NOT the last chapter, I'm afraid. Consider this Part 1 of 2. It was getting long, so I thought you might appreciate getting half now. :)

Chapter 37

For three days, Christine waited in the house beneath the opera.

With the fire going, the place really wasn't that unpleasant, the ever-present chill kept at bay. She spent most of her time cuddled in a blanket on the divan, which she had pulled closer to the hearth, reading Erik's variety of books. She couldn't bring herself to play anything on the piano, the black thing looming in the room and full of memories. She also couldn't do much on her phone; although she did have cell signal and a charger that used batteries, she needed to conserve power as much as possible since she had no idea how long she would have to wait.

That night, she was woken by her phone ringing. Blearily, she groped for it in the dark and saw that it was Nadir. He wouldn't call her unless it was important, so she pressed the green button to answer.

"Yes?" she said, voice cracking with sleep.

"Thank you for answering," he said, the regret richly evident.

She sighed, too half-asleep to stay irritated with him. "I'm ready to move on. I miss your face, old man."

He breathed a deep sigh of relief into the phone. "And I miss you, as well. I do have a reason for calling, however. Erik was just here."

That made her wide awake. She sat up, tucking the phone between her cheek and shoulder so she could light some candles. "H-How was he?"

"Not his best and headed your way now."

She was up, putting Nadir on speaker so she could change into jeans and a sweater. "What do you mean, not his best?"

"Exhausted. I did manage to get him to shower and eat a tiny bit. But I'm sure you can imagine his emotional state. Christine, I have to warn you-"

She cut him off. "Nothing else. I don't care."

There was a long pause, and then a gentle, "All right. But please, be careful."

"I trust him, Nadir. I'll be in touch. Otherwise, I hope to see you soon." She hung up and headed for the living room, lighting candles as she went.

The absence of the boat on the other side of the lake would tip Erik off that someone was down here. The lighted candelabra would also alert him to her presence, and hopefully save her from a quick Punjab before he realized who she was. After that… well, there was no going back now.

Her final move was to grab a large garment bag from the bedroom and lay it across the divan. Then she settled next to it, the fire at her back, and waited.

She didn't have to wait long.

His voice rose up, swift and powerful, thundering around the room, sliding over her. "Whoever is within my home, do not move, or it will mean your death!"

Despite herself, she trembled. In her lap, her hands clasped each other to keep from shaking. She hadn't heard him use that voice since he had interrogated the man in New York in front of her. Now, she forced her breathing to stay slow, even as what happened next startled her.

In a spinning arch around the room, the candles winked out, throwing her into complete darkness. She blinked, trying to get her vision to clear, but she could see nothing. She knew Erik could see well in the dark, so he must be too far away to know it was her in the room. Her thoughts spun as she tried to consider if there were traps actually inside his home or if he would make a move without finding out who the intruder was first.

She sat still, unmoving, as commanded. Her fingernails cut into her own palms as she clenched her hands. A terrible aura filled the space, the presence of a dangerous man who would not be threatened in his own home. She heard the door open.

At her first attempt to speak, her voice squeaked. Then she quickly followed with a strained call: "It's me, Erik!"

Immediately, the chilling sensation that had surrounded her retreated. Candles winked back on throughout the room – how, she had no idea. Erik appeared in the entrance to the living room, his shoes squelching on the entryway rug, his cloak dripping at the edges, his hat drenched. Was it raining aboveground? It must be, from the look of him.

He loomed, a black shape filling the doorway. His eyes roamed over the room before alighting on her and widening.

"You…" he murmured. His surprise wore off quickly, his half-masked face twisting into anger. "Doing as you like, as always!"

He broke into motion, beginning to cross the room. She saw what he was intending – heading toward his own chambers where he might escape her. She jumped from the divan and bolted into his path, her hands raised to stop him. Cloak swirling about his legs, he brought himself up short before she could touch him, as if he had hit a brick wall.

"I've been waiting for you," she said. Even though her body shook with tenseness, she was amazed at how steady she was able to keep her voice. Her hands stayed raised in a calming gesture.

"Then you are a fool," he spat. He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her face. He took a step forward, scowling when his effort at intimidation didn't make her flinch back. "I can easily get past you."

"I know."

"If you are here to give more goodbyes, you are wasting your time. You have made that clear enough already."

You left me in London, she wanted to argue, but she held her tongue. Instead, she reached down with one hand and began to peel off her slippers, then her socks, one after the other. Erik's head turned ever so slightly to the side in a movement that she thought gave him a closer look at what she was doing.

His mouth opened to say something more, and then his lips pressed together in a firm line. Finally, he grated, "Where is the boy?"

"I have no idea."

His hands fisted, and for a moment, she thought he might slam one into the nearby wall. He sucked in several deep breaths, regaining his control. "Lies, Christine?"

