I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart.
Thanks to my betas!

THE DINNER

A knock on the door distracted Erik from his work. A young maid opened it timidly, not daring to look at him.

"Dinner will be served in 20 minutes, Monsieur." As soon as she had delivered her message, she closed the door and hurried away.

Taking out his pocket watch, he saw that he had once more passed a whole day engrossed in his work, neglecting anything else. In protest of this, his stomach gave a loud rumble.

He finished the layer he had been working on, and put the mask aside. Changing clothes, he verified once more that the bandage would hide as much as possible from his twisted features and strode towards the exit.

A glance at the connecting door made him change direction. Knocking softly, he waited for Joséphine's reply, then entered.

"I am nearly ready, we can go down shortly," she informed him with her head bent over a jewel case, her back turned towards him. When she had found what she had been looking for, she finally turned and he could see her in full.

She wore a simple, but beautiful dark green dress with a small bustle. It was short sleeved, with a rather low décolleté, but was still decent enough for a formal dinner dress. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun with some strands falling gently down the side of her face and against her neck.

The colour of the dress increased the olive of her eyes and gave them a cat-like gleam, and for the first time Erik noticed that she was indeed a beautiful woman.

Installing herself in front of the vanity mirror, Joséphine tried to put a small silver necklace with a pendant around her neck.

"Let me help you," Erik offered, approaching her.

"I'm fine," she replied, closing the fastening and smiling satisfied. Erik opened the door and let them out.

"Shall we?" he said, offering her his arm to escort her down the stairs.

She took his arm with some hesitation, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Erik, but he attributed her apparent nervousness to the impending dinner with her stepmother.

When they arrived in the dining room, Clara was already seated at the table, sipping on a glass of white wine. She greeted them with a nod, but spoke not a word.

As soon as they were seated, soup was served. The young servant that had informed Erik of dinner time nearly tripped over her feet because she was staring at the new master, earning herself a stern glance from both Joséphine and Erik. Otherwise, the first course passed by without another incident.

When the main course was served, Clara decided to open the conversation.

"Do tell Monsieur Perrault, will you continue working as an architect?"

"Why would I not?" Erik asked, not understanding. Ignoring Joséphine's look, Clara continued.

"Well, with all the money you gain through this marriage, you will no longer need to earn your living."

Erik considered his answer for a few seconds. "It is true that as Joséphine's husband, her money belongs legally to me, but since she was given it by her father as heritage, not as dowry, I will not touch it and content myself with what I owned before." Concentrating on Clara's reaction, Erik did not register the strange look Joséphine gave him.

"Joséphine told me that you had no living relatives?"

"That is correct," Erik answered, though Joséphine saw him hesitate before answering. She wondered if he had severed contact with them, or if he had been cast away.

"Where did your family live?" Clara pried on, clearly unsatisfied with Erik's short responses.

"I was born in Rouen."

"And this," she gestured towards his bandage, "what happened that you must hide your face behind a bandage?" She clearly wanted Erik to confirm the story Joséphine had told her yesterday in the sewing room.

Erik cast a glance towards his wife, who nodded for him to continue.

"A sickness, it happened a long time ago. The wounds never healed properly and sometimes get infected, as is the case now."

"May I see it?" Clara asked, leaning forward.

Erik shook his head. "You must understand that I prefer not to show my disfigurement to everyone, it tends to let people make hasty judgements about my person."

"And hiding half of your face will not?" Clara challenged him.

Troubled by the way the conversation was going, Joséphine was not willing to let it go any further. Grabbing his hand on the table, she looked straight at Clara, trying to defy her.

"I have seen him, and I accept him as he is. That should be enough for you, and anybody else in this house." The last was directed at the servants who had entered to take the dishes away.

They waited in silence for the dessert. Joséphine gasped in surprise when the cook arrived herself, followed by two kitchen maids who carried a tray with two covers. She curtsied to each of them before addressing Joséphine.

"Madame, as always on your birthday, I made you your favourite cake." She gestured towards the maids, who lifted the first cover, revealing a small chocolate gateau.

"But," she continued, smiling from ear to ear, "this is not the only event we have to celebrate this evening. In honour of your wedding, all the servants wish to offer their congratulations, and present you a wedding cake." The second cover was lifted, showing an equally small tart, but this time two-layered, decorated with white cream and a picture of two joined rings on the top.

Clara had trouble hiding her disapproval, but Joséphine was moved to tears by this gesture, that was surely also meant as a welcome for Erik in the house. Erik rose, but let his hand rest under Joséphine's on the table.

"My wife is deeply moved by your thoughtfulness, and I would like to speak a toast on her behalf." He raised his glass, and invited the servants for a drink as well, shocking Clara even more with this.

"To my wife, Joséphine; a light that found me in a dark hour."

Joséphine looked at him, troubled by the ambivalent man at her side. Could a man who spoke such kind words in her praise be the same whose actions had caused so much horror? She could no longer wait to talk to him, so she excused both of them with a shy smile soon after the toast and the tasting of the cake.

As they walked up the stairs, she spoke up. "I need to talk to you." He looked at her.

"Can't it wait until tomorrow? I have work to do and I need to go out," Erik replied.

"It is important, Erik, please."

"If it will not take too long, very well," he conceded, and followed her into her room. He sat himself in the chaise next to the window, while Joséphine chose to remain standing, wondering how to start.

"What is it, tell me," Erik finally spoke, somewhat impatiently.

