The next few weeks flew by for Mia. She snuck out of the house almost every day to see Erik. Well, it wasn't exactly sneaking, she would always make up some social obligation, lunch with a friend, tea at the neighbors, and have her driver take her to different places around the city where she'd hire another or walk to the Populaire and to Erik.

He was so patient with her and Amelia. Erik put up with Amelia at her worst as well as all of Mia's insecurities and little problems. He listened to her complaints about Gaston and Amelia, and as well as doing what he could to help her cope with Amelia. And when Amelia became too unruly, Erik would hypnotize her to help her cope.

But not all of her time with Erik was spent dealing with Amelia. He would help her with her poetry and she would help him with his lyrics. They would talk and laugh, he had convinced her to stop cutting, and for the first time in a very long time, despite Amelia's attempts at interfering, Mia was genuinely happy.

"How is it coming?" Erik asked, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face and sitting beside her.

"Fine," Mia answered, closing the book.

"Can I see?"

"No."

Erik seemed surprised by her response. "Mia," he said with a laugh. "Come one, you always let me read your poetry."

She shook her head and held the book as far from her as she could. "Not this one. You won't like it. I know you won't."

"Nonsense," Erik replied, reaching around her and tugged the book from her hands. "I love your poetry, you know that."

"Erik!"

"Why don't you want me to read it?" Erik asked, as he flipped to her newest work. "We both know you have talent, and you've let me before, the only reason I can think why you wouldn't is because it's about…" He froze as he saw the title her latest poem: Le Fantôme. "Me…"

Mia buried her face in her hands. "You might as well read it now," she moaned through her fingers. "It'll be worse if you don't." Erik nodded and began to read.

"Feel the darkness smiling
Every note is dying
Silence is refining every thought in his heart
Thought in his heart"

"Still the fates are weaving
Every note that's bleeding
As he sits there seething all alone in the dark
Alone in the dark, alone in the…"

"But in the night, the darkness breathes if he wills it to be
Before his eyes, the music dies but he will always hear me
He sits alone, the cards are shown as he embraces the dark
The only sound that he will hear is there in his…"

When he was finished, Erik turned his attention back to Mia, who wouldn't even look at him. "I don't think I fully understand…" he said softly. "There are two people in this poem, the narrator and the 'he' that's being described. Which am I, and who's the other?"

She stared hard at her lap. "It's the Phantom describing you," she blurted out. "It's as if he's hovering over your shoulder all the time like it seems Amelia does to me. It's the only way I could think such a kind, generous man could be capable of such hate and anger." Without giving Erik a chance to speak, Mia kept going without so much as stopping to breathe. "Oh God, you hate it! I knew you would! I knew letting you read it was a terrible idea!"

Before Erik got so much as a word out, Mia turned and ran towards the mirror, too embarrassed to face him right now. She reached the glass and her fingers fumbled to find the switch, when Erik appeared silently behind her and whirled her around to face him. He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. "I think it's wonderful," he whispered. "I think the poem is wonderful, and the fact that you think I can be a good person is wonderful, and most importantly, I think you're wonderful."

Mia wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. She felt her back hit the glass as their embrace grew more and more heated. One of his hands was on the small of her back, pressing her body against his and the other was tangling itself in her hair. Erik's lips travelled down to her neck. Mia closed her eyes in bliss and was about to let her inhibitions go completely, when Erik suddenly flinched. Her hand flew to her mouth and she could feel the blood drain from her face when she realized she had accidentally scratched him with the diamond on her wedding ring. "Erik," she whispered, pushing him away.

"I know," he replied, turning away.

"Erik, please understand," Mia begged. "Just being with you makes me happier than I've ever been, but Gaston…"

"Why do you care so much about Gaston?" Erik demanded in frustration. "He doesn't care about you! I do! Am I not good enough for you?"

"Of course you are!" she cried. "But ever since I met Gaston, all I've heard is how he's as good as it's going to get, how I'm incredibly lucky to have a man like him, how I need to keep him happy because he's going to be the best thing that's ever happened to me."

His eyes softened and he took her hands in his. "Mia, listen to me and listen to me carefully. You need to let go of what everyone else tells you to do and how you should feel. The only thing that matters is what you want. No one else. And that includes me."

"But I can't have what I want. Society says…"

"Then forget society!" Erik replied, cutting her off. "What have they ever done to help you?"

She looked up at him, feeling conflicted. Finally she made a decision. "I know what I want." Mia kissed him again. "And what I want is you."

"Amelia!" Hazel flinched as the door slammed open. While her employer was never violent, he was often loud and bad tempered, especially towards his wife. As much as she reassured the poor girl that he meant well, she knew they were only empty words.

"She's not here Monsieur," Hazel answered with a curtsy.

"Then where the hell is she?"

"I think she said she was going to tea with an old friend of hers from school," Hazel admitted. She didn't like getting her mistress in trouble, but she feared Gaston's wrath much more.

Gaston growled. "She knows she's not supposed to leave the house without clearing it with me first." Hazel bit her tongue. He treated his wife more as an accessory than as an actual person with feelings. If he had his way, she'd never leave the house unless she was on his arm for a social function. "When is she coming back?"

"Well….she didn't exactly say Monsieur," Hazel admitted. "She just said she was going to tea and left."

"Goddammit," Gaston grumbled before storming out just as suddenly as he came, muttering profanities to himself the whole way. Hazel felt sorry for his wife when she returned and had to face him.

She turned her face into the pillow and inhaled deeply, reluctant to wake up. The scent was intoxicating: candle wax, parchment, and something earthy, almost like the musk of underground places. Whatever she was smelling it was certainly male….and not Gaston's usual cologne. Her eyes snapped open and she tried to shift her position, but there was something, more specifically an arm, wrapped around her waist. That in and of itself wasn't right. Gaston never slept this close to her.

The arm pulled her backwards against something warm and she could feel hot breath on her neck. It was then that she realized what kind of state she was in, and who she was in that state with. Praying she was wrong, she rolled over to face what was behind her. He groaned at her sudden movement, but she didn't care.

"What have you done?" Amelia screamed, wrapping the blankets around herself to hide from his eyes. "You lying bastard, she trusted you! What have you done to our mind?"