"I'm not lying."

"I saw him with you in London." As if only now remembering he still wore his hat and cloak, he peeled off both, tossing the sodden garments to the floor beside them. He had just showered, the fresh scent of his soap sending longing bubbling up within her. "I saw you allow his arms around you!"

"I did," she said softly.

"You went to his room." He threw the accusations at her.

"I did."

"You went to his bed."

"I stayed the night, yes." As she spoke, Erik's eyes darted over her face, his gaze searing as he searched for whatever he needed to see. His tall body seemed to curve inward upon itself, his long fingers grasping at his jacket. "I'm sure you already know this," she continued, needing to push on, "but when we woke up the next morning, he got a call saying his nonprofit project had been fully funded. And not just through the year. Funded forever."

He scoffed at that, a broken sound. "My Christine would not starve!"

She wanted desperately to touch him, but restrained herself. Not yet, not yet. "Erik, that is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me."

The whine built in his throat. He spread his fingers wide, palm-up before her. "I love you."

She smiled up at him. Then, keeping eye contact until the last possible moment, she grasped the edges of her sweater and pulled it over her head.

"I- what are you doing? Christine!"

She let the sweater fall to the side. She was highly aware of his amber eyes darting over her bare torso. The scars that peaked over the edges of her bra were unable to hide from his probing stare even in this low light.

"Erik, I'm not with Raoul. I've never been with him. I don't love him, not at all."

She had his full attention now, and she hoped he wouldn't try to flee again. His burning gaze following her, she walked back to the divan. There, she unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down her hips, ignoring the startled noise he made. She bent over to push them down her legs, stepping out of each side before kicking them away. Then she straightened, more exposed before him than ever before, her lips curling upward.

"I was wrong, you know," she said gently, "to push so hard."

He hadn't moved except to turn his body toward her, the broad line of his shoulders hunched with tension. "Stop this, Christine!"

She continued, resisting the urge to fold her arms over her bare stomach. "I had such a bad reaction to your proposal, but I was scared, and I needed time that I thought maybe you couldn't give."

She turned toward the garment bag laid over the divan and unzipped it, revealing the contents. Erik didn't seem to notice, at least based on his reaction, still riveted on her and trying desperately to stay focused on her eyes. The attempt at being gentlemanly amused her, but now it was time to go all in. She wasn't sure at all how he would react.

"I've had a lot of time to think," she said. She drew out the dress and stepped into the silky fabric, pulling it up her body. The sleeves fell daintily to her wrists, as form-fitting as the high-necked bodice. A small train tumbled in flowing waves behind her.

Now, as she stood before him encased in soft white, he seemed to notice what she was wearing. He took a step toward her, sweeping a hand before him. "You don't have to do this," he pleaded.

"I know," she whispered. She turned her back to him, pulling her mass of curly hair across one shoulder. "Would you zip me up?"

It was an unspoken plea for acceptance. He could so easily leave now. He could tell her to take off the dress. Instead, his black shoes skittered slowly across the stone, every step a weighty promise, until she felt the heaviness of him at her back, the heat of his body on her skin.

"Christine," he said, her name a delicious hiss on his lips. The cool backs of his fingers brushed along her neck, moving aside a strand of hair she had forgotten. Those fingertips traced the length of her spine, raising goosebumps along her arms, until reaching her zipper located at the line of her underwear. In one steady motion, he had zipped her up, the clink of the zipper teeth momentous in her ears.

He took a step back as she turned around. His eyes were bright. "What are you doing?" he asked again.

"Waiting for you to ask me again," she said. "I love you, Erik. I've loved you for a long time. I- I know I panicked before, I know I should have been more understanding-"

"I rushed you. I shouldn't have tried to force-"

"I know why you did, and I only wish I could have-"

"Christine, you did nothing-"

"Please," she said, cutting him off gently. She took a deep breath. "My mother and Nadir are going to be waiting upstairs soon." He reeled further back from her, and she pressed on hurriedly. "I-I know it may not be what you had in mind, and I know right now, until we can get the right paperwork, it's not legally binding. But I want, I need to show you that I'm all in. Erik, I want to do this for you, for me, for us."

She stopped herself as her throat closed up. He stood motionless before her, and she couldn't take that indecipherable look in his eyes anymore. She ducked her head, staring down at her bare feet, embarrassment rising within her. This wedding dress was simple, muted satin without adornment. Maybe it wasn't his taste? Maybe… maybe he had no more interest in marrying her?

One bony knuckle came under her chin and lifted her to meet his gaze once again. Those yellow depths were heated, and she felt a blush spread across her cheeks.

"Erik," she breathed.

"You are serious," he said softly. "Your mother… she knows about us?"

