Carlotta's wedding was quick to arrive, and Michelle looked in the mirror at her pastel pink victorian dress with white trim, and silver lining. She wore small heels and did her hair in a simple manner, tied back in a rosey pink broach.

Michelle helped Carlotta make herself "princesss" pretty with all the glamor and glitter she wanted, and by the time she finished, Carlotta could pass as someone of royal blood.

"Now if there's something wrong with what you did," Carlotta remarked, "I will personally make your life hell,"

"Right," Michelle answered laughing at the mild threat.

But Carlotta wasn't ever disappointed with Michelle's work when it came to hair and make-up that day; in fact the wedding was ideal. Carlotta had hired Symon to be the ring bearer, which made Symon happy. Alexi stood with his boss as Michelle brought the bride who despite having a bold pink dress had permitted herself to let the top half be white.

Michelle gave the bride away.

"You look lovely, my dear."

Carlotta was fighting tears, but held herself well, as she face Albert Hauster.

In the crowd, staff members of the Opera Popular were gathered as well as employees of Albert Hauster. Michelle felt the hushed sound of awe as the preacher began to recite a familiar speech.

Michelle glanced across to Alexi whose eyes had met hers with a tiny grin, the sound of the priest swept away for a moment, as if time had reversed to their own wedding day.

Had it been so long? Michelle counted backwards, realizing that they had been together just over six months.

Her hand touched her waist as she recalled how time seemed to have flown; her waist was not as large as it had been at this point when she had had Symon, but she still had three months.

How did time fly by so fast?

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the priest remarked, as Symon raised up a small pillow holding the rings.

Carlotta smiled widely as Albert placed a gold ring with large diamonds on her finger, and she placed a large diamond ring on his own finger.

Symon moved so he stood beside his mother, and they watched together as Ablert kissed his wife, Madame Carlotta Hauster.

Alexi and Michelle left for Saint Petersburg with Symon not long after that, deciding it was the ideal time to leave the Opera Popular for a short while. Michelle hadn't been fully thrilled with leaving before her second child was born, but there were rumors of a rise in politics that Alexi wanted to avoid by visiting sooner. He was after all Russian himself, and didn't want to be involved with the rising political uprising called Communism.

She rested little on the ride to the train station. She had heard frightening things about trains and their unreliabilities. She had also heard about the people who used trains for suicide, and it frightened her to even dare think that she might see someone who could do that.

"Don't fret, my love," Alexi answered her consern as they boarded the train. He kissed her tenderly on the cheek, "Nothing is going to happen to us."

Michelle nodded, as they entered their cabin, and watched as the train began to move. Symon was overjoyed to begin such a journey, and he was instantly in love with the steam engine that they had boarded, but Michelle knew that it would never compare to his passion for the piano.

She closed her eyes letting the sounds and the rhythm of the train permit her sleep.

Misseur Yorgi Gregorsky, Alexi's cousin met them at the Russian station. He looked much like Alexi, but his hair was as dark as night, and his accent was thick with the Russian dialect.

"Welcome to Russia, cousin." he embraced Alexi, and turned to Michelle and Symon.

"And this must be Michelle," He kissed Michelle's hand in a gentleman manner and looked to the boy confused.

"This is my son, Symon." Alexi answered his question.

"But," Yorgi questioned.

Alexi threw him a sharp look, Symon oblivious to the consern. Michelle took her son's hand.

"He's more my son than his," she remarked with a giggle.

Yorgi gave her a measured look, "Of course," he glanced at his brother, "We have much to discuss. We must talk soon." he gestured for all of them to join him in a not so spacious carriage. Symon sat on Michelle's lap.

"Who is he?" he asked Alexi.

"This is your . . . uncle, Yorgi." Alexi looked at Yorgi pleading for him to play along.

Yorgi shot him a dark look.

"Uncle?" he glanced at Michelle then back at Yorgi.

Michelle was well aware of Yorgi's displeasure of his cousin's affections. She stared out the window in silence, as Symon asked Yorgi simple questions about who he was, until they arrived at a large mansion not far outside of town.

"Come, Rayleene and Sadonski are expecting you, cousin." he helped Michelle and Symon out of the cariage politely, and followed the three inside.

Despite it being Russia, it was a warm midsummer day. There was a chance of snow, by newspaper predictions, but nothing concrete. Michelle wasn't concerned, in fact thought it would be a good thing for Symon. He was old enough to remember more than was expected.

The mansion was small compared to others that they had passed. This one was three stories tall and a minimum of forty thousand square feet. All the floors were of a red stone, and the walls were gold. It reminded Michelle of being in the opera house when she was a little girl. Her breath caught in her throat, and she smiled.

Alexi paused to let her sink in the foyer. To the higher classes this was a basic design, but it was obvious that it was more to Michelle. Symon was in awe as well, as a butler came up to them, and took their coats.

"Someone should be out for your things, Ser Gregorsky,"

"Thank you," Alexi answered.

"Your family awaits you in the parlor."

Alexi nodded, Michelle noted his short gestures. He was nervous, and he had every right to be. With Yorgi's less than cheery reception of his wife and son, they were more likely to get a colder responce.

Two older people sat in what was considered the parlor; a spacious room in a similar color scheme like the foyer, but there wasn't as much red. It was a more gold and white room with small dwarf trees flourishing in the partial sunlight that came through the windows.

