Here it is, for those of you who've been waiting! My three-part sequel to "Broken Pieces!" (Haven't read it yet, by any chance? Please do!) I realized there was a great opportunity to see exactly what Erik and Vivienne would be like as parents, so I imagined a few little vignettes with the two of them. More than anything, this helped me ease into letting the characters go, as I've never had such a hard time of leaving a story behind! I hope you like it!

Vivienne

True to Erik's prediction, our honeymoon in Vienna had been—amazing. For a month we explored the city and the surrounding countryside, and oh how I came to adore Austria and our amorous adventures there. It was almost a shame to return to France at last, but our house outside Paris was waiting for us, and the honeymoon continued. At least, it felt like it did; the thrill of being newlyweds hadn't worn off.

In all honesty, I was only surprised I hadn't gotten with child before we'd even left the Opera House. Not that I was complaining; neither of us had been ready for a child then, and Erik certainly hadn't been. The inevitable result of our constant lovemaking felt all the more precious when it finally happened. I knew that we could not only cope, but rejoice in it.

That's what I kept telling myself six weeks after sharing the news with my darling husband, at any rate. I'd had the warmest, most contented feeling on my heart ever since, and I was suddenly certain I was about to vomit it into the bathroom sink along with the contents of my stomach. What a way to spoil a summer morning! We'd been in the kitchen cooking breakfast together as usual, and for the first time in my memory, the smell of eggs made my insides squirm and my head spin as a wave of nausea swept over me. I'd abandoned the stove and raced off to the bathroom just in time to heave into the basin.

Erik followed right behind me, my sudden disappearance as unexpected as my sudden sickness was alarming. He held my hair back until I was finished and asked, "Are you all right, Vivienne?"

I paused to swallow hard, then nodded. My throat burned and I had a horrible taste in my mouth, but I replied, "I'm fine, but—I don't want eggs for breakfast. As a matter of fact, I don't even want them in the kitchen. Get them out."

"What would you have me do with them?"

"I don't really care," I told him, "but if I have to smell them again—" I broke off at the mere thought.

He nodded. "Don't move. I'll come back when the coast is clear." He vanished and I heaved a sigh of relief and annoyance. During my time as a chorus girl, I'd known several dancers to have liasons with the wealthy patrons and end up in my condition. It had been hard to sympathize with them since their own indiscretions had brought them to it, but my heart suddenly bled for those poor girls who'd rushed to escape rehearsal to be sick. If that was what I had to look forward to...

I shook my head. I was better off than they were. This child was a blessing, not a burden, and I had the assurance of a beloved husband. Those girls had no one to turn to, no security, and very little hope. This was preferable.

Erik returned within minutes. "It's safe now," he said, smiling slightly. "No eggs in sight or scent."

"Look at you," I told him, amused and irritated all at once. "Grinning like a Cheshire cat...you'd think you might show more concern while I'm indisposed."

"You'd think," he agreed, "but when I consider why you're indisposed, I can't help but grin, my love. And I'll show my concern right now by taking you to sit outside on the veranda while I cook breakfast."

I smiled myself and he took my hand, guiding me through the house onto the porch just outside the kitchen window. He ushered me onto the wicker chaise and got me a glass of water before going back inside to finish breakfast. I smiled wider as I heard him singing through the open window, recalling the surly genius of the past given to pounding away at the keys of the old organ. It made me laugh to think of it, but Erik had grown quite domestic!

He joined me outside with a tray, laden with crepes, strawberries, toast, tea, and orange juice. "Freshly squeezed," he said, handing me the glass. "It shouldn't bother you, or at least I hope it doesn't."

I took a cautious sip, but there was no nausea and I took a proper drink. He gave me the crepes and berries, taking a slice of toast for himself. "Come on, now, eat up," he urged. "I want the mother of my child to stay healthy."

"Mother," I sighed, picking up my fork. "Just think—in a few months time, we won't have this house to ourselves anymore. We'll have a new inmate here before long. He's sure to be a genius like his father—"

"With his mother's terrible temper," he cut in slyly before biting into his toast.

"And his father's ridiculous sense of humor," I added.

"Actually, I'm positive he'll get that from the both of us," he admitted. "But how do we know he'll even be a 'he?' He might be a little girl after all."

