Oh, such lovely reviews! They make me very motivated to work steadily on this! I hope to keep a 3-4 day rotation on posting chapters, at least through the summer. This chapter was difficult to write - please let me know what you think!

Chapter 9

Christine's shift at the library passed by rather uneventfully. Since it was the first weekend after classes had started, not many college students were scrambling for research yet. Most inquiries were for computers or to check out tablets, and she didn't even have that many books to reshelf.

Her mother called at some point, but she didn't leave a message when Christine didn't answer. That wasn't very unusual. Anna called fairly regularly, usually to chat about nothing in particular. Christine thought maybe she'd try calling her back tomorrow, if she got a chance.

Oh, the library was boring without much to get done. Christine spent some time browsing the books herself. She couldn't spend a lot of time reading now that the schoolwork was bound to pile up, but maybe she could find something that would interest Erik. She thought about the types of book she had seen on his own bookshelf. He'd had all kinds of books, but he seemed to trend toward history.

She selected a couple about European history and a couple more about music, and for good measure, a few more about the history of music. She also spent some time thumbing through Pandora on her phone and setting up a few stations he might enjoy. She even added an opera station just for him. The thought made her smile.

Finally, the sun starting to set, her shift ended, and she stretched her limbs, a bit sore from sitting around all day. She piled the heavy books into her arms and headed out the door.

Last night, she had bought food to cook, but it was really too late for that. What would Erik eat anyway? She'd never seen any food touch his lips before. Maybe he would eat something plainer, like rice? She ducked into a Chinese take-out place she frequented and ordered a smorgasbord, adding a variety of dishes, including two different soups. Maybe there would be something he would like in the spread.

A little guiltily, she put it all on her credit card again. She probably still had a few more weeks before the bill would show up, and maybe she would get her loan check by then.

She'd had to wait a while for her order, and now it was already past 7:30, which is when she said she'd be home. She scooped up the books with one arm and threaded her other fingers through the two very full bags of food. Just five blocks to go.

As she pushed open the door with her hip, she suddenly felt the door swing wide. She almost lost her balance, and probably would have, if it wasn't for a warm, steadying hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry about that," said a familiar male voice.

She turned around to see Raoul's friendly face stretch into a grin when he saw her. "Hi, Raoul."

"Chris!" He was so delighted to see her that she couldn't help but return his smile. "What a surprise! Though I guess it shouldn't be." He laughed freely and jutted a thumb at the restaurant. "Best lo mien noodles near campus, right?"

"Totally," she agreed. She set the bags down and flexed her fingers, which had already begun to ache. "I couldn't decide, so I had to get a little of everything."

He eyed her stash. "I'd say so."

He was so handsome, so nice whenever she saw him. Even though she hadn't been that agreeable the last time she saw him, he still greeted her so warmly. She had no idea why he was still single. He had graduated a year ago and gotten a fantastic job designing the website for the university. Shouldn't he have scooped up his own perfect catch by now?

"How are you doing, Raoul?" She wanted to head back home to Erik, but she couldn't leave quickly without being impolite.

"Good, good. Work is amazing, and I love what I'm doing." He flipped his tie at her, again flashing that perfect white smile. "I'm still getting used to the uniform. You?"

"Good," she said. "My last semester of classes started up this week. I'm working at the library, which is boring, but a paycheck." She grabbed onto her bags again, signaling that she was ready to go. "It's good to see you again!"

"You too, you too." He made to move through the door he still held open, and he watched her struggle with carrying both her armful of books and the two large bags of Chinese food. "Hey, Chris, let me help you."

"I've got it. Really," she protested, but he had already taken the bags from her. The man was insistent with his chivalry. She would be annoyed if he wasn't so darn cute. "Aren't you hungry?"

He laughed. "The guys can wait. We're not doing anything but playing some dumb video games tonight anyway."

Christine had no idea how she was going to explain Erik, who didn't seem like the type to enjoy meeting random people. In fact, the meeting of these two could be downright deadly. Christine nervously thought about punjab she knew he kept in his pocket. Would Erik recognize the man he had heard on her phone? Erik didn't let many details past him, so probably so.

"Raoul," Christine weakly, "I really can carry my own food."

"Nonsense! Let me help you out. I won't even insist on going in." He was joking, but she felt nothing but relief. Maybe he would go before she even opened the door.

Well, at least there was that. They talked about nothing much in particular as they walked back to her apartment – her classes, his work, Meg's plans. He was looking to buy his first house and buy some stocks and felt like he was turning into his father.

They stopped in front of her door. Christine was nervous about Erik hearing Raoul's voice through the door, but now she didn't have much of a choice. She took the bags from him, giving him what she hoped was a natural smile.

"Thanks so much for the help! Will you be going to Meg's party next week?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Raoul said. Thankfully, he had already turned to go. He tossed her a wave and headed back down the stairs. "See you then, Chris!"

