Well, here we are. I can't believe we've reached the end. I really can't thank you enough for all your support for this story. It's been such a pleasure writing this and getting to hear from you all.

In case anyone's interested, I've made the full story available for download as a PDF. The download link is in my profile. I'll also be posting a bit of a bonus on Tumblr (I'm teaandpinkfrosting there) with links to some of the fascinating archives I used for historical research, as well as links to performances of much of the music I've mentioned in this story.

Thank you so, so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy the final chapter!

Grand Central Station was busy, but as Erik moved through the crowds, for once he was entirely unmindful of the stares he drew. The train from St. Louis had just arrived, and any moment now he would catch sight of the face he had been longing to see for weeks. It seemed odd, now, that less than a year ago he had hoped for the very situation that now kept him so restless and uneasy. It had made perfect sense, of course, for Christine to join the Met's spring tour—the papers couldn't get enough of her and audiences far and wide were clamoring to hear the angelic voice that had garnered so many glowing reviews. He'd known it was right for her to go and had relished the excitement that radiated from her as she prepared. But that hadn't stopped him from feeling utterly lost without her.

They had hardly been apart since that first night they had spent together, the night the opera house had opened—it now seemed like half a lifetime ago. They'd remained in bed late into the next day, talking and making love and dozing in each other's arms. When they did emerge to order a late breakfast and see what the papers had to say about opening night, there had been half a dozen notes waiting for both of them. It had only taken a glance to realize they were notes of congratulations. There had been several papers with reviews, and Erik had read each of them aloud with Christine by his side, gripping his arm with nervousness and excitement. He'd been able to feel her smile as she pressed her face into his shoulder.

Reports of opening night had unanimously stated that the opera house had never looked finer, that the improvements made during the renovations were a great accomplishment, that a grand time had been had by all. They recounted the great success of a beautiful young soprano who had somehow been heretofore undiscovered but who ought to be one of the most sought-after artists in the world. Every aspect of the opera house and the evening's performance was praised, and one journalist even suggested that the night heralded a new era of innovation and prosperity for the company. Christine had given a relieved, disbelieving laugh and had wrapped her arms around him, and he'd stood there for a long time, just holding her close and letting the news settle in. A success. After all that, it had all been a success.

Of course the board had been quick to insist that Christine's performances throughout the season be increased, and though they congratulated each other for promoting this new talent far more than they congratulated Erik, a few of them were happy to shake his hand. After that there always seemed to be a rehearsal or performance to occupy Christine's time. That winter alone, she'd made appearances in Lucia di Lammermoor and Roméo et Juliette and just about every Sunday night concert they could get her into. She performed at the grandest private parties in the city and was invited as a guest to a great many more. But somehow she'd still managed to spend many afternoons sitting with Erik while he worked or working through a lesson with him. And in the evenings they would walk or sit nestled together on the sofa in the parlor with the fire blazing before them. He would fall asleep with her in his arms and wake up with her by his side. And while he still wondered how she could possibly love him like she did, there was no doubt that she did love him, and that certainty was a far greater blessing than he had ever imagined having.

The tour had stolen her away on a gray, chilly day at the end of February, and now the warm gentleness of April greeted her return as though she were Persephone, arrived to bring spring to the world. So today Erik did not mind the sea of people pushing past him at Grand Central. He didn't mind the curious stares or the murmured remarks that were lost in the noise of the station. All he could think about was being reunited with the only person he'd ever actually wanted to be with.

He caught sight of her before she saw him, her face angelic and bright as her eyes roamed over the crowd around her. In a moment, though, she did see him, and his breath caught at the way her entire countenance lit up. The people were dense around her and she had to weave her way through them carefully, but Erik was already heading toward her with long, quick strides. And then she was there with him and his arms were around her, folding her neatly into his chest, and he was whole again.

"It's good to see you," she murmured into his jacket.

If not for the bonnet she wore, he would have bent to press a kiss to the top of her head. What he wanted even more was to kiss her properly, soundly, in a manner not suitable for such a public setting.

"It's good to see you too," he said softly, though the sentiment did not begin to describe what he felt.

"I enjoyed your letters greatly, but I must say that they are no match for you." She pulled away slightly and leaned up to press her lips to his. The kiss was far too brief, but it still sent a wave of relief through him.

"I missed you," he told her, his voice so low that it was almost swallowed up by the bustle around them.

"I missed you too."