"She might," I agreed, taking another swallow of juice and spitting out stray seeds. "I'll have to show her the right way to strain juice, since her father is useless at it."

"I have no doubt you'll also show her how to burn toast to perfection," he teased.

I snatched up one of the cushions beside me on the lounge and threw it at him. He ducked and said, "See? Terrible, terrible temper."

"Stop being funny," I ordered. "I'm trying to eat my breakfast." I did still burn the toast, but Erik was such a good cook himself it didn't matter.

"You're right. I shouldn't make jokes," he said. "I should be as serious and sober as if we were talking of a funeral. Indeed, we are talking of a funeral. This will mean the death of our careless ways and our wild debauchery. We'll have to grow up and become responsible adults after all."

"But is that too high a price?" I asked between bites.

"For a child of our own? When I never even dreamed of such for myself? Of course not!"

I had to laugh at his exuberance and felt a tender rush of affection for him that only a warm, blissful smile could express.

Erik

Summer slowly slipped away and autumn came, my first aboveground in years. I marveled at the change I saw coming over the world; I had long forgotten the beauty of the turning leaves and now we were surrounded by flaming gold and burnished russet, caught on the wind and scattered across the park as far as my eye could see. But as much delight as I took in the season, I took even more in the change in Vivienne. The radiance surrounding her was more brilliant than ever, and the vibrant, healthful glow she exuded thrilled me to my soul.

Her morning sickness came and went for those next few weeks, but she insisted on converting one of the spare rooms into a nursery. She fussed and clucked like a mother hen, giving me orders and bossing me around in circles as we worked together to furnish the room next to ours. It was rather adorable, really, to watch my little phoenix ready her nest for her brood.

We watched as the signs of the life she carried became apparent. I was with joy on my part that I first noticed the gentle swell of her stomach—and dismay on hers.

She was rising out of bed one morning and I saw the tell-tale bump through her night gown. I gasped in amazement. "Vivienne!" I exclaimed. "Look at you!"

"What?" she asked. "What is it?"

I couldn't explain in words, I was so delighted, so I simply reached out and put my hand to her belly. "You're growing," I said dazedly.

Her eyes misted over, then she began to cry in earnest.

I was shocked. "What's wrong?"

"No-nothing," she stammered through tears, "if you don't mind that I'm—I'm—getting fat!"

My jaw dropped. "What are you talking about?" I demanded. "You're not getting fat!"

"You just said it!" she wailed, throwing herself back down on the bed. "You said I'm growing!"

"Well, you are," I replied. "Our baby is growing inside you, my phoenix, and now the whole world can see the proof."

Far from calming her, I seemed to be making matters worse. She gave up on speech entirely and broke into even more forceful sobs. I sat dumbstruck for several moments, puzzled as to why she was suddenly so upset and what I should do. She finally looked up at me resentfully through eyes swollen with crying. "So you're just going to sit gawping like a fool?" she demanded. "You're not going to do anything to comfort your distressed wife?"

"I would love to comfort you," I assured her, "but I don't know why you're distressed in the first place, or what would calm you best. Am I allowed a hint?"

"Do you really need one after all this time?" she snapped.

I worked to regain lost ground, promising her I would return shortly and dashing down to the music room to get my violin. I was back at her side in minutes, fluffing the pillows and tucking her into bed again before seating myself for an impromptu concert. I played the same airs that had soothed her nerves in the past, praying we would be so lucky this time.

It worked. She stopped crying shortly, settling back to listen and even venturing to smile before long at the memories I knew would resurface. Here I was again, at her bedside with music to calm her once more. Our life together had really begun with such action, so it was only natural we should return to it now.

After a time I lowered the violin back to my lap and, rather cautiously, asked, "Now what is this I hear about getting fat, little phoenix?"

