Hello there,

So apparently I dreamed that I had submitted this chapter four days ago, but didn't actually submit it. My most humble apologies. I have no idea why I dreamt that I had. However it's probably a good thing that I forgot to upload this, because I read through this chapter, made some changes and actually allowed Erik to... Well, why am I ruining the chapter? Find out yourself.

Anyway, thank you to everyone who has been story/author alerting/favoriting. It's really kind of all of you. I hope you enjoy this next chapter of La Diva Assassina!

Happy reading!

Ever yours,

Soprano in Shadow


Furious with his own actions, Erik strode angrily into his room, ripping his mask off in disgust as he stood in front of the mirror. The furnishings of this particular bedroom were simple, following a monochrome feel, with the only main piece of furniture sticking out being the mirror itself. Backed onto a dark red metallic stand, the mirror was almost begging to be used in an admiring way.

Of course, Erik's version of admiring himself didn't involve a mirror, it involved a mask.

How could Christine call him good looking? Growling in frustration, Erik glared at his own reflection, wishing that it could hide the imperfections of his face.

Erik thought back to the soprano's earlier words. Be more human. Was that really the way to get a girl, particularly this girl? Erik sighed heavily, trying to plot ways to make up his previous actions that had embarrassed the brunette who lived down the hallway.

Why was it so much easier to kill off a client than to please a woman?

His stomach grumbled in protest to plotting on an empty stomach, and Erik's face brightened up considerably at the idea that came to his mind-what better way to win a girl's heart over than to cook her dinner? Finally having a plan, Erik began to set his ideas in motion. He would need the perfect backdrop, the right menu, flowers...

...

Looking over the list of clients she would have to handle over the next couple of months, Christine sighed in exasperation as she realized just how shallow these men were when she noticed the piles these clients were being sorted in:

Prefers blondes

Prefers redheads

Prefers brunettes

"Why can't men prefer women the way they look already?" Christine asked herself aloud, not knowing she had an audience. Hearing a quiet chuckle, Christine flinched in surprise as she looked up to see Erik leaning against her doorframe clearly amused. The brunette, however, was not.

"Aren't you just a little too amused at the moment after this afternoon's escapades?" Christine asked. Although she could never admit it, Christine was more annoyed about the fact that she hadn't notice him approaching, than what had occurred earlier that afternoon… but Erik definitely didn't need to know that.

"Well, milady," the baritone began with a short bow, "I have actually come to request your presence at dinner this evening. Will you accept?"

Christine was a little taken back in surprise at his actions. Instead of the hot-tempered composer she had seen this afternoon, a cool and collected man stood in place. Was he really working on changing?

She hesitated. Then decided. "I guess I could give you one last chance to prove that one mere waiter can survive a whole meal waiting on us," the soprano said, her interest piqued on what could go wrong tonight.

The composer shook his head. "Oh no, Miss Daae. We will be doing this my way. No waiters, no crowds, no noisy kitchens—no reasons to get annoyed. Just us."

Christine looked at him for a minute, a hint of blush reaching her cheeks, before coughing and shuffling through the folder in front of her as if to dismiss the man before her from her mind.

"Dinner. Tonight? Dinner sounds fine. Now, go away. I have things to do: clients to plot, and training to get done. Go away." Did Erik's ears deceive him, or was the woman's speech before him… flustered?

"Instead of practicing this afternoon, and getting all sweaty, how about a sparring session tomorrow morning with me? I know we could both use it. I have a friend here in New York who will allow us to use his dojo." Erik's offer was greeted with silence. A moment later Erik, feeling a little too conscious of the woman's shocked gaze and lack of words, turned and left the soprano's room.

But he was not to have the last word.

"You have friends?" Erik chuckled at Christine's outburst of astonishment, as he headed to the kitchen. He had a meal to prepare.

"When all other options fail, Christine, this should always keep you confident and alive," Meg said, as she surveyed the brunette's form before her.

Christine stared nervously, beads of sweat beginning to form at her hairline. This couldn't be happening. There was no way this could be what her best friend was suggesting.

"Are you sure that… that men will like this? What if I don't… perform… Well, you know."

Meg shushed the words of protest coming out of the rose lips of her best friend. "Christine, have I ever led you astray?"

"…No?"

"And do you trust me?"

There was more hesitation answering this question. "…Yes?"