For a moment she just stood and looked at him, a gentle, unconscious smile on her lips, and his heart sped as he took her in. She wore the same neat traveling suit she had when he'd last seen her, but her eyes shone brighter with the adventure of the past month, and something in the way she held herself had grown more self-assured. She was brilliant and lovely and, somehow, she was happy to be reunited with him.

"Can we go home now?" she asked quietly, and he could feel the smile tugging at his lips.

"Of course."

They quickly found a porter to retrieve her luggage, and then they were making their way through the crowded station out onto the equally crowded streets, where their carriage waited amidst a line of others. Erik helped her in, relishing the familiar feeling of her gloved hand in his and, after seeing that her belongings had all been safely secured to the carriage, climbed in after her. She smiled when he took the seat beside her and immediately reached over to take his hand.

"Did you have a good time, my dear?" he asked her, bringing her gloved hand to his lips to punctuate his question with a kiss.

"Oh, I did, Erik. All those new places—it was terribly exciting. There was so much I wanted to tell you about that I didn't have time to include in my letters."

"The clippings from the papers you sent were all very complimentary. 'Peerless' one of the reviews from Boston called you."

He had saved every one of the clippings she had sent him, tucking them safely away in his desk drawer along with each of her letters. She'd been compared to the great Adelina Patti. Her voice had been called indescribably beautiful. On nights when the rest of the company had lagged, she alone had redeemed the performance. It was every bit the kind of praise she deserved.

Christine smiled and looked down. "Everyone was very kind. I'm relieved to have been so well received. Hopefully it's an indication that I am acceptable outside of New York's artistic sphere."

Modest as ever, his Christine. Of course she was acceptable—she was far more than acceptable. It would only take a few years, no more than one or two international tours, for her to become a global phenomenon. No cultural variation in taste would be significant enough for anyone to find her lacking in talent.

"Next summer we ought to arrange a European tour for you," he said. "I have already started receiving offers, you know."

"Europe?" Her face lit up at the prospect, but her expression quickly turned hesitant. "Do you think it would be possible for, well, for you to travel with me? I've missed you so terribly these last weeks that I hardly know how I could stand to be an entire ocean away from you for a whole summer."

The request was not entirely unexpected—he had, in fact, been hoping for it—but her words still sent warmth flooding through him.

"I'll go with you wherever you want me to."

With not even two weeks remaining in the season, there was much still to do and little time to bask in Christine's return. She had several regular performances left before the gala that would end the season, and while the organization of that evening was not quite the monumental undertaking that opening night had been, it was more than enough to occupy most of Erik's waking hours. Still, he found plenty of time to spend with Christine, even if she was only sitting quietly with him while he worked. Her absence while on tour had been a gaping hole in his days, something he was aware of at all times. If he had taken great comfort in her presence before the tour, he felt that comfort doubly now. Even if their reunion was not a leisurely one, there was still a great deal of pleasure to be taken from it.

His contract arrived only a couple of days after Christine's return. Its coming had slipped his mind—there had been so much else to occupy him these last weeks with Christine being away, the gala quickly approaching, and plans for the following season already well under way. With the success of this season, he had been reasonably certain that his position as musical director was secure. He hadn't exactly been asked to begin planning the next season; it was more that plans had just naturally started taking shape. The board members were not entirely supportive of him, but it seemed enough of his plans had proven successful to have earned him a bit of begrudging respect. Still, when the neat stack of papers arrived at the house and a quick perusal of them confirmed that he was not being dismissed, it felt as though he was taking a breath for the first time in a year.

"Erik, what is it?" Christine was crossing the hall toward him with a look of concern that made him realize the intensity he must be radiating.

He gave her a small, reassuring smile. "My contract renewal."

It was a second before his words sank in and Christine broke into a grin. Closing the remaining distance between them with a few quick strides, she leaned up to kiss him. When she pulled back, she gently took his masked face in her hands.

"They would have been quite determined fools not to have asked you to return," she told him. "But I can imagine what a relief it is for you to finally have the papers in your hands. What do they offer you?"

Erik flipped through the papers. "Two more seasons with an option for further renewal, and an increase in salary. I am still obliged to seek their approval, but they have already been more willing to consider my suggestions. I suspect that they will continue to come around, even if it is gradually."

"You deserve much more than that," she said softly. "But I am happy for you. This has certainly been a hard-fought victory. And I also know that you will only continue to impress the world."

Setting the papers aside, Erik wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close. "Thank you," he murmured, his lips brushing her temple. "You know I could not have done this without you."

