A/N: Oh my, oh my! It's January 20th and I have failed to update since January 1st! What you all must think of me!

Dreadfully sorry about that. Work and all of that, you know. How I wish money didn't exist, and we could all just spend our time doing whatever the hell we want to, like write all day, or take a quick trip to France, or go skydiving, or go kill all our exes. Ahh, now wouldn't that be nice. Mmm.

Anywho, here's the next chapter. And look! No dreadful cliffhanger like the last one had! Ain't I just swell? Mwah. I love you guys for reviewing. Oh, but please. Feed my vain self with even more reviews! This story has 3620 hits, so I know there's gotta be more people reading then there are reviewing. I would so love it if you would just say hello! Pretty please?

As for hellos, I would like to say hello to Sporky! Dear, dear Sporky, so nice to see your reviews again! I'm glad you found the story again, and I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Thanks to Barb for her beautiful editing. She gave me a great idea for the next chapter. Oooh, I love ideas, and I REALLY love Barb!

Hope you enjoy! This one withstood the least amount of change, to be honest. It always was one of my favorites anyway. Cheers!

Chapter Nine: Inevitable Discovery

The very next night, I went to his apartment. So little time had passed since that inevitable moment of discovery, and yet by the end of the day it felt as if a century had passed. My voice had gone hoarse, my expression showed haggard with my absolute exhaustion of the night before; since that moment I had not slept the slightest bit, had not had a moment's private rest even in my own mind. His voice seemed to taunt me from all places, everywhere I went, and I was desperate to end this agony that had bestowed itself upon me.

And if that meant seeing Erik so soon, then so be it.

I waited the day out, eyes streaking to the clock every few minutes, as if begging for release from the monotonous happenings of daytime. I grew short with Mina numerous times that day; it being Sunday, she had the day off from her usual studious routine, and the child managed to turn up at every chamber I stepped into to clean, waiting for me inside with a feigned surprise that I should show up in the very same room as she. I was not so easily fooled, however; the fifth time this happened, as I listened and endured her ceaseless questions about this mysterious "masked man" that had appeared in the hall, I grew so irritated that I had shooed her from the room with a threatening scold flying past my lips, stating that if she did not stop these foolish inquiries, she really would regret it!

As her stubborn growl of fury echoed to me from behind the door, I shook my head and set myself to scrubbing the floor with renewed vigor. By the end of the day, my arms ached from the forceful aggression I had shown each floor and object in the house. I was so ready to collapse into bed, to forget my worries and just ease my pains, but I knew I would get no more sleep until I spoke with him. And so, after tucking Mina into bed with a forbidding "good night" that overpowered her still constant inquiries, I set out for his home.

But I still desperately needed time to think. Despite the long walk it would be, despite absolute bone-weariness, I made my way at a brisk pace, forgoing the idea of a cab so as to reflect on what I might say to him. I wondered, during my long trek to his home, what his reaction would be to the revelation that I had a daughter. And even worse, I wondered if his genius of a mind had worked out this problem already, and figured Mina out to be his very own child.

Desperately, I wanted to believe that he had not. That I still had time to lessen that blow and somehow tell him myself. And so, with a shiver, I pushed that thought from my mind.

So, if he had not already worked out the truth, what then should I do? Could I admit to him that not only did I have a daughter that I had not spoken of to him, but that my child was also his as well? Could I tell Erik he had a daughter, and endure whatever reaction it might garner?

The truth, the guilt-stricken truth of it all…was that I was not entirely certain if I could bear to tell him so soon; I did not think the words would make it so far past my dry and aching throat. My heart beat with an all-consuming and irrational terror at the thought that he might never forgive me for my treacherous lies…at the thought that he might leave me, and I would never, ever see him again.

Or, possibly even worse, that he might stay; not out of affection or love for myself or his new daughter, but entirely for this new obligation that I would be all but thrusting upon him. If he stayed, would I ever know that stayed because he truly loved me? Would I ever know if my daughter's heartrending loveliness and infectious self had been the cause? There would never be a moment when I would not question his love and need for us; I would forever believe he had stayed merely for duty. And I did not think I could bear the thought of living a life of such ambiguous uncertainty.

I could imagine it very easily; waking up every morning with him laying next to me; my heart dying just a little bit more each day; my mind consumed with bitter, self-loathing doubt.