"Yeah." Once he had vanished, she breathed a sigh of relief and inserted her key into the lock.

It was almost 8 o'clock, and while there was still a little summer daylight left, she couldn't see much inside her apartment. All of the lights were off, and the curtains were still drawn like they had been when she left.

There was no sight of Erik.

She shouldered the door open and brought the bags of food inside, setting them and the books on the floor in the foyer. Her hands free, she closed the door behind her and quickly flipped on several lights, illuminating what was definitely an empty living room and kitchen.

"I'm home!" she called, thinking he must be in the bathroom.

She put the bags on the kitchen counter and headed across the room. She didn't have to get far before it was obvious that the bathroom was also empty. Turning on the light made that all the more apparent. She did the same in her bedroom, which was small enough that a quick glance told her all she needed to know.

Erik was not here.

Just in case, she checked the balcony as well, finding nothing there but her few half-dead plants and unused bicycle.

Where was he? Why had he left? There was nothing he had said at some point that would indicate he would need to go out today. It sounded like Nadir was getting on the first flight out of Paris, but there was no way he could have made it to the east coast so soon. Right?

That's when Christine realized she had forgotten to pick up Erik's clothes from the dry-cleaner. She had even spent extra to make sure they were done within the day. Maybe Erik would be back by the time she returned. She grabbed her purse and half-ran to the dry-cleaner, which had been moments away from closing.

The man behind the counter immediately knew who she was. "These clothes were filthy! I've never seen anything like it, lady. What did your husband do anyway? Fall into a vat of filth?"

Christine paid the outrageous fee with her credit card and grabbed the garment bag, her face burning. She didn't have time to feel embarrassed about things out of her control. She just wanted to get back home as quickly as possible.

When she walked in, it was obvious that Erik wasn't back. By now, the Chinese food had cooled. It was past 8 at this point, and her stomach was growling insistently. She hadn't had more than a coffee and a protein bar from the vending machine during her break. Maybe he wouldn't mind so much if she went ahead and ate. He hadn't even left her a note saying when he would be back, so she didn't feel that badly about it.

Christine made herself a plate and put the rest in the fridge. As she sat at her kitchen table and ate, she surveyed her empty apartment. Erik had put the book he had been reading back on the shelf and cleaned everything from breakfast this morning. When he had left, he had taken his hat and cloak, both of which had been hanging on her coat rack.

Besides the items she had bought him, he had left little trace that he had ever been here.

By the time she had eaten, cleaned her plate, and surfed the news on the Internet for a little while, it was 9 o'clock, and he still wasn't back. She briefly thought about calling Nadir, but it was 3 or 4 a.m. there, and she wouldn't wake him up to complain about the fact that Erik was gone. She settled onto the couch and flipped to a saved program on her DVR, some mind-numbing reality show that didn't take much thought.

She hadn't let herself worry too much until now. After all, Erik was a free man who could do as he wished. Based on how often he dipped out while she was at his underground home in Paris, he wasn't the type to sit around.

Two episodes later, and it was now pushing 10:45. She didn't have work tomorrow, but she didn't normally stay up late. Her eyelids felt the call of sleep, but how could she possibly sleep without knowing where he was?

Or if he was coming back. At all.

Christine turned off the TV. She grabbed two ibuprofen and took them to avoid another night of restless sleep. She left a light on in the kitchen, not wanting to be in complete darkness by herself. Having Erik here, even for less than a day, had been such a welcome change of pace. She had lived alone for the bulk of her time in college, minus a few months here and there when her mother had moved in to take care of her during the rough patches of recovery. Even though Erik had been quiet and so different from anyone she had ever known, she had been looking forward to having him here.

There, she could admit it. She had wanted him here.

And she thought he had wanted to be here too.

She got ready for bed, brushing her teeth and cleaning her face before changing into pajamas. She carefully tucked her bra away and immediately felt foolish for doing so. He wasn't here to accidentally see it, was he?

That was when she felt her bottom lip start to tremble. She crawled beneath her covers and pulled them to her chin, leaving her nightstand light on for now. She couldn't stand being alone in the dark. The light under her door had been a comforting presence all last night – his light, that he had used to read.

When would she admit that he was definitely gone, and not just for a little while? Maybe he had gone for good. He and Nadir had talked for a long time about whomever was looking for them, and Nadir had been flying into New York, hadn't he? Not Boston. Maybe Erik had gone to meet him in New York and just hadn't told her.

Because why would he bother to tell her? He had no reason to involve her in anything he did. He had taken the time to rest here, get back some strength, and now he could continue on with whatever business he had before heading back to Paris where he belonged. Christine was just a girl who had stupidly stumbled into his territory two weeks ago. At the first thought that she wasn't welcome around him, that she was a nuisance, he had sent her packing.