To my relief she remained sensible and sighed, "It's just that—it's finally struck me that I'm going to be a mother. We're having a baby, Erik! Until now it's only felt like something we were looking forward to, not actually waiting on. And my body is going to change, and I'm so used to being so small I don't know how I'll manage when I'm so much bigger. And—" her eyes filled with tears again and she continued on with a trace of hysteria in her voice, "and I'll never lose all the weight again and I'll end up short and dumpy and labor itself will do things to me; I've always been so proud of my hips, and this baby will make them wider than a wagon, and that's nothing to say of what will happen to my—"

"Vivienne, calm down," I soothed, speaking softly and tenderly. "You're inventing worry where there's none, and it's not good for you. I understand, it's a lot to take in, but I'm here to weather it with you, all right? And I can assure you, you would never end up dumpy, you'd be beautiful even with wide hips, and I'd love you no matter what happened to your—"

She giggled girlishly and I blinked at the sudden change in her manner but otherwise tried to take it in stride. I handed her my violin and said, "Keep yourself amused with that for awhile. I'm off to fix you a large, gluttonous breakfast and then bring it to you, and you're going to eat to your heart's content thinking only of how wonderful it will be when the baby finally comes and not about how you'll turn into a squat little housewife."

She poked me hard with the violin bow and jabbed back, "And I'll be imagining beyond that to when you're a gray-haired, toothless old turtle who is half-deaf and wakes up every two hours in the night to relieve himself."

"You know you'd still be mad over me even then," I replied, smiling.

"Maybe," she said. "It depends on how mad you still are over me."

I kissed her long and slow, running my hand over her belly before drawing away again and saying, "Let me bring you your breakfast, and I'll show you how mad over you I am right now."

"Careful," she warned. "That's how this whole thing happened in the first place, or don't you remember?"

"I may need reminding," I told her, forgoing cooking and climbing back into bed.

Vivienne

I have no idea how I survived incessant mood swings and sudden cravings for strange foods, though thankfully I wasn't getting sick anymore. And when I wasn't angry, frustrated or annoyed with him for no apparent reason, I had to admire how Erik was doing his best to not only cope with it himself, but try to make me feel as comfortable and as easy as possible. He doted on me even when he was losing patience with me and my demands, and I gloried in the attention and cherished his devotion.

While there was a noticeable difference in my typically petite size, I still had quite a bit of growing to do by the time September drew to a close. It was an oddly chilly night, and we sat before the fire together. Some things hadn't changed; I still loved to watch the flames snap and twist in the grate. I turned my head after a quarter hour's silent contemplation and saw Erik, seated beside me and fast asleep.

I smiled to myself. I had been more of a harridan than usual that day and nearly run him off his feet as he tried to keep me happy, and I supposed I had exhausted him. I traced the line of his jaw with my fingertips and kissed him ever so lightly before scooting closer and cuddling next to him.

My slight stirring was enough to rouse him and he opened his eyes and asked, "What is it, little phoenix? What do you need?"

"Nothing," I replied. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

"No, it's fine, I'm already awake," he told me. He moved his hand to my stomach. In a few short weeks, I had come to look like I was smuggling a small pumpkin under my dress, and while I was still prone to occasional tears when I saw how big I was getting, the adoration in those golden eyes was enough to make me melt. He stretched himself out on the sofa and rested his head in my lap, his ear against my belly. "Do you think it's too early to hear a heartbeat in there?" he asked.

"I don't know," I replied honestly. "I sometimes think I hear it, but it's only ever just me imagining it. I'll let you know the instant it's a sure thing."

He took my hand and traced the lines on my palm and the scar on my wrist. He kissed the latter tenderly before saying, "I wonder whether it's a boy or a girl."

We had canvassed this subject so much already, but we couldn't leave it alone. "You know we'll have to think of a name eventually," I said, caressing his features with my free hand. "For a boy, what about...Jean?"

"We're not giving my son any run-of-the-mill name," he informed me. "There are thousands of men named Jean."

"But only one will be ours," I reminded him.

"It's still a no," he said. "But what about a name for a girl? What do you think of, say, Josephine?"

"You would name our daughter after the empress?" I demanded. "She would either grow up conceited or convinced she could never live up to her namesake."

He waved that aside. "She'll grow up conceited anyway, with the two of us as parents. And who gives a damn about her namesake? She'll outshine every woman on earth the moment she's born."

"No swearing around the baby," I rebuked, then asked, "Would she ever outshine me?"

He gave me a questioning look. "Are you jealous of your own child, my phoenix?" he asked.

"Well, no," I said. "But—" I ran a hand over my swelling stomach. "Even after this, would you still think me beautiful?"

"How many times must I say yes?" he inquired gently.

"At least one more," I answered. "Would you still think me desirable?"

"God, yes," he vowed. "How could I not?"

I shifted my hand back to his face, outlining the shape of his lips with my fingers. "Do you think me desirable now?" I asked softly.