I knew, in the bottom of my gut I knew…that I could not do it. I had to know, had to be absolutely certain of his love for me, his love for Mina. I had to be sure that he stayed for those reasons, and those alone.

And yet…I could never ask that of him. At least not yet, when even I did not know my true feelings for him. Did I love him? Did I want to spend forever with him?

Neither of us was ready for this. I shouldn't tell him; I wouldn't tell him! But then, if he asked, could I lie to him?

Allah, I just wanted to disappear; I wanted never to have to face these questions that ceaselessly preyed upon me. I wanted to scream, and cry, and stomp my feat in my absolute frustration and uncertainty.

Instead, however, I found myself outside of his flat, with a mind consumed by dread and a heart full of doubt and bitter guilt.

I looked up towards that lightless window, and vaguely, so vaguely, I thought I saw between the curtains an indistinct shadow of someone standing before it; I could almost see those piercing beams of golden light his eyes reflected; could almost feel the burning heat of it. In the bitter chill of night, my breath misted from my parted lips in little puffs of white fog as I stared up at that window, at the silhouette of a dark and towering form, my heart beating fast at the thought of his anger.

In a drug-like haze I walked towards the building, walked towards his room, dread slowing each step, questions hurtling through my mind as I walked with eyes clenched tightly shut, my hand skimming along the walls to keep myself sure of my path, like a blind woman heading towards her doom.

Was I the same woman that had walked a dark path to numerous masters; to the absolute monsters that made up the race of men? The same woman whose unfailing courage had reflected in the proud lift of her head and the defiant spark in her eyes, eyes wide open and never full of such doubt? How had I faced those deeds, those days of darkness, when I could not even face the thought of telling Erik about Mina?

And how could I fear such a thing? I loved her from the bottom of my heart; I was so completely and utterly proud of her, so joyous to call myself her mother. This should be the easiest moment of my life, admitting her, the girl that had shadowed my footsteps and changed my whole world.

But a voice, the barest whisper of a scared and tremulous voice, spoke in a corner of my mind, spoke its truest and most honest dread…what if he doesn't love her? What if he doesn't want her?

I didn't think I could bear that; I couldn't, for the sake of my daughter, I just couldn't.

And in that moment of deepest fear, I found myself before his door, hardly even daring to breathe as I brought a shaking fist up to knock quickly before I lost all courage.

Silence. No great sigh of annoyed but resigned welcome, no small sound of footsteps making their way to the door; nothing. I rested my forehead upon the unfinished, rough surface of the wooden door, tapping my fingernail lightly against the wall, waiting…waiting…

And then a voice: quiet, unemotional; like the feral hiss of a cat and a whisper of its deadly purr, spoke: "Come in, Ria." I couldn't help but to shiver as my fingers slowly curled around the knob, closing my eyes as I pushed that last shield of safety open.

As I came through, my legs hardly able to keep balance, I was met with the sight of Erik's back. He stood before the window, just as I had known he was, his back straightened with poised severity, his wrists crossed behind his back and his hands clenched into tight fists. He didn't turn nor even so much as acknowledge my presence as the door clicked shut behind me; he didn't utter a word as I cleared my throat with uncertainty. I leaned against the door, staring upon his tall form as he continued to look out the window.

We stayed like that for endless moments, neither of us moving or speaking, until I thought I could hardly bear it anymore. Just as I was opening my lips and praying for the courage to speak, he himself spoke.

"That girl…she is your daughter, is she not?"

I nodded quickly, eyes wide in my fear, before I realized with a wince that he was not looking at me; I murmured a small whisper of shaken assent, hating myself for the weak tremor in my voice.

He was silent again; so silent I could hear the small click of the clock that hung above the fireplace, and the faint sound of people outside, below his window. I prayed to Allah, sent up my fervent whisper of hope…please, please do not let him ask…please do not make me lie to him

"And do you know who her father is?"

I wanted to curse and yell at him; wanted to hit him for ruining everything! Why did he have to ask, why? If only he had been content that she was mine, if only he wasn't so damned curious, I would not have to lie!

But what if he knew already? What if he very well determined that she was his? He was a genius, after all, and even an idiot could have recognized the musicality in that sweet little voice; even a fool would have known those big, amber eyes to be his own. If I lied, he would know, and then…oh, then I feared the absolute heights of his outrage. Enormous guilt spread over me at the thought, but I could not help it. I was terrified of his anger.