Her thoughts kept spinning, fueled by exhaustion. She couldn't help it. The tears began to spill over her cheeks, wetting her pillow and the side of her hair. Had she been a nuisance the whole time? The kisses they had shared had made her think otherwise, but she had practically thrown herself at him. A man who hadn't been touched his whole life would take whatever was offered.

She was so confused, so heartbroken, but none of that mattered much, did it? Not if he wasn't here.

She stifled a sob against her pillow, felt her heart begin to race too fast, her breath starting to come out in uneven bursts. That was when she heard the door to her apartment open. Someone stepped in, and then the door closed with a turn of the lock.

Christine didn't stop to think that it might be someone other than who she wanted it to be. She bolted out of bed and threw open the door to her bedroom.

In the dim light coming from the kitchen, she saw Erik, bundled in his black cloak. He took off his hat and hung it on the coat rack as though it belonged there, and raised his head to meet her wild stare.

She knew she must look a mess, her face wet, her nose running, because his eyes widened. "I… thought you would be asleep," he said. "Did I wake you?"

She couldn't push any words past the lump in her throat. She took a few steps out of her bedroom, the breadth of the couch between them. He was there. In her foyer. And now he was undoing his cloak at his throat, sweeping it from his shoulders with his usual grace and hanging it under his hat.

"Christine?"

Her hands were shaking as she came closer. "I didn't know if you were coming back."

"I had to step out," he said.

"Step out?"

He shifted from one foot to the other. "It took me longer than I thought it would; otherwise, I would have left a note."

She shook her head, feeling on the verge of a meltdown. "This isn't about a note. I didn't know if you were coming back. I didn't know if you were just stepping out or if you had gone to New York or back to Paris, or if you were just gone for good."

"I would not leave like that." He watched her approach, his expression guarded. He looked so unsure, so confused by her reaction, and that made her feel even more hopeless. He probably thought she was just a little girl who had panic attacks over nothing.

Did she really have much to lose, then?

She reached him, her bare feet cold on the linoleum of the foyer. She clutched the front of his button-down shirt – the one she had bought him – with two fists. His arms flung out at his sides as though stunned by her actions. "Wouldn't you?" She shook her hands with her fierce words, and he backed up until his back hit the door, and she didn't care, following him. "Wouldn't you, Erik? Because how am I supposed to know that? How am I supposed to know you won't just leave?"

"Christine-"

"Why would I believe that? I have no reason to believe that! I have no reason to believe you."

His hands hovered in the air around her shoulders. She really thought he might shove her off, but he didn't. She tilted her face up, forcing him to meet her eyes. His own were indescribable, all white around the golden irises.

She took a shuddering breath, pressing onward. "You let me leave like that. You chucked me off on Nadir and made me leave without saying goodbye. You didn't say a word to me, Erik, not a word! Not a goodbye, nothing. You didn't even look at me when I left. You didn't look up at me, you didn't say anything!"

She was sobbing again now, but she didn't care. She had stored up her despair for so long that she couldn't contain it anymore. Erik was unmovable beneath her hands, and if he didn't want to run away from her before, he surely would now. She pressed her face against his chest, between her two fists, and cried all of the heartache she hadn't let herself admit.

She was finding it difficult to speak now, difficult to even take a deeper breath. Her heart thundered loudly in her ears as the familiar numbness spread across her senses. Her legs buckled, unable to hold her up any longer. Suddenly, she felt pressure around her back and under her knees, and she had to close her eyes against the rush of motion that followed. She felt herself being lowered onto the couch, and when she opened her eyes again, Erik crouched in front of her.

He captured one of her hands and flattened the palm against his chest. His own heart beat wildly beneath her fingertips.

"Christine, breathe," he said, his voice low and melodic, sounding much calmer than his heart betrayed. "Breathe in and out. Listen to me, feel my own lungs fill with air. Breathe with me." And he began to take a deep breath, his chest expanding, and she tried to suck the air into her own mouth to match. Then he exhaled, his warm breath mingling with hers in a slow, steady rush. "That's it," he murmured. "Again." And they breathed together again, a third time, a fourth, and gradually, the dizziness faded and the ringing in her ears ceased.

She stared at her hand pressed against the wrinkled fabric of his gray shirt, and his two bare hands covering her own. One of his cool thumbs stroked over her knuckles while the other moved in soothing circles across the inside of her wrist. She should pull away. She wanted nothing more than to feel that touch forever.

She found her voice again. "I'm sorry."

"Stop it," he snapped with sudden anger. "What could you possibly have to apologize for? You, who have seen my face and stayed. Not only stayed, but accepted. You, who have given me life again when I thought I had already been buried."

Stunned, she said nothing.

