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Nibblesfan: Yes, they are. Though... Camillé is decidedly in denial.

Alright, I've got an interesting chapter for you tonight, though it is slightly shorter than the others and for that I apologize. Here - enjoy!

Chapter Ten: Realization (Part Two)

Her eyes opened and he was met with the darkest eyes he'd ever seen. Only a slight color permeated the deep brown – that of a light golden color he loved. Granted, he loved everything about her. He had fallen so deeply for her. How it had taken him so long to notice that she was the most amazing creature in the world, he didn't know. Erik smiled at her and her brilliant grin greeted him.

"Your voice is beautiful, Camillé," he told her, but she just scoffed and shook her head.

"No, it is not, and you know that. Your future opera star has the beautiful voice, not I," she tried to remind him.

His cat stood and walked away from him. Immediately, he missed the closeness of her. He pushed the feeling down and he stood as well, following her to her desk. When she sat down, he placed his hands on her shoulders, wanting to have some connection to her.

Camillé felt his hands on her shoulders and tensed. His touch was so gentle… it was torture on her self-control. She wanted to turn around and kiss him, but that… wasn't appropriate. Nope. Not for Erik. We're just friends, she chanted for herself, while her hormones laughed at her openly. Tingles ran up and down her spine, making very difficult to sit still. Somehow she managed, and looked down at her desk. Oh no… that shouldn't be out.

Her poem about her father's best friend was out in the open. She hadn't meant to leave that out. That wasn't meant for anyone to know. Some pieces of the past were meant to be kept in the past. Erik stalled her hand as she went to put it away, and she froze completely, feeling nothing but his hand running down her arm. Then she realized that he was taking the poem from her. In an instant, she snatched it back from him. He gave her a look that was uniquely Erik, a look of pure… sheepishness? What? Then she realized what that look meant. All of her hormones quieted, replaced by a deadly silence in her mind, broken by one sentence. He read it.

She backed away from him and the desk. "Tu as lit ca (You read this)?"

"Camillé, I didn't know what it was about until it was too late. I did not know that –"

"Erik, you knew! Don't use that excuse! You know full well that I don't appreciate you looking through my things!"

He winced visibly and she almost felt bad for yelling at him. "Oui, je sais (Yes, I know). But you must believe me when I say that it was an act that I do regret. I apologize, mon chat. I am sorry. Please, please forgive me."

She gave him a sideways look. He was quite quick to apologize today. Besides, he honestly looked as if he meant it and wanted her to forgive him or he'd punish himself. Finally, she relented to those blue eyes that she found she absolutely could not refuse. Which… was not at all anything to do with her. He simply had a good puppy dog face. His was the most attractive; irresistible; handsome; okay, she did not need to be going down this track with her mind or she'd kiss him. Besides, she was supposed to be angry with him!

"I will forgive you…" she started, and he visibly relaxed, "if," she added, which made his shoulders drop, "you promise to me that you will never do this again. I trust you, Erik, but I can only trust so many times."

"I understand," he agreed, nodding, "and I will do as you ask. But Camillé, please tell me; trust me with the story behind this poem."

She sighed. "I knew you would ask that. Know this; it is harder for me to relate this to you… I have not told this story to anyone before. I do not even know why I am trusting you with this."

Actually… she did know. He was her confidante, she trusted him without ever needing to doubt. And besides, she was beginning to fall for him. No, she wasn't. Yes, she was. She couldn't decide. In her mind, she didn't want to love him, wanted nothing to do with love, but her heart yearned to accept her feelings and accept him. No… she could not do that. Erik was her friend, nothing more. Right?

"I've already told you about Aletté. How she died when I was young. Well, I was eleven years of age at the time. After she died, I spoke to no one for months. A year passed before I talked. When I returned from my self-seclusion, I was old enough to attend supper with the adults. I spent my time with my father and his friends since my other playmates had… moved on," she explained, then sighed for a minute.

Erik gave her a look in her eyes and took her hand into his own. "You do not need to tell me. I can surmise the rest on my own."

"No, I want to tell you. I ought to tell this to someone," Camillé reasoned, "might as well be my only real friend in this world."