"Well, then stop worrying. No man could ask any less from you when you're like that." Meg giggled. "No man will also be able to resist you."

Christine paled at the blonde's words. "But, Meg! I don't want to do this! It's improper! What would Papa say if he saw me? He'd be… disappointed."

"Now, Christine, don't worry! If you follow all of my instructions, and do what I say, then your father would be prouder of the fact that you will be the weakness of all men. All you have to do is… just that."

Christine cringed at Meg's last words. This didn't feel right. None of this did. She felt…dirty.

"But, Meg!"

The girl snapped. "Oh hush, you prude! Now do you want to live a long life?" The brunette nodded. "Find love and marry?" Again, the brunette nodded. "Have babies?" Christine blushed, but again nodded. "Then if you're ever in a position to do this, then you must. Especially if your client is a man. Mama taught this to me last year, and it has seriously saved me in so many situations."

"Umm… Meg?"

"Hmm..?"

"If Antoinette taught you this, then how were you unconscious that one time when—"

"Oh shut up, Christine."

Christine smiled fondly as she remembered her previous conversation with Meg, before staring at her reflection once more.

This was a time of grave seriousness, when everything boiled down to this one moment. She would have to not only use everything that her best friend taught her, but also all of her other feminine wiles in order to secure the situation. She would not be trapped in the corner by a man. She was Christine Daae—a famous opera diva and a disciplined assassin.

If she wanted to stay alive, and not die from embarrassment, then she would have to use the two secret weapons that Meg had taught her about.

Her little black dress and makeup.

Knocking on his date's bedroom door, Erik almost felt as though he was back in high school. Except for the fact that he had been homeschooled his whole life. But he could definitely sympathize with any of those poor bastards who were struggling through a crush.

A crush. Was that what this was? Was it only a crush, or would this progress into something more? Knowing himself, Erik guessed the latter, although he wouldn't mind in the least bit. He was chained to the woman for two months, and who knew—maybe Fate would favor him this time around.

Erik's mouth went dry. His wandering thoughts were cut short by the sight that greeted him when Christine's door opened. She was classically beautiful.

He started from the top first. She had opted to leave her hair down and curling, which suited the composer just fine—he had always made fun of women who knotted their hair in an updo and filled it with jewels and other ostentatious…things. Her face was clear of makeup, save for her dark, glittering eyes and dark red lipstick. The straps of her black dress were edged with scalloped lace, and gave way to a modest yet sultry sweetheart neckline. The masked man also noted, and quite happily, that not only did her dress end at an appropriate length above her knees, but it also hugged her body quite deliciously, while still not being too tight. He had always hated women who wore tight fitting things that left nothing to imagination.

But he definitely did not hate what Christine was wearing. Definitely not.

Christine let out a soft laugh as she watched him ogle her choice of outfit. "I'm assuming I have not disappointed you in some way, Don Juan." Christine said teasingly, as she also took in the composer's eveningwear. Whoever had previously stated that menswear was not important, had obviously never seen this composer look so dapper.

The composer had chosen to wear his usual pair of black dress pants and a white button down dress shirt, topped off with a charcoal, five-button London vest that had scrolling embroidery on the front shoulders. The outfit was of course completed with his traditional black mask. In a word the composer, as eccentric as he may be, looked dashing.

The baritone's rich voice broke through her thoughts. "Well apparently I have met your approval as well, Aminta. However, dinner will grow cold, so we should probably take our leave." Offering his arm, Erik escorted Christine to the elevator where he promptly took them to the highest level of the complex, then led her up the stairs where the warm evening air and stars welcomed her. As he turned her around the corner, Christine's eyes widened at the sight that lay before her.

The area of the building's roof that surrounded the dining area was covered in peony blossoms, with four candelabras positioned artfully beside the table. The white cloth that covered the table was a stark contrast to the varying shades of flowers and the two silver-plated domes that hid their meals from view. Walking the brunette over to her chair, Erik pulled the metal garden seat out from under the table, and pushed it back in as the soprano sat down.

Smiling in thanks, Christine began to fidget almost at once. She had every reason to be nervous. This wasn't supposed to be a date date, but it felt like one. But this was only for him to prove that he could change. To her—so it was a date? But the change would be good for himself—so it wasn't a date?

To put it simply, Christine was confused.

Maybe the food would give her a clue?

Walking around to the middle of the table, Erik reached for the bottle of champagne and poured them each a glass, before sitting down and giving a toast.