He turned loose of her hand, and she clasped both of them in her lap to still their trembling. He didn't move away, however. "It was wrong of me, Christine, not to say goodbye. I owed you that at the very least."

"I didn't want to go," she whispered.

"I had to send you away, don't you see that? I had no choice. Your ankle had healed enough, and when I learned of your illness, I knew I had to let you go."

Her next words were so hard to say, but she had to say them. She looked away, blinked through fresh tears. "Because of my surgery? My mastectomy?"

"Your-" He cut himself off, and she felt his fierce gaze roam over her, and she had never felt so exposed. "You think it was because of that?"

"Wasn't it?" God, she hated the way her voice cracked.

His cold hands came up to cup her face, his thumbs brushing away the wetness under her eyes. "I was so afraid you would die if you stayed there with me, in that darkness, in that cold tomb. I could not keep you. I could not do that to you."

She leaned into his touch. "I thought it was because of…" She couldn't bring herself to name it aloud again. She had never talked openly about any of this with anyone but her mother and Meg, and even then, she had kept the details private.

"Look at the man in front of you, Christine. How could I treat you with any less dignity than you have given me? How can you believe that I find you anything less than?" He forced her head up with his palms so she would look him in the face. His eyes burned. "I have never found you to be anything but perfect, my beautiful Christine."

She choked back another sob. "All this time, I thought, because you didn't say goodbye, that I had somehow appalled you. Maybe not because of my surgery, but because I was somehow too weak because I had been so sick."

"Never. Never, Christine." He shifted on his knees to bring himself closer, his jaw clenched. "I couldn't bear to watch you leave. Ah, Christine, don't you understand? You came into my underground lair and stirred me awake. If I had watched you step out of my life, I would never have found the strength to let you go." He dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper of confession. "I never would have let you go."

His hands left her face, drifted down her shoulders, slid down her arms, and clutched both of her hands. He raised her hands and pressed them to his own face, one on his bare cheek, one on the unforgiving hardness of his mask. "How could I ever have risked you dying down there?"

"I'm not dying," she said softly, marveling at him. She wanted to take off his mask to better read his emotions, but now was not the time for exposure.

"I see that now, I do. You are most definitely not dying, and I was too afraid to see it. You are not dying. You are very much alive." He turned his head to the side to press a kiss against the tender skin of her wrist. She wanted to feel those lips on hers, but she feared giving him too much control over her. She feared she might not stop with a kiss. "Very much alive, Christine."

Ah, she loved the sound of her name on his lips. But she wasn't ready to stand down, not yet. She gently tugged her hands free of his and folded her arms across her flat chest.

"You hurt me, Erik."

"I know."

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, felt herself calm as she got herself back under control. "I want you to promise never to do it again."

His eyes searched hers. His mouth opened, then closed as he waited for more explanation. She wouldn't ask him to promise not to break her heart, promise never to leave again, promise only happiness from here on out. She knew who she was talking to. But she wanted him to trust her, to deem her worthy of letting her know what was going on. And more than anything, she wanted to trust him.

"I want you to promise to say goodbye." She quickly added, "As long as you are able to."

His shoulders fell, the tension easing. "The next time we part, I will say goodbye."

She didn't want to think about separating from him again, not now when she had only just gotten him back. She pushed aside those other thoughts. There was no talk of commitment here, only the discussion of treating her like a person who deserved his honesty.

"Swear it."

"I swear it, Christine."

He was so convincing, and she wanted desperately to believe him. His words would have to do for now. She scooted to the edge of the couch and rested her forehead against the apex of where his shoulder met his neck. He smelled faintly of the body wash she had bought him and his own unique scent, which she had missed more than she realized.

She heard him suck in a sharp breath. Did her touch really shock him so much anymore? Just moments before he had carried her in his arms to the couch. She felt him shift, and then his hands ghosted along her back, buried into her hair, and pulled her closer against the length of his body. She tucked her knees to the side, not quite sitting on him, and snuggled closer, taking this rare embrace for as long as he would allow it.

It had been a long two days, and her eyes were puffy from crying. Her eyelids fluttered, lured to close by the slight warmth of his body that seeped through their clothes. She must have dozed for a second because when she cracked her eyes open, he was carrying her again, his arms a firm strength around her.

He laid her on her bed and pulled the covers to her shoulder. She felt a soft brush of fingertips across her hair.

"Sleep, my dear," he said softly. "I will be here when you wake."

She resisted the urge to catch his hand. She wondered what he would do if she asked him to stay. Never in her life had she wanted a man to share her bed, even just for sleeping. She thought about what she would do if he asked for more than sleep…

The moment was gone, for he was already rising and turning off her lamp. He left her bedroom door cracked open, and the glow of the other room, signaling his lingering presence in her home, brought a smile to face.

For the first time in two weeks, she was eager to see what tomorrow would bring.