"I…I want you to tell me what happened at the opera," Joséphine blurted out hastily. Erik stood up.

"I do not wish to talk about it." He strode towards the connecting door, but she stepped in his way.

"Please, I need to hear it from you," she said pleadingly. Erik looked down on her with a scowl on his face.

"Why now, was Clara's curiosity contagious?"

"What? No, I…," she moved passed him, trusting him to stay where he was and retrieved something from the bedside table. As she walked back to him, he could see that it was a newspaper.

"There is a big article about what happened a few nights back," she stated, handing him the journal to read.

His eyes darted over the paper, taking in the sketch, and the accounts of the witnesses. Finished, he looked at his wife again who watched him carefully for any reaction.

"Everything you want to know is in there, why do you want to talk to me?" He handed her back the journal and continued the way towards his room. Nearly at the door, he heard her reply.

"Because they describe you as a monster and I…the man I got to know and that man described in the article, how can they be the same?"

He turned to face her. Tears stood in her eyes, her emotional turmoil finally overwhelming her. "I just want to understand. Please, Erik, tell me your side of the story."

'What would it really cost me to tell her,' he thought. Maybe he could make her understand what made him do what he did, thinking her to be open enough to not judge him prematurely.

He gave a small nod and went back to the seat at the window. Joséphine rewarded him with a small smile, and installed herself on the bed, looking at him.

"I don't know where to start. You probably will not like what you are going to hear," Erik began hesitantly.

"I prefer it to not knowing at all," she replied. "You don't have to reveal everything, just enough to help me understand," she added, seeing his struggle. Erik took a few minutes to order his thoughts, than started his account.

"When you asked me yesterday if there were any buildings here in Paris I helped design, I left out the Opera Populaire. Charles Garnier was the main architect, yes, but to achieve the best sound for the audience, he asked for my expertise," he added, seeing her surprised eyes.

"I took the opportunity to design a home for me under the opera itself. Then, one day, a little girl came to the opera house. She was orphaned and had an excellent voice. I decided to tutor her."

He continued telling her how he had shown himself to her as the Angel of Music her father had told her of, and how the little girl had grown into the beautiful young woman he had fallen in love with. How he had done everything to make her return the love he had for her, but was bested by the young Vicomte she had known since her childhood.

"In the end, I couldn't force her to love me," he concluded. "I am not worthy of love," he added in a whisper, not wanting the woman in front of him to hear his resignation.

But she had heard, though she chose not to reply to it immediately. Instead, she steered the conversation towards another topic that had troubled her ever since she had met Erik.

"What about the people who died?" she asked him.

"It is most unfortunate that the fire I caused led to the death of all these people. I admit to have acted slightly insane after Christine ripped the mask from me on stage for everyone to see," he told her remorsefully.

"And the others they say you killed?"

Erik averted his gaze. "The stagehand came too close to me. He was an annoying person, a drunkard, leering at the dancers at every opportunity. As for Piangi, he was in the way," he confessed, his voice not betraying any emotion.

Joséphine's hand moved forward and touched his chin, forcing him to look at her.

"But did they deserve to die?" she asked him, searching his face.

"Not really," he gave in.

After a few moments, Joséphine spoke, her voice full of emotion. "You cannot make undone what happened, but admitting your errors is the best way to become a better man, Erik."

Surprising him, she rose from the bed and embraced him. Shocked as he was that she once more was willingly touching him, he could not shake off the feeling that it felt good to be that close to her.

Letting him go, Joséphine sat back on the bed again, a blush creeping on her cheeks. "Thank you for telling me, I appreciate it," she told him.

"Thank you for hearing me out without judging me beforehand," he replied, and stood up.

"I wish you a good sleep, Erik," she said, thinking he would retire to his rooms.

"I will go out," he stated, his composure back in place.

"But, where to? All the magazines are closed now, you can't buy anything you might need for your mask before tomorrow morning," Joséphine wondered.

"I…," he stammered, not knowing how to explain.

"Please tell me," she said.

"I need to see her, I'll go…,"

"You're going to the Chagny Estate?" Joséphine asked him, bewildered. "What do you hope to achieve from that?"

"I need to know what she finds in him. Maybe, after I made my way into these circles with your help, I can persuade her to change her mind and choose me instead." Erik justified himself.

"You…maybe it is you who needs to change," Joséphine cried out.

"What?" he growled, his mood darkening instantly.

"You're only endangering yourself by going near her so soon. And you will gain nothing by it," she tried to persuade him.

"I still…,"

"Don't you see? That obsessive streak is what makes it impossible for her, for any woman to fall in love with you!"

"How dare you talk to me like that!" Erik shouted, advancing on her, barely controlling himself.

"Well, somebody needs to!" she retorted.

"But I don't need to listen!" he yelled, walking to the door and slamming it shut behind him. She heard him put the lock in place, there was no use in following him.

This sudden change left her completely dumbstruck. How had this talk gone from forming a bond through understanding to a shouting match? Going through the conversation again in her mind, she changed into her night clothes and sat down in front of the vanity to brush out her hair. With surprise she noticed the package lying on it. How long had it been there, and who was it from? Tearing the paper away, she revealed a book with photographs and travel accounts from Persia. The dedication on the first side was from her husband.

To inspire your imagination, until one day you will go and see all these places for real.
Happy birthday,
Erik

Staring in disbelieve at this beautiful present, she broke down. The past few days had been more trying than anything she had ever experienced. The enigma that was her husband would take some time to solve, and she hoped to have the strength for it.