"Yes." She had promised herself she wouldn't cry, but the tears came anyway, spilling over her cheeks and dripping onto his hand. "You value your privacy, but I had to tell her about you. I wanted her to know how much I love you, how much I want to spend the rest of my life with you." She hesitated. "That is… if you still want to w-with me."

To her surprise, he cupped her face in his large hands, thumbs brushing away her tears. His intense stare scanned over face as though memorizing every feature, every emotion laid out clearly for him to read.

Then he eased down to kneel on angular knees before her. His eyes darted across the floor for a moment as he seemed to weigh some decision. Then he pressed a hand against his mask and pulled it free from his face, laying it next to him on the floor with careful precision.

His voice was thick when he spoke again. "You need to know the full extent of what you are asking."

"I do know-" she began, but he cut her off with a swift hand pressing cool fingertips against her lips. She froze, and he held them there for several long moments before he seemed certain she would stay silent. She resisted the urge to dart out her tongue and taste the rough pad of one finger.

"Christine, in these past weeks, I have killed three men and injured a dozen more."

She sucked in a breath. She had known, deep down, that this was the path he and Nadir were taking, that they were going to do whatever it took to end this conflict. Nadir had told her there had been only a little bloodshed, but he hadn't given her a detailed account of what had happened.

Erik continued with determination. "You must know, of course I did it for you, of course I knew I had to do anything to keep you safe, but that does not excuse my actions. This… darkness inside of me – it is ever present. How can I possibly ask you to bind yourself to me in marriage? You, who are everything I am not, who have given me patience and kindness and love when I had none. I cannot do that to you, Christine."

She gazed down at him, her heart swelling with pride. This was her man, hers, kneeling before her. He had thrown himself back into killing and done it for her, and even though she knew murder was wrong, she couldn't help but believe that he had sacrificed a few in order to save many. By frightening them off, he had tied a tourniquet around his messy past.

Her hand lifted and curled around his misshapen cheek, her fingers ghosting along the abnormal ridges and reddened flesh. He jerked a bit but didn't move away.

She spoke softly, almost whispering. "What would you have done if I had said yes that night?"

His eyes went wide in that way she recognized meant he was startled by her words. His eyes always did give him away. "In that moment?" He shifted a bit on his knees. She kept her hand upon him, loving the way his jaw flexed as he spoke. "Please understand that I began drafting my own documents as a French citizen soon after our return to Europe. I… had hoped they would come into use."

She had a million questions, but they would have to wait. She slid her thumb across the smoother skin just under his eye, felt the slight droop at the corner. "Erik?"

"Married you as soon as possible," he admitted in a rush. "The process would have taken a month, maybe more, but even so, my ring w-would have been upon your finger."

She heard the way he stumbled upon his last statement, so unlike him. She drifted her hand down and brushed the top of her thumb across the bottom swell of his lip. So much wasted time between them, so much time running away from what her heart had wanted anyway. How often had he drawn away from her? How often had they danced around in circles?

"Erik, I'm standing before you in a white dress, ready to spend the rest of my life with you." She took his face in both hands, his rapt expression awe-filled. "You, you silly man! You, who have torn my life apart, rearranged it, and put it back together in the shape it should've always been. You, who cherishes me and loves me so dearly."

She paused to gain control over the quaver that had started in her voice. "You do… still love me?"

At that, he surged to his feet in a sweep of black cloth and scrape of shoe. One hand tangled in the hair at the back of her head while the other firmly caught her lower back, snatching her against the rough line of his body. His lips descended upon hers, hard and desperate, lips already parted, tongue quickly seeking entrance, and she gave it readily. Within seconds, she was moaning into his mouth, wanting to clutch him to her, but her hands were caught between their bodies.

He kissed her to make up for a month of distance between them. The slant of their mouths shifted, angled deeper, shifted again to find even more shared sensation, the pressure turning almost painful. Her trapped hands grasped the fabric of his jacket, nails biting into the wool. His fingers dug into her scalp, and his other hand had found purchase slightly too low to be completely innocent.

Her body was set aflame, missing him, missing everything about him. His scent surrounded her, sandalwood and smoke and now again the dampness of his underground home.

He tore his lips from hers, not loosening his hold, enough to rasp, "Marry me, Christine! Forgive me, for I will never be able to stay away from you. I must have you – I must be yours. Marry me."

"Yes," she said, pressing kisses along his jaw. "Yes, yes, yes."

His lips were on hers again. Free from the confines of the mask, the ruined side of his mouth was free to press against hers fully, and she groaned in eagerness, tucking her body against him.

He broke away again, putting a few inches between them. Hands shaking, he pulled a small black box from his inside jacket pocket. He must have carried it with him all this time. He opened the box, pulled free the ring she remembered so clearly, and she held out her finger so he could slide it in the spot where it belonged.