It cannot be helped. You will have to lie, Ria, and pray to Allah that he does not know the truth.

I buried my face in my hands, shook my head as if to clear my mind of the jumbled mess it was in, as questions and insults and desperate prayers shouted themselves at me. From that very first day, at the Opera Garnier, when I had foolishly stumbled upon him, I had dreaded this moment. Telling him the truth could very well force us into a loveless, bitter marriage. Would I do that to him? Would I do that to myself? Could I even bear it?

Or would I lie? Lie to the man to whom I had given my innocence; the man that gave me such a gift that I was saved from my bitter life of slavery.

And there was that image again; that painful little picture of the life I had envisioned earlier; the image of an obligatory marriage to Erik.

Oh, Allah…he will hate me if I forced that upon him.

I would not live my life in painful ambiguity with a man who would grow to despise me. I couldn't bear knowing that the boundless passion of the man I knew would be reduced to compulsory embraces before polite salutations over the breakfast table. Could I subject him to that? Could I even think of subjecting my daughter to such a mockery of existence?

But I want to tell him so badly. I know he would love her. I know it!

But I selfishly quelled that thought; myself be damned, I could not do that to either of them!

Erik, forgive me.

"No," I whispered; and my voice sounded more hopeless, more broken and bitter than it ever had before. "I do not."

And maybe, just maybe, it was not exactly a lie; I tried to convince myself of that as my shoulders slumped in defeat, and a small pool of guilty tears welled beneath my closed eyes. Tried to tell myself that truly, Erik and I barely knew each other in any case, as absurd as the circumstances made that seem. I told myself repeatedly, desperately, as I tried to blink back the tears, that I did not truly know Mina's father.

I only knew that I was hopelessly falling for him. Suddenly, irrevocably, and as insane as it might seem, but I was falling nonetheless.

With a deep breath I opened my eyes, beat back the crystalline shine that reflected in my dark eyes, steadied myself to face his reaction. And I think that moment, this evidence of his reaction, was perhaps the worst moment I had faced that day. For his shoulders suddenly relaxed with the heavy exhale of his breath; his absolute sigh of relief.

Relief.

A horrible pain seared through my gut at the sight of his utmost relief; I grasped my stomach from the pain, not quite able to contain the wheeze of hurt breath that squeezed its way past my throat, singing past my lips in its agony as I braced a shaking hand against the top of the piano I stood next to.

Was he relieved that he was not a father? That he was not bound to me for all eternity?

I suddenly felt so horrid with myself, both at the thought of his relief, and even worse at the fact that I had just lied to him. Lied to him. I, who had always tried to speak the honest, blunt truth, had lied. The pool of tears that gathered in my eyes grew thicker and thicker. My lips pursed, my gaze went skyward to stare at the dull, wooden ceiling that graced the room, my lids desperately tried to beat back the onslaught of tears. But as I closed my burning eyes, one pesky little drop of crystal still fell; dripped its way down my cheek to showcase my crushing guilt and hurt.

And then I felt one single, icy cold finger flit against my cheek, whisper across my skin in a tender gesture of brushing that tear away. And then it tucked under my chin, raising my face as my eyes slowly opened, tears still shining in the bleak darkness that lurked there; and I could not help but to gaze at him with my all-consuming helplessness; I could not shadow my plight of misery.

There was a sadness in his eyes that I was sure was reflected in my own gaze; and that, I think, is what finally, truly, undid me. Every defense, every wall that I had painstakingly built inside myself to hold back how absolutely broken I was, to keep in the childish tears that I had held back since the day I realized my father was never coming back, they all came crashing down as I looked into those eyes of purest gold, gazing at me with such compassion.

My bottom lip trembled, and I drew in a desperate breath to stop my foolish urge to weep and never stop, but my guilty heart would not allow it.

I was nothing more than a crumbling wreck before him.

And in a surprising move, his arms came around my shoulders, pulling me against him. I could not stop myself from burrowing my face against his chest. One of my hands wound its way around his waist, while the other clutched desperately at his cravat, almost undoing the delicate knot. And a choked sob bubbled up from my constricted throat, whispered its way past my lips as my shoulders shook under his hands. And I took such comfort in that embrace as his arms tightened around me, as if only he were holding me together, healing up the broken pieces that I was made of. And yet I continued to cry silently against his chest, my tears soaking the silken material of his waistcoat as the tenderness of his embrace further undid me.