"That's not true at all," Christine laughed. "You most certainly could have."

"No," he insisted. "You make me better. More… inspired. More determined. Softer. Happier. You tolerate me and challenge me and support me. And I'm certain that your hard work and success this season have played a significant part for me."

"Well, we entered this marriage to help each other, and that's exactly what we've done."

Erik gave her a teasing smile. "Do you wish to leave now that our marriage has served its purpose?"

She pretended to consider for a moment, although she was unable to turn her expression serious. "I believe I will stay. I have found this arrangement much more pleasurable than I anticipated."

Chuckling, he leaned his head down to kiss her lips. "As have I."

The morning of April 27, 1894 dawned cool and quiet. Erik drifted into consciousness slowly and easily—the luxury of a comfortable sleep was one he had only recently been able to enjoy. He still tended to wake quite early, with only the gray light of dawn creeping into the room, but he no longer woke with any urgency. In the stillness of the morning, he could hear Christine's slow, steady breaths. He could not remember any particular morning when her presence beside him had started to feel familiar, expected. It had happened gradually, he supposed. But even now that it was expected, the sleeping form beside him always made his breath come a little more easily.

She was sleeping on her side with her back to him, and he shifted to nestle into her, her soft body fitting comfortably into the too-boney curve of his own. Her nightgown had slipped down her shoulder, and he buried his face into the crook of her neck, relishing the warmth of her bare skin. Sighing, she leaned into him, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder.

Two nights ago had been her final performance of Faust. The house had been packed, with a great many people standing, all eager to take advantage of their last chance this season to hear the universally acclaimed soprano who had seemed to come out of nowhere only a few months ago. Christine had been sublime, as she always was, and the roar of applause she'd received had been deafening. Of course it wasn't quite her final performance—at the gala tonight, she would sing the third act of Roméo et Juliette before concluding the evening with the mad scene from Hamlet. Her triumph that night would be a fitting end to the season. It would be the best night the opera house had seen since her debut. But right now, she deserved to rest.

The months between seasons would hardly give her a chance to recover. Their plans to expand her repertoire, in addition to preparations for Elaine, a new production that Erik had pushed for, gave them plenty to cover in their lessons. And then there were the private parties in the country at which she'd been asked to perform. Audiences were so eager to hear her again that the Met had arranged a series of concerts, all featuring her quite heavily, set to begin an entire month before the opening of the new season. For a while she would have a performance nearly every day. People simply could not get enough of her. Not that he could blame them.

Christine stirred, then, as if she'd been able to hear his thoughts of the work ahead of them. Her legs stretched out under the covers and her back arched lazily as she rolled over to face him. At first she didn't open her eyes, but her small, sleepy smile as she pressed closer to him and tangled their legs told Erik that she was awake. He said nothing, preferring to simply let her nestle into him, his arms snaking around her to hold her close.

"Morning," she murmured into his chest after a moment.

"It's early," he told her softly. "You can sleep longer if you want."

She replied with a contented hum. "I'm pretty happy like this."

"And I'm not complaining, but you need your rest. Tonight's a big night."

"It's a big night for you, too. End of your first season." Her voice was gradually becoming clearer as sleep drifted further away, but she made no move to disentangle herself from him.

"I don't have to perform tonight."

"No, but you'll have to speak to everyone."

Erik felt her pull away a little, and he looked down to see her smiling amusedly up at him. "What?"

"Nothing," she said lightly. "I was just thinking that since I'll be the last to perform tonight, I could easily end the evening by asking our brilliant musical director to join me on stage and take a bow."

He studied her for a moment, trying to determine just how much she was teasing him, and she continued.

"Of course I happen to know that he is a very private man who would not like that at all. But it would be a level of recognition that he fully deserves, don't you think?"

Relaxing a little at the knowledge that she was not actually planning to bring attention to him, he gave her a wry smile.

"Perhaps it would be best for you to accept that recognition for both of us."

"If you insist." She leaned up to punctuate her words with a kiss. "But someday I will see that you get your due. I'm quite determined."

"Then perhaps someday I'll let you. But until then, your regard is more than enough for me."

Even though the gala did not begin until late that evening, there was little time to linger that morning before Erik knew he ought to get to the opera house. There was much to oversee, and while this season had certainly been a lesson in relinquishing control, tonight was too important to take any chances. The day flew by as he continuously ran from one end of the opera house to the other, working with the stage manager, inspecting the lobby and auditorium to make sure everything was clean and polished, discussing the possibility of encores with the conductor. The face-to-face interaction always left him exhausted and edgy, but at least the staff below him had seemed to accept him more quickly than those above him.

