In the beginning, she had completely resented him, only allowing him the barest of touches. He was furious, screaming at her that she had chosen him and that they were married and she better get use to it. She would stay silent until he left to go bury himself in his music; then she would collapse and sob as she thought about the mistake she had made. It became a daily thing, always ending with him angry and her crying. But then suddenly, he stopped becoming angry and tried to comfort her, pleading with her to give him a chance to prove to her that he was a good husband and that he could make her happy. She had felt like spitting in his face and screaming at him for a change. But when she glanced into his mismatched colors eyes and saw the sadness and the yearning she hugged him closely to her, stroking his hair and kissing him on the forehead.
It had been only a few months since they had been married. But it hadn't taken long for them to create a routine that suited them both. He would be first to rise in the morning, always before the sun and she would follow many hours later. On rare occasions, they would have breakfast together, if he weren't busy with a new piece of music. She would spend her day, either helping the housekeeper clean or with him, helping him write the words. If she wasn't doing either of those things she was in the library, reading. They would always have lunch together; she had made that rule after they had started talking. Then he would disappear again into his study. She usually went for a walk in the garden in the afternoon or stitched in the sitting room, until the evening. They had dinner together, but he usually didn't talk. He would bring his score with him or he would tap out a rhythm with his utensils, until she told him to please stop. And then he would smile at her and sit them down.
They had moved right after the wedding, out of his kingdom of music and darkness under the ruined the Opera House into a beautiful magnificent manor into the middle of a forest. He still prided himself on privacy except when it came her. When she was around, he completely opened up and became a totally different person. There were only five servants, a housekeeper, a maid, a gardener, a cook and a stable hand. She had never realized how fond her husband was of horses until they moved. He had informed her to not expect any guests, except for maybe Madam Giry and Naldir. He had a business partner that visited once a week. Erik had known him before the phantom had happened. It was the man's job to take Erik's music scores and operas and sell them to respectable buyers. He would bring the payment the next week, and he never returned empty handed. At first, he was only allowed in the foyer and then soon he was allowed all over the house except for the third floor. She wasn't even allowed up there.
"Erik, what is up there that you don't want anyone to see?" she asked, glancing up at him over the dinner table. He looked up at her and sat up straight.
"Nothing, my dear, it's just my only little space that I have to myself. It's just like your drawing room," he answered, smiling. She nodded
"But, Erik. You have a floor-" she stated.
"Yes, I use to have a whole house. "He interrupted, his face firm and his eyes dark. He was becoming frustrated with her questions. She accepted his answer returned to her meal.
"Are you going to come to bed late again tonight?" she asked, changing the subject. He shrugged his shoulders.
"It depends on much work I finish." He answered, sitting his fork down and standing up. He walked over and kissed her on the forehead, before leaving the room. She heard him walk up the stairs and then the sound of a door closing. She stood up and walked into the parlor.