I felt like a simpering, blubbering, foolish little child; but I could not cease my endless waves of grief. Grief unto which, until now, I had not surrendered. Every tear that rolled down my cheek represented a memory of another night in the bed of a stranger. Every crystal drop fell because of my incapability to be a proper mother to Mina, the one light that shone in my eternal darkness. Each quiet sob that racked through my body shivered with the guilty regret I felt about my unbearable lie to Erik.

Each drop…each pitiful little tear…burned with the hurt my father had put upon me when he left me in that place; when he left me all alone in a bitter world.

A life without a father; a fate that I very well might be subjecting Mina to as well.

My shoulders shook under the weight of my grief, and even Erik's as well. The horrible past he must have known, the dreadful things he was forced to do, just as I had been forced; guilt for the brave spark of light that I was denying him. I was crying for myself, and I was crying for him.

And I knew, with another sob that shuddered through my body, that this moment, this inevitable moment, would mean the loss of his trust. For I knew that as soon as he found out the truth, he would never, ever trust me again.

Why are you lying to him? Why must you live in this constant misery? You could be happy, Ria. You could be happy!

But it was far too late to change my mind and speak the truth, even had I wanted to. And so I spent endless moments letting those tears pour from the deepest place of my suddenly cold heart, both savoring and despairing at the feeling of his arms around me. With my voice still choked from the unending tears, I finally spoke.

"I am…s-sorry I did not tell you," I sobbed quietly, each word stuttered through the force of my tears.

Erik stiffened, as if awaking from this spell of wondrous comfort, and disentangled himself from me, his face gone stern as he looked upon mine.

"And why did you not tell me?"

For a moment I didn't answer him, only avoided his gaze as I stepped away from him, my fingers desperately wiping away the tracks of tears that had formed down my cheeks. I removed my cloak to keep myself somewhat occupied, rubbing my arms briskly, as if to warm the cold that had seeped back into my heart.

"I suppose I was scared." The answer finally found its way past my lips as my eyes grudgingly returned to his.

"Scared?" he repeated softly, and furrowed his brow. One of his hands balled tightly into a shaking fist. "Surely you would not think that I would harm a child," he hissed passionately, anger simmering in his eyes like billowing clouds of stormy gold.

I started violently, my face snapping back to his as I shook my head repeatedly. "No," I almost shouted my fervent answer, then cleared my throat and tried again in a softer voice. "No, Erik, nothing like that. I just…I was scared that if you knew, you would not want to see me again," I finished in barely a whisper, my cheeks flushed from my embarrassment as I confessed my selfish desires.

He seemed at a loss for words at that; his lips parted just slightly, his intake of breath shook from his shock. I swallowed, looked away from him and stared absently at the soft velvet blankets atop his bed. Vaguely, my eyes followed the flicker of shadows over the deep red material, watched as the flames from the nearby fireplace sent a slithering light to spill across the surface in a passionate dance of seduction. It brought a picture to mind of the night that had started this whole mess; the arch of a back and the curl of pale fingers around a waist; flames that had sent a licking heat up the body and enticed a grin of pleasure to spread across ones features. A shiver traveled up my spine, and I looked away, staring at the floor instead.

"Foolish, isn't it?" A small smile twitched at the corner of my lips at my words, as if by smiling I could make this whole situation seem a mere joke.

He was silent for a seemingly endless moment; I was desperate to look upon him, and yet I could not seem to force myself to see. It was almost a relief when he spoke again.

"You did not tell me," he said in a voice that sounded dry with its disbelief, "because you wanted to stay…with me?" I looked up to see a skeptical look upon his face, his eyes narrowed as they regarded me.

The distrust in his voice left my heart breaking for him, made it unfreeze just a little bit as my eyes softened. I stepped closer to his tall, almost vulnerable looking figure. I desperately wanted him to understand that he need not think that his company was such a bad thing for the likes of me.

"Oh, Erik," I murmured, my voice thick with compassion; my hand slowly rose to brush against the edge of his white mask. "Why do you think so lowly of yourself?"

But he only shrugged my hand away.

"That, Ria," he said, turning his back to me, "is for reasons I fear you will never understand."

