some kind of income. She could work on paying Erik back as well as managing hospital bills. Things seemed slightly better than before.

When Monday arrived, Christine went to the theater for her lesson, trying to control a blush that was already spreading. She felt stupid before the time had even arrived, and she considered throwing it away before Erik saw.

However, she merely held it tightly in her hands and walked down the aisle, climbing onto the stage carefully. As she watched Erik, it appeared that he was composing. He would play a short phrase, pause, and then scribble something onto some staff paper.

"Are you writing something?" she asked curiously. "What is it?"

He pointedly ignored her and played a few arpeggios. After writing something else down, he set the papers aside and looked at her at last. His eyes instantly narrowed as he saw what she was holding. It was a plate of heart-shaped sugar cookies with pink frosting.

"Um—these are for you," she said, seeing his gaze. She held them out, but he made no move to take them. "I know it doesn't repay you for anything, but I just really wanted to really thank you for what you did for me this weekend. And I brought back your scarf. It's nice." She was blabbering, and she knew it. "Thanks for letting me borrow it. And thanks for the apartment. I made good use of the kitchen. Heh." She laughed nervously. "There should be more cookies, but I ate a lot of them. No! I mean—uh…Well, I ate a couple. I think they turned out pretty good. I made them from scratch, you know. And they're hearts because it's Valentine's Day today. So happy Valentine's Day. And thanks for…everything."

She ended her awful, bizarre speech with a hard blush, and she stood there holding the plate of cookies out toward him. She was sure that his eyebrows were bent in pure shock and confusion, if his eyes were anything to judge by.

When he still made no move to take the plate, she hesitantly and awkwardly set it by the bench.

"I'll just leave that there," she said. "You can take them when you leave. And here's your scarf." She set it next to the plate.

Erik watched her carefully as she stood straight and went back to the bend in the piano. She wasn't sure if her blush would ever leave her cheeks—she was mortified.

Thankfully, Erik made no comment about her cookies or her terrible monologue, instead beginning a lesson without any other comments. She worked hard to try to forget about the plate sitting by the bench, and she was pleased when she received one of her first ever compliments from Erik. She was working on one of her many fast cadenzas, and he had said "Good" (rather absentmindedly, but it was there!).

And when the lesson was over and she was leaving the theater, she glanced over her shoulder and was somehow incredibly pleased to see that Erik was gone…and so was the plate.