By the time the performers were arriving and he returned to his office to change into his evening attire, he was thoroughly worn but satisfied that the evening would go smoothly. For a too-brief moment, he lingered in the quiet solitude of his office, feeling as though he was finally able to catch his breath. But the moment could not last long. There would surely be issues that required his attention as the performers made their final preparations, and he had no intention of depriving himself of his usual visit to Christine's dressing room, especially after not having seen her all day. Just the sight of her was always enough to refresh his spirits.

The audience was arriving by the time he finally reached her dressing room. He knocked once and she called for him to come in, the sound of her voice washing over him like a warm bath, soothing frayed nerves that he hadn't even been aware of. Christine sat at her dressing table in her Juliette costume, her face breaking into a warm, easy smile when he stepped inside.

"I was beginning to think you were too wrapped up in something to come and see me."

"Seeing you is my most important duty," he said, crossing the room to her and pressing a light kiss to her forehead. "I would never neglect it."

"You sound tired."

Her forehead was creased with concern, and he smoothed away the lines with his thumb. "It has been a long day. But there will be plenty of time to rest soon. What would you think of finding a little place to stay by the sea?"

"I think that's a wonderful idea." She stood and, taking his face gently in her hands, leaned up to press her lips to his. "You did all of this, you know. Tonight will be wonderful, but you've done so much more. This whole, brilliant season is all you."

"There's still time for tonight to go terribly wrong and undo the success of the whole season," he said with a wry smile, and she gave him a stern look.

"Tonight will be a fitting end to a successful season," she told him. "Your successful season. And I think you ought to let yourself revel in it a bit."

His smile softened. "If you think it's right, than perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing. As long as you don't forget to revel in your own success."

She grinned. "Deal."

Their visit was cut short by a call out in the hall for the orchestra to be seated—Erik's cue to make his way to his own seat. Leaving Christine's dressing room always gave him the feeling of reemerging into the world from someplace where only the two of them ever existed. The commotion outside did not seem so overwhelming now, though. It felt lively. The opera house was alive and vibrant, and he'd had no small part in creating this. Perhaps Christine was right—perhaps he should allow himself to release the last of the tension that had kept him anticipating disaster for months now. Perhaps it would be all right to enjoy the night a little.

The auditorium was full and buzzing, and Erik took a moment to look across the crowd as he took his seat. From his box, people stretched out all around him; there was a vast, undulating sea below him, and above him the stalls stretched farther up than he could see. The ring of boxes that stretched out to either side were just as full and lively with people in all their dazzling finery, talking and laughing and letting themselves be seen. And this was very much the place to be seen at, Erik realized with a small surge of pride. It was glittering and luscious and drew the people everyone wanted to be associated with. All of these people were enjoying his vision, found it worthwhile. He still could not hope for a day when he himself might be accepted widely and without reservation—truthfully he could not even imagine such a thing—but perhaps he would see the day when his work was fully embraced.

The crowd hushed as the house lights dimmed, with even the usual conversation in the boxes far more subdued than usual. People weren't just here for the socialization; they were here for the music. They were eager for it, eager to see how a season more enjoyable than any in recent memory would conclude. This simple, quiet moment was perhaps a greater endorsement of his work than anything else. And then the conductor strode through the pit and the applause broke out, and Erik settled back into his seat to watch the performance.

The evening began with the third act of Roméo et Juliette, which was received with great delight. Christine shone onstage as she always did, radiating sweetness and innocence, her voice ringing out clear and light. Erik wondered how the audience could possibly watch anyone else when Christine was onstage. When the act was over, the roar of the applause was resounding, and the cast was called back for more bows several times, Christine coming away with her arms full of roses. Next came the second act of Carmen, where the Toreador Song drew great applause and calls for an encore, which the young tenor was happy to indulge. Even when the house lights came up for intermission, people were held rapt in their seats as members of the company came out to sing. Informal as it was, their voices could still be heard clearly over the murmur of conversations, and the applause and shouts for encores remained every bit as enthusiastic.

"Everyone certainly seems to be enjoying themselves this evening." Erik hadn't noticed Armand step into the box until he spoke.

"It's a momentous evening, and everyone likes to indulge in something that feels special."

"And you?" Armand asked, taking the empty seat beside Erik.