And with that, my question was left unanswered. But I would not let him get away from me so easily. I stepped up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my face into his stiff back, breathing deeply and sighing away my sadness. My fingers stroked his stomach gently, as if to massage the so evident tension out of him; willing him to open up to me, if only just a little.

But instead of relaxing, he seemed to grow ever more tense under my touch. One of his hands reached back and clutched my skirts in his palm, his rigid fingers tangling in the fabric ruthlessly, and his head dipped forward. A low, lust-filled groan sounded from his lips.

And I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of power over him.

What had started as my own need to comfort him, to show him that his face and past did not matter to me, had quickly become a fierce need to know that he still wanted me.

Allah help me, I wanted him to burn for me.

As one of my hands continued its path along his stomach, my other hand reached up to his cravat, plucking the little pin from its folds and dropping it to the ground, fingers proceeding to easily untie the already loose knot. I slipped the little piece of silken cloth from around his collar and let it flutter to the floor as I rose on my toes as high as I could, my lips finding their way to his neck, delicately kissing along the cold, pale skin there. His neck bowed back to allow his head to lean against my shoulder, and I heard that strangled little sound again, sighing past his lips to reflect his urgent desire. My head tipped forward to allow my lips access to the side of his throat, kissing a path along his flesh.

I could not seem to make myself stop this trek into unending longing; I could not seem to help myself. Right from the start, on that very first night, our relationship had been based off of desire; had caved in to that urgent pool of heat in a night of wicked passion and left each of us desperate for a touch that had long since been denied. I so loathed those thoughts, and yet it seemed they would always be all I knew. Since that first night, we had been condemned to always want these moments, dooming a relationship that had perhaps had a shy chance of innocence, but instead remained as a dark and twisted affair.

So I continued to kiss along his jaw, reveling this newfound control that I had, encompassed in the sheer bliss of it, and one of my hands slid up to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. I stepped back from his body as I pushed the vest to the floor, allowing my hands to skim over his slim hips as I turned him around, pushing him back until he fell into one of the wooden chairs at the table. My skirts traveled up to reveal my knees as my legs found their way to either side of his, and I could not help the devilish grin that spread across my lips at the throaty groan that escaped him as I sat atop his lap.

Long fingers clung to my hips desperately, their urgent grip fiercely pressing my lower body against his. My lips moved to kiss each corner of his own just as my fingers parted the folds of his smooth white shirt; fingernails scraped along the firm expanse of his chest as my insatiable tongue traced the bow of his upper lip, eliciting another groan from him; my lips pressed hard against his in a fervent kiss, teeth nipping at his bottom lip as I savored in that deep-throated growl of his.

And suddenly my hand upon his chest was covered by his own, and as we kissed it seemed all my control, all my wicked power, was taken over by him. With my fingers hidden under his coaxing hand, he started to guide mine along his body, past his chest and the hardness of his abdomen, going lower…lower…

And with the loss of that control, I suddenly felt ashamed of myself; sickened and angry and dirty. I broke away from him, falling back until I was sprawled across the floor in a tangle of hefty skirts. My hand quickly rose to cover my mouth, and my stomach churned with nausea.

Memories of my past were all I saw before me; I closed my eyes against the images, but still I saw the faces of so many men, merciless in their desire, hurting me so badly; still I felt the waves of shame that I might partake in such a thing again. I clutched at my face helplessly, my nails digging into my skin as I shook my head back and forth. Revulsion surged through my veins at the memories, still fresh after so many tiresome years.

How could I think to commit such an act again?

I looked up, panic written across my face; my only desire right then was to leave; leave and never come back. I could not do this. I could not face this constant torment. But when I stared ahead of me, rising to tell Erik that I must leave, he was no longer seated before me. I heard the delicate clearing of a throat behind me, and I stared towards the door in confusion, eyes taking in the impatient figure of Erik, holding my cloak open and gesturing expectantly towards the door. His intention was obvious; he wanted me to leave as well.

My legs shook unsteadily as I walked towards him, and despite my shame and humiliation, I felt an unsurpassable cruelty over my behavior. What must he think of me? I opened my lips, desperate to explain, but he cut me off.

"If you are so revolted by me, Madame, you needed but to tell me, my dear, and I would have stopped." And even as I shook my head in denial, I felt shame for the anger and hurt in his angel's voice. Shame that I had caused him to think such a thing; for had I not just proved to him that it was true, what he had always thought of himself?