Relieved laughter, more tears. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, and he pressed his ruined cheek against the white satin of her dress, lifting her to her bare toes. She smoothed her hands over the tops of his quivering shoulders, then drew him back so she could press her lips to his once again.

After a moment, they reluctantly parted. Christine smoothed his rumbled jacket and gazed up at him, unable to stop her grin. "Our witnesses are probably waiting upstairs now. I-I planned a little ceremony just in case I needed it to convince you."

He curled a few strands of her hair around his fingers. "My sweet Christine. I would be honored."

She puffed a relieved breath. "All right then. Shall we go?"

He bent and retrieved his mask, replaced the article upon his face. "We shall."

In one smooth motion, he swept her into his arms, the train of her dress trailing to the floor. She yelped with delight at the sudden motion and wrapped her arms around his neck. He was here, she was here, this was truly happening. Erik carried her toward the boat so they could head across the lake, but she kicked her naked feet, showing him that she needed shoes.

She laughed as he swung them around and headed with long strides to the bedroom. He sat her down long enough for her to put on a pair of low white heels, and then she was in his arms again, and he moved with that graceful speed of his back to the boat.

They didn't speak on the ride across the lake. She sat while he stood, and they were each other's focus, eyes for nothing else.

On the other side, he stepped out and offered a hand, helping her out as she maneuvered her dress over one arm. As soon as she adjusted her clothing on the other side, he had picked her up again, cradling her close.

"I can walk, you know," she huffed even as she hugged his neck.

He only grunted at her and held her even closer, his mask a cold presence along her forehead. She leaned her head along his shoulder, imagining a lifetime of these arms around her. She couldn't stand to be separated from him again, not from any long period time. These weeks had truly been horrible, and she wanted to spend the next making up for that time.

Once they reached a door at the top of a long, narrow staircase, Erik set her on her feet, making sure the train of her dress was draped over her arm. He pressed upon some stones and the door swung open, emitting them to a space that seemed to exist on the inside of a wall.

He glanced down at her, gripping her hand in his. "Beloved, there are passages all throughout this opera house that allow us to pass unseen and avoid cameras. Where are we supposed to meet?"

She flushed a bit. "I thought the Room of the Moon would be nice."

"Ah." He touched her cheek. "Salon de la Lune, mon cher?"

She thought at that moment that he needed to speak French much more often. His accent had always glide deliciously over her skin, but this sent desire coursing through her all the more. "I thought it would be appropriate."

"Not Salon du Soleil? You should be in the sun, not dragged into the dark with me."

She couldn't help but grin cheekily. "I'm in the dark with you now and loving every moment."

His amber eyes glittered in the low light. Then he blew out the lamp.

The sudden darkness took her aback, but Erik was still a solid presence before her, his long fingers still curled around one of her own hands. He lifted her hand and she felt his lips press tenderly against her fingertips. Then he settled her hand upon his chest, reassuring her that he was still there.

His hand now free, his fingers traveled down her wrist, dipping around the delicate bones there before sliding up her satin-encased arm. She shivered as she felt the pressure of his fingers travel up her side before finding the line of her throat, curving around the narrow column, his thumb caressing up and down the jut of her chin.

"Are you?" he asked, his voice a purr in the air around her. "If we go through with this, I will never let you go again. I can't watch you walk away again, can never part from you again. You will be mine, Christine Daaé, completely and without end."

Using her hand on his chest to brace herself, she stood on tiptoe and pressed herself against him. Beneath her hand, his heart sped up. "Good."

His hand tightened slightly, possessively. "Christine-"

"When will you understand, Erik?" she said into their shared breath. "I choose you." She cocked her head to the side, knowing he could see the movement. "I do have a question, though - What's your last name?" She spoke against his lips, accessible since he was bent slightly over her.

His thumb stilled on her throat. "I have none."

She caressed her lips over his. She didn't want the topic to hurt him, but all the same, she needed to ask. "I only wondered since we are getting married." How she loved to say those words aloud!

He growled, but not with anger. "I sometimes use Garnier, but you should have a real last name, not one procured elsewhere."

"I like Garnier."

"Christine, I would take your last name."

That brought her up short. She desperately wished she could see him right then, to be able to read his eyes. "You would?"

"I would. I would be honored to do so, though I fear opening your mother up to any future danger with those seeking me out. I may have calmed the current feud, but I can't predict what will happen five years from now, a decade from now."

She sighed and wrapped her arms around him. The hand at her throat fell away, instead entwining in her hair. "Then I will be Christine Garnier, and the name will always remind me of Paris, where we met. But if you want me to call you Erik Daaé in private, I'm honored to do so."

A chuckle bubbled up within his chest, rumbling in her ear. "Shall we go?"

She nodded, and, taking her hand once again, he led her through the secret passages of the Palais Garnier to the small alcove where Nadir and her mother would be waiting.

Part 2 coming soooooon.