"To… being more human!" Erik declared as he lightly tapped his glass against Christine's. Smiling in response, Christine downed about half of her glass before setting it down—she would need that alcohol later on.

"So, what's for dinner?" Christine asked as she reached to uncover her own meal, only for Erik to hastily put a hand on top of hers. Both blushed at the touch and avoided eye contact—neither of them had touched the other in this… intimate of a way outside of rehearsals and performing. It was both unsettling and exciting.

"Not yet. You'll ruin the surprise. First champagne, then dinner," Erik said in response. With nothing else to say right then, they both stared at their laps in uncomfortable silence.

"So about the—"

"I'm sorry about—"

They both laughed awkwardly at their dueling attempts to make conversation.

"You first," Christine said, trying to be polite and letting Erik explain his own actions.

"No. You. I insist." Christine blushed at Erik's prodding—she was doing quite a bit of that this evening. This felt like a first date: when everything is awkward, and you're not sure if the next thing you say or do will either impress your date or cause them to cut the evening short.

"I was just going to say that maybe we should try and see if we can fine tune that scene you brought up before this afternoon's performance," Christine said softly, before taking another sip from her glass.

Erik looked a little ashamed at her words. "Actually, I was only suggesting that to pick on you a bit. I wanted to apologize about how I acted, both then and during our earlier restaurant adventure. I acted rashly."

"Oh…" Christine trailed off, as she tried once again to think of something else to say. That awkward silence was back again, she would have none of it ruin… this? What was this anyway?

"So how quickly do you think we'll get bored from the clients we've been requested to terminate?" Christine asked, stabbing a topic at random, as she took another sip from her champagne flute, her legs still fidgeting below the table.

Erik chuckled. It was always business when it came down to the brunette, whether it be for the opera or an assassination. Perhaps that was why she was so fidgety—she really had no idea how to relax.

"Calm yourself, Christine. We have plenty of time this week to discuss those matters," Erik said, as he began to drink her appearance in.

Christine smiled timidly, and Erik mentally gave himself a pat on the back: he was the reason for her smile again.

"What's so amusing this time, Angel?"

"You rarely call me Christine," the soprano began. "I wish you call me by my name more often when—well, when we're not bickering. Only don't call me 'Angel', please. I would rather you call me 'Cat' like everyone else. I'm only known as an 'Angel' when I'm sent to kill."

Erik chuckled before giving his own explanation. "Ah, but the difference between me and your friends, Angel, is that you almost did kill me. And so, my nickname for you gets to be special, because we are a special case." Christine stared at him dubiously as she processed this information. He had cooked her dinner, brought up a bottle of champagne and given her a nickname. This had to be a date. Right?

"Right." Christine looked up alarmed. Had she said her last thought out loud?

"I'm sorry, what?"

Erik shrugged. "I said 'right' to your question. I'd like to think this could be a date. But it's entirely your choice. Would you like this to be a date, or would that just scare you off?" Beneath his mask, Christine could see his eyes hopefully waiting for an affirmative answer.

Christine coughed awkwardly as she drank yet another hurried sip of champagne, legs still fidgeting. She would need to change tactics. Wait, no. Topics. "So we have about four and a half more days of rest before we start to bring the clients in. Do you think we should work on the same nights, or every other night? I mean the main thing I'm worried about here is the paparazzi, and how we're going to be able to slip out unnoticed. What do you think?"

Erik's pleasant smile began to melt and settle into a more serious look. He wasn't sure if he was unhappy about how she had switched topics, or if it was because the topic she had hurriedly chosen concerned their clients. Again. Either way, the topic of dating made her nervous, and Erik realized that he would have to bring this up another time. His mood soured as Erik realized that once again, he had probably ruined the evening.

"You know what, let's eat." Christine stared at the composer's lips as he spoke. That was it? No more conversation? Maybe she had made the wrong choice in changing topics.

"Mr. Destler, I'm—" Her apology was interrupted by Erik's fist hitting the table.

"Just eat." His cold words were clipped and business-like, as he lifted off the silver cover for his food.

Christine found herself being on the defensive as she began lifting up her own lid. Only to find… a bowl of macaroni and cheese? She couldn't help but begin to laugh at the humor in all of this.

"Is everything ok?" Erik was worried that perhaps the bubbly drink had gone to the soprano's head. Could she not handle her liquor?