I tried to speak as I reached my hands out towards him in supplication, but he only shook me off and continued his tirade, not caring to hear even a word from my lips.

"After all, what person with any hold on their mental faculties would partake in anything with such a hideous monster as myself?"

"Erik, I-"

"What I cannot seem to comprehend, as ludicrous as that sounds, is why you would even begin such a thing at all. I suppose it is merely your natural instinct. Or were you perhaps trying to earn money for your child, and in the end you just could not bring yourself to sleep with a beast like me again?"

My eyes narrowed dangerously, and fury surged through my veins. How dare he! I might have forgiven the heated words spoken about me in his despair, but how dare he bring Mina into this?

I brought up my hand to slap him, a purely maternal instinct to defend my child rising in my breast as an outraged sound I hardly recognized tore free from my throat. But in the blink of an eye his hand encircled my wrist, halting me. I tried to jerk my hand away from his, but his grip was brutal, like the dangerous hold of a python as it curled its length around its prey with deadly strength.

"Not this time, my dear."

I growled furiously at him again, trying to step back. "Let me go this instant! I want to leave."

"Not until I hear the truth. Is your child the only reason you have been keeping up this charade? You had better speak honestly, Madame, and speak quickly. I am losing my patience with you."

A bitter laugh clawed up my throat, a hoarse, hysterical laugh my ears had never heard released from these lips of mine. The truth! He wanted the truth? Hardly. The truth of it all was that Mina was his daughter, and right then I was sure he did not want to hear that. Would he even believe me now if I told him?

His grip tightened on my wrist as his eyes narrowed at me, silencing my laughter until I was only left glowering at him, angry patches of red forming on my cheeks, my eyes fierce from their glare.

"No, that is not the reason. My daughter and I don't need your help."

For a moment we simply glared at each other. When he didn't say anything, I continued, voice coaxed to rising ever higher by the unrelenting streak of hysteria that had taken control of me.

"Can you not understand how hard it is for me to be with a man, Erik? I cannot kiss you without remembering everything else that happened in Persia. I cannot help remembering and…I…I…can't. I just cannot do it. I thought perhaps I could but it all behind me, I thought I could try, and I can't."

I blinked angrily as more tears pooled into my eyes; and here I thought I was done with crying. But even as I beat back those tears I saw a sudden flicker of guilt cross his face, only just overshadowing his anger.

"Then why did you-"

"I'm not perfect, Erik," I cried out in a wobbly voice, wishing he could understand my uncertainty, wishing he could forgive my weakness. "When I'm around you, I can almost forget. It is as if you take away all those memories, and make me feel…I…I do not know what, precisely. I just feel…different."

I feel whole.

His fingers released my wrist as I spoke, and I hid my shaking hands behind my back and watched warily as one of his fingers rose to trace the not-quite-faded tracks of my tears from earlier. I sniffled lightly, my heart twisting in my chest. "It scares me," I finally whispered, staring fixedly away from him.

And that was nothing but the undeniable truth. The control his voice had over me, the way just the slightest twitch of those lips, the subtle arch of his brow, could make me want to give myself to a man again frightened me. I was little more than an ill-used, broken toy; a girl with a damaged heart and a mind that lost its grip on reality more and more every day, driven to insanity by my loneliness, and my memories. But when I was around him, I was a different person. And I had not a clue as to why.

Erik heaved a great sigh; a sound I was growing accustomed to hearing, so much that even in my dreams I heard that dreamy whisper. I looked up at him shyly, biting my lip as he took my wrist again and led me towards the table. With a firm push, he had me settled onto a chair, and then he walked towards one of the cabinets, pulling forth a decanter of dark, amber-colored liquid.

A glass was set before me, filled halfway with thick liquor. I picked it up, sniffing delicately and wrinkling my nose at the bitter smell of it. Glancing up to see Erik throw back a quick gulp, I shrugged my shoulders, sent up a small prayer to Allah that he might forgive a poor girl her sins (what could one sip hurt, after all, I thought to myself), and took a small sip; my face screwed up at taste.

And when I glanced back at Erik, my eyes narrowed, I think he tried to smile at me; though, on him, he still rather appeared to be frowning.

And then he started to laugh.