A/N: I was going to let this story rest for a couple of more weeks, but I wound up correcting typos and adding to the previous chapter, which gave me the inspiration I needed to get this chapter completed for your enjoyment. ;-)

The following morning, Erik lingered over his tea. Was it possible that Christine had dreamt of Anahita? 'No, that could not be!' he told himself. It was too remote a possibility to be reality. He had never mentioned his past to her, certainly nothing that would cause her to believe he could ever be unfaithful to her.

"Erik?" Christine asked between bites of scrambled eggs with cheese. "Is anything wrong?" She had more easily put the dream from her mind than he, but her worry lingered still. She feared he might, one day, tire of her and her childish ways and seek out someone more . . . more worldly, more in keeping with his level of intelligence.

'He deserves someone so much better than silly little me,' she thought wistfully. 'But I can try my best to improve myself and show to him that I can be worthy of his love.'

He cleared his throat. "I am merely thinking of business I must attend to today, my dear." That much was not a lie, but it was not the complete truth. He loathed himself for not being more honest with her. But he did not want to cause her worry, not when she had work to do and a day of dancing ahead of her. She would have to be able to concentrate.

She only nodded, accepting his answer, then turned her attention back to her plate. He was so good to her, and she wanted to be good to him, as well. There were things she wanted to do for him, gifts she wished to purchase that would make him smile . . .

"You are to dance in the corps for the time being, yes?" he queried, if only lack of anything else to say.

"Yes. Monsieur Gabriel said that I must earn my place again, and I have new routines to learn since I was gone for those weeks. But I might be permitted to audition for singing roles again soon."

"Ah, good. I should not like to see your talents go unnoticed."

She smiled at him warmly. His compliments were like gold to her!

"Come, now, my dear, finish your breakfast," he chided. "Practice will begin in," he paused to check his pocket-watch, "forty minutes, and you must not be late."

"Yes, of course, maestro." There was enough gossip without her tardiness adding fuel to the fire.

They finished breakfast in silence, neither wishing to disturb the other with unpleasant thoughts.

Practice was uneventful. They went over the choreography of a ballet they all knew well but had not performed since the previous season. With recent events having been what they were, a better-known opera and ballet were to be staged this week.

Sorelli was, however, visibly distracted. Even though she had danced the lead in this ballet more than once, she missed a step and fell out of line. Thoughts of Philippe and his sweet words whispered while they had danced had her giddy. But did she dare believe the things he'd promised? He had told her of plans he'd made for them before, and they had never come to fruition.

Nevertheless, she had to admit that she'd told her share of fibs, as well. She would coyly -

"Sorelli! Pay attention, girl!" Gabriel rebuked her harshly. He expected more from her; she was the lead ballerina, after all.

She blushed furiously, then danced throughout the rest of the day without fault or another misstep.

Over lunch, Mignon asked her what the matter was.

"Oh, I was thinking of Philippe. It's silly of me, I know," Sorelli admitted with a grin.

"Ah, not silly at all," she sympathised. "I was thinking of someone, too."

"Raoul?"

"W-well, he did enter my thoughts, of course; he is kind and handsome . . . but there was . . . someone else, long before I came to Paris." She lowered her head, not wishing to divulge too much. Her memories were murky, fractured. All she could recall clearly was that he had had the most sublime voice.