"You've been talking to Firmin, haven't you? He told you that my comfort food choice was macaroni and cheese, didn't he?" Erik nodded. "My papa used to make it for me whenever I had a horrid day at training, or if Antoinette scolded me more than usual," Christine explained quietly, no longer fidgeting.

Erik began to smile softly as Christine began to open up once again and talk more about her father. Apparently she didn't mind if he asked questions, and the duo began to talk comfortably once more while enjoying their macaroni and cheese dinners. Maybe the evening could end on a happier note.

"So, Erik, what about your home life?" Christine realized that 'home' was a sore topic, when the composer's face began to darken. "If you don't want to speak about it, you don't have to. We could talk about something else."

Erik began to calm himself when he saw that the brunette was trying to harmlessly get to know who he really was.

"If you dance with me, then I'll tell you whatever you want to know," Erik said, bargaining for a chance to once more hold the soprano in his arms.

Giggling a little, Christine took the last sip of her champagne before nodding and getting up from her seat. Escorting her past the peonies, Erik twirled her around towards the corner of the building in order to have a more enjoyable view as their background. Drawing her back in close, Erik settled his hand in her own, while placing his other hand at a respectable spot on her back. And then he began to move.

Christine giggled as he twirled her away from his warmth once again. "We don't have any music, silly."

Erik paused and he brought her back to him. "Well if you stay close to me, Angel, then I'll hum something for us to dance to."

"Only if you remove your mask." Her request stilled him, until seeing her hand move to remove it herself, Erik began to frantically back away. Not again. Not like Luciana.

"No. I can't allow that. Not here." Erk spat out hastily, keeping his distance from the soprano. What was it about women and their damn curiosity!

Christine paused. "If you prefer to leave your mask on, then you may. But I'm sorry, Erik. I refuse to date anyone who hides behind a mask. I would only be knowing part of you, and, for me, that isn't enough," Christine said quietly. "Let's just continue dancing, I won't bring it up again, until you do."

Erik swallowed, before reaching for her hand hesitantly. When she didn't try any other sudden movements, Erik drew her back towards him.

"What would you like me to hum, Angel?" Erik murmured quietly, pushing away the events that had occurred moments ago.

Christine thought for a moment. "Your aria at the end of the second act? The one I haven't actually been able to hear?" Chuckling, Erik nodded again, as he drew her in closer, the lower half of his face right by her ear.

Christine could feel his warm breath hit her ear as his voice, rich with feeling, began to hum the melody of his aria. Laying her head against his shoulder, Christine savored the feeling of being held so carefully like this. But she couldn't fall for him—not if he wouldn't remove his mask.

But tonight she wouldn't think about all of that. She was only a woman dancing with a man. He was only a man humming in her ear. The rest of it didn't matter.

Letting herself go, Christine forgot about everything else she needed to worry about, a wave of calm washed over her and she would never even remember when she would fall asleep against his shoulder.

Erik smiled against her cheek, when he felt her weight begin to rely more and more on his supporting arms. She had fallen asleep, and Erik couldn't think of anything more wonderful than this. Bending down a bit, Erik hooked her legs over his arm and began to carry her back to their apartment bridal style. Their apartment. Erik chuckled quietly at the thought. He might as well dream.

The minutes ticked by quickly and Erik slowly approached Christine's room, not wanting this moment her so cherished to end. Placing her into her bed, Erik tucked the sleeping woman in, running his hand against her hair, in order to tuck it back behind her ear. He would have turned to leave the woman in slumber, if had not been for the dark rose petal color of her lips. Erik hesitated for a moment, running his hand through his hair, before finally bending down and pressing her lips against his own. Standing back up and reaching the soprano's door, Erik looked back once more, before closing the door behind him, as the tired baritone trudged back to his own room.

"Goodnight, mon ange."


Updated A/N, 6/27/2012:

Hello there,

Unfortunately Spencer (my Macbook Pro) decided to take a little shower-only a little bit of water went through the keyboard. I've waited 30 hours, but it's still not responding, so I'm planning on going to the Soho Apple Store today. Unfortunately, about 2/3 of the newest chapter was being worked on, and so unfortunately I won't be able to update until: a) I get poor Spencer looked at and (hopefully) fixed, or b) I can get the docs from the hard drive transferred onto my boyfriend's laptop... Hopefully one of these options can occur really soon. So sorry for the delay!

Ever yours,

Soprano in Shadow