"I think it's a fine evening," he said. "The performances have certainly been well received, and no one could complain about the quality."

"Does it all make a fitting tribute to your work this year?"

Erik gave a nod, a reserved smile tugging at his lips. "Yes, I believe it does."

"You may not believe this, but I was quite gratified to send you that contract. You certainly earned it."

"Thank you," Erik said quietly. "Your support has played no small part in all of this."

"Like I said, it's gratifying to see someone deserving succeed. And to see the company moving in a direction I believe in. After the season we've had, the others can't help but come around, even if they are a bit hesitant to do it. A few more seasons like this and I believe you'll be able to do whatever you please."

"I am glad to hear that." Truthfully, the words lifted a weight from his shoulders. He hadn't been aware of any lingering concern about the future, but Armand had never been one to make things out to be better than they were, and it was a relief to know that his work this year had paid off. Maybe one day he would have the respect he needed to fully realize his artistic vision, but this was a promising start.

"How does Mrs. Mason feel about all of this?"

Erik couldn't completely conceal a genuine smile at the mention of Christine. "She is grateful. I do not believe she understands the full extent of her own success yet, and she is far too modest to take advantage of it. She has much more appreciation for my achievement than her own."

Armand clapped a hand on Erik's shoulder. "That sounds about right. You're a lucky man to have found yourself such a lovely wife, Erik."

He nodded, his face heating under his mask. "I know. I sometimes think that finding Christine was the only real stroke of luck I've ever had in my life. It's the most important one I could ever have, at least."

"Perhaps the two of you will come and visit us this summer?"

"Perhaps," Erik agreed.

Armand stood and held out his hand; a little surprised, Erik shook it. "Congratulations. For everything."

Erik gave another nod, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Thank you."

Soon after Armand left, the lights dimmed again and the audience settled into the same eager hush as before. Erik relaxed into his seat, feeling a little lighter. Soon Christine would return to the stage, her solo performance making an appropriate finale to the season. And then the night would be over, but really, everything would only be the beginning for her. He supposed that tonight was the beginning for him as well. The thought held more promise and hope than he'd ever imagined he would feel.

The second half of the night began with the third act of Werther, followed by the third act of Aida, both of which earned such thunderous approval that the performers were called back to the stage for additional bows half a dozen times or more. Then it was time for Christine to make her final appearance, and the energy in the auditorium was palpable. The audience was ready for her, greedy for her, and when she stepped out onto the stage, there was such a burst of applause that she could not quite hide a look of surprise. It was a long moment before the audience quieted, but when they did it was absolutely silent, as if no one was even daring to breathe. The first notes of Ophelia's mad scene rang out from the orchestra, and then there was Christine's voice, sweet and clear and as perfect as it had ever been.

Christine was absolutely divine. The gown she wore was her own, the ivory silk giving off a beatific glow under the stage lights, the delicate pink flowers adorning at the waist and neckline bringing out the rosiness of her cheeks. Even after all the hours they had spent practicing this very piece, her performance now raised goosebumps on Erik's arms. She moved through the notes with ease, even as her voice rose to acrobatic heights. It was clear, when she finished the piece, that he was not alone in his admiration; again and again, she was called back to the stage for another bow, which she made with an endearing shyness as roses rained down on her. Finally she exchanged a few words with the conductor, and with an encore apparent, the audience settled down quickly, waiting to see how she would follow such a glorious performance.

Erik smiled to himself as he recognized the opening notes of the familiar song. It was a simple, quiet piece—humble in comparison to what she might have chosen. But as she began to sing, a soft reverence seemed to settle over the room, and he knew why she had chosen the piece. It was genuine; it was the love and gratitude that she felt. The emotions were so clear in her voice that anyone listening couldn't help but feel it too.

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home

Erik wondered, not for the first time, how someone who shone so magnificently could possibly care for him. No matter how many times he thought of it, he could never make sense of it. But there was no doubt that she did care for him. Even now as she sang, holding thousands of people completely spellbound, she was looking up toward his box. Her smile was the warm, gentle expression that had become so familiar to him, and he smiled back, imagining that she might feel it even if she could not see it. He thought of their home—the home that she had created out of what had once simply been a brick structure to shield him from the world. He thought of the days that they would share together.

Tonight, she was the center of the world—his brilliant rising star. But tomorrow the rest of the world would seem far away. It would be just the two of them in their comfortable little home filled with music. And somehow, even then, she would love him. He couldn't think of anything more glorious.