He was half-tempted to smile because he was her friend, and half-tempted to be piteously heartbroken because she thought of him as a friend. For the meantime, he settled on nodding with a gentle smile and pulling her into his arms for a moment. She was so soft… so gentle and much, much weaker in this moment than he'd ever seen her.

He was comforting. She knew that calling him her friend just wasn't right, yet felt as if calling him anything else would raise unnecessary questions at this moment. Her arms went around him and she relaxed into his chest, laying her head on his shoulder and smiling contentedly. Then she pulled away, but stayed in his arms. Not that either of them were complaining.

"When I was fourteen, my father's best friend – I had always called him Uncle, and now I can't remember his real name – he took me out for a walk. Before I knew what was happening, he was on his knees asking for my hand," she muttered, and he looked down at her quizzically, to which she nodded, "See, he had two children – Samuel, only a year older than I, and Katherine, who was Aletté's age. When Sam and I were young, he also had a beautiful wife; Natalie. She was a wonderful woman and my mother's best friend. But she died giving birth to Katherine, leaving him a widower. For some reason, he fell in love with me and decided that I would be the perfect replacement wife."

Erik's expression became one that urged her to continue, and she did. "I was very disturbed by this, and turned him down, of course. But I guess he couldn't take no for an answer, because he kept asking and asking. Eventually, my father had to tell him that it was rather frightening to both me and the rest of our families, and asked him to stop. After all, the man was only a year younger than Papa, who was about forty years of age at the time. He was decidedly old enough to be my father," she muttered with a shudder, and Erik rubbed up and down her arms to comfort her, "I don't know why, but he never actually listened to Papa."

"Next, he went to my mother. He told her all the reasons why he would be the perfect husband for her now only daughter – he already had a fortune; he was dependable; they knew that they could trust him; and he had already had a wife once, he knew how marriage worked. She listened to him, and somehow convinced my father that he was right. Four months after he asked me to marry him the first time, he was slipping an engagement band on my finger. That's part of the reason why I hate gold jewelry. His ring was gold," she explained, and he nodded, "But it wasn't until about three weeks later, that we were preparing for the wedding, that I decided I could not, would not do this. I finally figured it out when he tried to kiss me."

Erik backed up, looking quite surprised and a little disturbed. "He tried to… kiss you?"

"Yes, he tried to kiss me," Camillé repeated, "It was the most disgusting event of my life. The next day, I was gone. Je suis parti (I left). I put on my riding trousers, gathered some items I could sell and took to the streets. That's how I got involved with thieves, rogues and the like. They were the only ones who even took a second glance at me."

Noticeably, he bristled. "Yes, I am sure they did."

They were silent for a moment, as she gave him an inquisitive look but decided not to bring it up. He couldn't possibly have meant to look protective. More than likely, he thought she was une pute (a prostitute) and was offended. She wouldn't have blamed him, honestly. That had happened to her more than once in her life. People didn't tend to take the idea of a female rogue very well – even the rogues themselves didn't.

Erik did not want to think about the rogues 'taking a second glance' at her. Of course, he knew exactly why. She was beautiful. But he didn't take kindly to other people thinking that she was beautiful. She was his; he loved her. Granted, she didn't know yet. Still, as soon as he built up the courage to let his feelings show, she would be his. Because by the time that he was giving her his affections, he would know that she loved him in return. Hopefully, she would.

Unconsciously, he pulled her closer and rested his chin on top of her head. She sighed and snuggled into his arms, relieved that he still loved her. Uh… non, he still accepted her. He didn't love her. Nope. Couldn't happen. No matter how much she wanted it to. Not that she did want him to. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. Finally, she resigned herself to it. She loved him. He was the most wonderful person she had ever met. The safety she felt with him was something she had with no one else. Not even Daniel had ever made her feel this way, and she had once loved him. No matter how Camillé looked at it, she could find no reason not to… she loved Erik.

Alright, so she finally admitted to herself that she loved him. Yay! And we got another piece of the giant puzzle that is Camillé.

Keep reviewing! YOU THERE! YES, YOU WHO IS READING THIS STORY AND NOT REVIEWING! I WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! TELL ME!

Any questions, comments, concerns? Good, bad, somewhere in between? What do you think?

- Emmy