Grace stared at him in shock. In three strides he was beside her, and she could tell by his eyes something was very off. His goldeyes reflected a deep pain, and a crazed mind. His hands settled on her shoulders, meaning to be gentle and tender, but truthfully being tight and painful. He would bruise her if he didn't ease his grasp.
                          
   "Oh Grace, my dear, lovely Grace," he cooed. "You are so precious to me, the only friend I have in this country," his hand caressed her face, and his touch, for the first time, was not comforting. It made her skin crawl. "I need your help, my little Grace." 
                          
   He pulled her over to his desk, showing her numerous papers full of scribblings and drawings and miniscule handwriting she couldn't read but knew he could, knew that all this made sense to him.
                          
  "Leroux is giving me until the closing night of  ma Colère. Then he will go to the Gendarmerie. I must flee that night."
                          
   "But that looks suspicious! Did you think he might be bluffing?"
                          
   "No. I must leave France. And Christina will accompany me."
                          
   There's no way in Hell she'd agree to that, Grace thought.
                          
   "I've made my decision, drawn up the plans. And you shall help. I'll miss you so much, but this must happen. When the curtain falls, I'll grab Christina and take her down here while you cause a distraction - do anything you need to, I know you won't disapoint: you are so dramatic and creative. And I'll make her get on the train with me. We'll go. Escape. Get married."
                          
   "You'll kidnap her, you mean. And again."
                          
   "She'll learn to love me. Erik knows she will." 
                          
  Grace blinked at him. Did he just refer to himself in third person?
                          
   "Say you'll aid me, Grace. Please, please help me find happiness."
                          
   "Yes, of course," she lied. Erik would never know she was lying, not now, even when he sense her falsehoods in the past faster then Leo could smell food. In this state of mind, he'd not notice if she stripped and danced around the theatre drunk.
                          
   She had no idea how she'd stop him. Frankly, she was scared of him now, and who wouldn't be, he was raving! 
                          
   But Grace had to. She couldn't let him get arrested, which would happen if he followed this idiotic plan of his. And she might have a love/hate relationship with kind, stupid Christina, but she did not deserve to be stolen from her happiness.
                          
     Grace felt a numbing weight on her shoulders, and she was truly scared, filled with a fear she had not felt in years. Lives rested in her hands. Bags of blood that would either stain her hands or be taken from their care.  She had to succeed.
                          
                               🌹
                          
       To make matters worde, on opening night, Christina burst excitedly into Grace's dressing room, practically glowing.
                          
   "Oh Grace, I have the greatest news!" She said, embracing her friend.
                          
   "Really?" Said Grace, trying not to sound as if she were talking to a woman whose kidnapping she knew about. 
                          
  "Yes! But you must promise not to tell Erik," Christina's eyes wandered around the room, as if searching for him. "He'd become enraged, I think. Or tragically sad, at the very least."
                          
  Grace nodded. It sounded like him.
                          
     Christina hugged her again, this time whispering into her ear, "I am pregnant."
                          
   Grace could have cried. Now she had to do something.
                          
   She forced herself to smile, and squeezed Christina's hand.
                          
   "And I am so happy for you, Christina."
                          
   "Oh, Grace, we're friends, very good friends, and it's about time you call me Christine. My friends do. Well, except Erik. Would you like to be the godmother?"
                          
   Holy. Operatic. Arias. Did she have no other female figure in her life? 
                          
   "Yes!" Grace squeaked. Could she pay someone to drop a sandbag on her head tonight? If only Guy were a stage hand. He'd do it with zeal.
                          
      
                          
     That night was one of the best and worst nights of her life. It was wonderful because seeing the pride in Nora and George's eyes warmed her soul, and awful because she was guilty about Erik's plan. What was she going to do?












                          
A/N
                          
   The French translation is Hello sirs, how are you on this beautiful evening.
                          
   And Christina Nilsson signed her artwork and letters to personal friends as Christine. 
                          
    There are not a lot of chapters left, and the climax is approaching. Be forewarned, Grace is about to do something wild. And painful.