"Darling, I've never stopped thinking you desirable," he said. "Indeed, I think you so desirable it's causing me to suffer tremendously."

"And why don't you end your suffering?" I asked, pitching my voice low and provocative.

"Well, I have once or twice," he told me, "but—oh," he ended, catching the look on my face. "Vivienne, are you sure? You've been a little...fragile, lately."

"I won't fall apart on you, if that's what you're worried about," I answered. He hesitated again and I went on peevishly, "You do desire me, don't you?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"Well then, what are you waiting for? Make love to me."

"You want me to?"

"You think I would bring it up if I didn't?" I demanded, already unbuttoning his clothes. "Trust me, Erik, I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," I told him. I reached out and slid a hand into his trousers, massaging him with my fingers and feeling him harden under my attentions. He let me continue for a moment, then sat upright and cast off his shirt before turning around and beginning to undress me. I helped him along, pausing every now and then to lay kisses to his lips, chest, and collarbone. Every nerve in my body was alive with need. I wanted to feel beautiful, like my old self, and only he could do that for me.

We both stood to discard the last of our clothes and he drew me to him—somewhat awkwardly, as my girth came between us. I didn't feel properly close to him with the bulk of my belly in the way, but he still lifted me easily and set me back on the sofa, perched on the edge of the cushions. I leaned back languidly and he covered me with kisses, from my forehead on down to my stomach where our baby grew. I draped one leg over his shoulder and angled the other to give him a clear road, letting out a delighted sigh when his next kiss fell right where I wanted him. "I love it when you do that," I said.

"I know," he replied, drawing away momentarily and resting his cheek against my bare leg before kissing me again and tasting me with his tongue.

The sensations were so much more powerful than they'd ever been before. Rapturous laughter and mewls of pleasure rang from my lips as he teased and delighted me, his motions skilled and unerring. A particularly high-pitched cry burst from me and he caressed my thigh without ceasing his ministrations. I reached out and covered his hand with mine, my fingers tightening over his wrist as the ecstasy within me climbed higher and higher. Just a little more, now—

Passion broke over me and I gave a violent shudder of release before sliding from the sofa and kneeling in front of him. He smiled deviously and I pushed him back to lay on the hearth rug. Without wasting time on speech, I straddled him and guided him into me—oh, I'll never get tired of this—then I began to move, feeling him move with me. My breath came in shallow gasps as I felt the pleasure build again, compelling me to move even faster. The muscles of my legs burned and ached, but I couldn't stop, I didn't want to stop...oh God, oh God, it was so good...

I leaned forward, laying my palms on his chest and my hair spilling loose over my shoulders. My moans were timed perfectly with each thrust—my limbs were tingling—God, I couldn't take much more—

"Erik!" I screamed, ascending and falling as I reached my limit and went over the edge. "Erik!" I felt as though it might kill me, it was so overwhelming and so wonderful...it was simply perfect...

A lump came to my throat and tears filled my eyes, and I fell forward onto him like a puppet with severed strings, crying like a helpless child.

"Vivienne!" he exclaimed urgently, and I was lucid enough to realize he still hadn't peaked yet.

"I'm sorry!" I cried. "I'm sorry, Erik!"

"For what?" he asked, his voice tense and his body rigid.

"I don't—don't even know," I sobbed. "I just l-love you so—much and you're—you're so good to me and—I don't—deserve you, you're just so—so wonderful—" I couldn't stop talking or control my tears or even catch my breath. I felt ridiculous and embarrassed amid the sense of content completion brought on by my climax.

He wound his arms around me and carefully rolled us over, cradling me gently and softly crooning in my ear, "It's all right, little phoenix. Go ahead and cry. I'm right here, I've got you."

He was so good to me...

My tears eventually subsided and he kissed my nose. "Do you feel better?" he asked.

I nodded. "I'm sorry," I repeated, ashamed of the outburst and conscious of the fact that we were still joined together. "I can keep going now, to give you a chance to finish."

"No, don't worry about it," he told me, and I was touched by the gesture. He drew away and scooped me up, laying me on the sofa and covering me with a blanket. "You just rest easy," he said, stroking my hair.

I sighed and closed my eyes. He was so good to me...and he was going to make a wonderful father soon...

Part Two to come tomorrow!