Hi folks, here is the next chapter. Christine will soon have more problems than just Erik to deal with... if the phrase "just Erik" is ever applicable!

Chapter 18. July, 1887. Saturday morning.

Christine made her way up along the new route to the door on the Rue Scribe, and for a few minutes, merely walked aimlessly, too angry to do otherwise. Eventually, she stopped, got her bearings, and realised she was near the shop of Madame Bertois, the dressmaker whom she patronized. With a toss of her head, she entered the shop and ordered a new evening gown, requesting that it be made over the largest bustle they had.

"And... it must be made so that it can be... let out soon," she finished, blushing.

"Of course, Madame," said the seamstress, with perfect equanimity. Well, reasoned Christine, she must have many customers who had to make such requests. "Congratulations. You must be very happy."

Christine looked up, surprised. "I – thank you," she stammered. After the events of yesterday, the coming child had begun to seem more a dreadful predicament than anything to be proud of; but the other woman seemed to take it for granted that her pregnancy was something to be joyful about.

"This is your first, isn't it?"

"Yes. I have only been married a short time."

"You will need infant's clothes, then. Will you be purchasing them?" asked Madame. "If so, then I can recommend a good shop to go to. But I know some women prefer to make their own."

Christine had not actually thought that far in advance. She pondered the question for a moment, and then said, "I think I will make my own. I like sewing, and it seems... sweet, to make one's baby its first clothes."

"Yes, it is," said the other woman, smiling. "Do you know which draper to go to for flannels and cambrics and such?"

Christine did not, and was happy to accept Madame Bertois' advice on the subject, as well as on new, bigger dresses and underthings for later in her pregnancy. After choosing the style and colour of her new evening dress, she paid for everything with her husband's money and departed.

Without Erik's brooding presence upsetting her, hunger began to make itself known, and she found a cafe and ordered a pastry and coffee. She had not yet experienced nausea in the mornings, though the doctor had warned her that it might happen, and probably sooner rather than later. She sipped slowly, watching the crowds go by, and hearing the noises of the city. She had been living here for a long time now, and Paris was so very different from the hills and woods that she had been used to as a child, from the quiet and solitude of the country. Perros-Guirec had been a welcome, if temporary, relief, the beauty of the sea soothing her soul and mind.

Until, of course, her life had turned into a far bigger mess than she would ever have anticipated.

She blinked hard and stood up, having finished her meal. She did not care to think about all of that just now. She would find a park to sit in, for a small taste of nature. It was not enough, but it would have to do.

Once she was seated on a secluded park bench, she could not prevent her thoughts from turning to the current conflict between her husband and herself. The pain his vicious words had caused still burned within her heart; his apologies of that morning had not gone very far in alleviating it, because she did not think they were sincere. He seemed to think that his worst transgression had been to refuse to come to dinner and appreciate her hard work in trying to make a romantic evening for him; true, he had said that his words were wrong, but he obviously thought that his having lost his temper ought to excuse the resulting insults. Why, he even seemed to believe that she had only herself to blame, for annoying him! She had just barely stopped herself from making an angry retort when he came out with that last incredible line.

She had intended him to see that she was taking his words seriously once he saw her putting away all evidence of herself; she had presumed that that would drive home to him the reality that he could not simply say whatever his temper prompted him to and then expect her to let his words roll off her back, like water off a duck's feathers. How could he say such vile things with every appearance of sincerity, and then think that she should not believe he meant them? And why would anyone say things like that to someone without intent? If he honestly didn't realise that such behaviour would hurt her badly, then he was... was self-centred and... and heartless. He cared more for his own freedom to let his anger out, than for her happiness.

Well, it was not as though he had not behaved like that before they were married, was it? She had rushed into marriage with him, she who knew what he was better than anyone – with perhaps, she amended herself, the exception of his odd friend the Persian. She had no business to do that unless she was willing to accept all of him, the bad with what little glimmers of goodness he had shown that made her believe he possessed the capability to be a better man, if he would only try.

To try... but, when people tried to do something, they did not always succeed, did they? Especially when trying to change one's habits? She had certainly been unable to at times. It drove Erik mad – well, madder – when she talked too much while he was trying to concentrate on something, and she had tried not to but still forgot occasionally.

But being too garrulous was nowhere near as reprehensible as treating one's spouse as he had treated her. How could she be expected to bear it? Especially if he were to continue to do so?

"I honestly believed he loved me now, really loved me," she whispered, her throat tight. Erik had warned her against using her voice with her throat like that. "He said he loved me, just before Raoul and I left him. And I thought he meant that he felt real love for me now, and that before it had only been obsession."

Had he only said he loved her as a last-ditch effort to get her to stay with him? Had it been one last feeble attempt at the sort of manipulation that had worked so well on her before? And had she gone off half-cocked into a marriage with him because of it?

But they were married now, and there was no going back. They were both bound to each other – or trapped. Half-heartedly she contemplated living separately, as some couples did when they just could not abide each other's company. But... how would she ever be able to trust that Erik would not hunt her down and force her to come back to him? Would he ever agree to let her go again, now that he knew the delights of marriage? Now that she was legally his? And the child... the child...

Her head hurt. All this was painful to think about. She had come to the park for respite, not for dwelling on upsetting things. She kicked at the dirt with the toe of her boot. Why could she not just sit and enjoy being outside? Look, the sun was shining, and see how pretty the flower beds were, and there, listen, a bird was singing beautifully. She closed her eyes and tilted her head up toward the sun, enjoying its light and warmth, and exposing her face from under her hat brim.

"Christine!"

Her eyes flew open, to see a handsome young blond man making his way swiftly toward her. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. It was Raoul.

O-O-O O-O-O

Author's Note:

I expect some of you won't be best pleased to see Raoul reappearing, but it wouldn't be Phantom of the Opera without him, would it? And Christine did rather jilt him abruptly. But, to her, how does he stack up against Erik now? Only the next chapter will tell! I'll try to post it later this week, as I'm leaving you all on a bit of a cliffhanger.