The two older people stared at them with muted emotions. Ser Sandonsky and Madame Rayleene sat in fancy vanity style chairs, and rose when the four entered the room. Yorgi who was behind them, now came to the front of the small party.

"Aunt Rayleene, Uncle Sandonsky, might I present to you, your son, Alexi Gregorski, and his . . . wife, Michelle Le'Clair'e," she shot him a sharp look, "And he-their son Symon."

There was a long silence, between them all but finally Rayleene rose from her seat and came forward to embrace her son.

"It's been so long, Alexi. Why haven't you come sooner?"

"It's a busy world in France,"

"So I remember," she smiled, turning to Michelle and her son, "Welcome to the family, my dear." she paused noticing it seemed for the first time Michelle's growing swell, "Might I ask how far along are you?"

"Six and a half months, madame."

"Please, Rayleene works well enough," she paused, looking at Symon obviously noticing his lack of resemblence to Alexi, "Do you like scones, my dear?"

Symon nodded, shyly, "Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, how well mannered he is," she remarked to Michelle kindly, she took Symon's hand, "Come, and split one with me would you?"

"Alright," he accepted her hand and followed slowly in tow.

It was Sandonsky's turn to rise, and he did so slowly, his eyes watching as Symon paused long enough to shake his hand, and then continue to follow Madame Rayleene. Michelle watched carefully, but her attention was returned back to Alexi's father who stood before Alexi.

"Son, it's had been too long. You should have come to see us sooner."

"I would have but you remember what it was like to work for the Hausters."

"Still a bookkeeper then? God for you, my boy." he sighed, "Good for you," he paused and looked at Michelle, "And a fine young lady," he spoke in kind but it was clear by his eyes that he meant differently, "And Madame Le'Clair'e," Michelle gulped, "What do you do for a living?"

"I manage the Opera Popular, in Paris."

"Manage?" his brow rose in suprise.

"Yes, I own and run the opera house with my buisness partner Madame Carlotta Hauster."

"Hauster?" he glanced at Alexi.

"She just married, Albert."

"How interesting."

Michelle felt herself siver briefly, but couldn't determine why. She glanced at Alexi who had a slightly nervous stanse, but Sandonsky didn't seem to register is disposition.

"So," he looked to Michelle again, "a French woman, Alexi? Why not a Russian?"

Michelle gulped and glanced at Alexi, who wrapped his arm around her waist, "She's half Russian, father,"

"What's the other half?"

"Irish," she answered quickly. It was the truth, but she didn't want Alexi to answer all the questions she could that were about herself.

"An odd combination," he mused, "why don't you join your son. Alexi and I have things to discuss."

"But we just arrived," Alexi protested.

"And what we have to talk about cannot be put off." Sandonsky answered.

Michelle kissed her husband's cheek, and joined Rayleene and Symon.

"Father?" he asked as they walked towards Sandonsky's office.

"You are of Russian birth, and by right, I wish you weren't."

Alexi's brows furrowed as his cousin Yorgi followed the two men.

"Father?"

"You, have recieved mail here while you were gone, Alexi." Sandonsky began, "From our Russian government, discussing, requesting, then suddenly drafting you to become part of the militant army to fight the growing power of Communism."

Alexi paled, "I am not of fighting material,"

"But you are Russian, son." Sandonsky answered with some despair, "And I think that despite this recent marriage . . . amour that you are eloped in, this war is for the better."

"Father, Michelle is my wife."

"But we both know that that child is not yours."

Alexi looked to Yorgi for support, but none was given.

"That bastard child is an ink stain alongside it's mother to our family, Alexi. You could have done better."

"So is that why you are sending me to war? To lose my wife?"

Sandonsky seemed hurt by his sudden question, "No, Alexi, that rejectable woman is not why I am sending you to join the army. I have no power over who get's drafted. But you must answer the call."

Alexi dropped into the closest chair, head in his hands. He had just ifnally got a grip of the life he wanted. He had a beautiful wife, and a son who loved him dearly, and another on the way. He had no intention of suddenly leaving them.

Yorgi sat down in a near by chair, "It's okay, cousin; I have to go too. I am leaving my own wife as well,"

Alexi looked at his cousin with some loathing, "A wife who probably doesn't darken our family."

Yorgi narrowed his eyes at him, but Sandonsky rose a hand before Yorgi could answer the insult.

"Son, you and Yorgi leave at the end of the week for duty. I had your enrollment postponed just long enough for you to visit."

Alexi shook his head, swept up by lost emotions and despair, "I have no militant background."

"You'll learn," Yorgi answered.

"What about my family?"

"Send them back to France. They are welome here so long as you are here. As soon as you leave, they must return to that damned opera house, the whore and her bastard child."

Alexi stood then, anger at his father, despair for his future, hate at his cousin, and with one fast swipe, slapped his father. Without any further hesitance, he turned on his heel and went to join the women.

Michelle could see his despair when he and the other men returned from their small conference. Rayleene knew what the conversation was about, judging by her very sudden pale expression. Michelle was less certain about what the topic had been, but noticed a fresh hand imprint on the said of Misseur Sandonsky Gregorsky.

"Alexi?" Michelle asked, as he sat beside her and Symon, shaken by whatever had just occured in their arrival.

"It's nothing my dear," he answered kissing her cheek, in her ear he whispered, "I'll tell you later."

She gulped, trembling slightly, but she held herself together and smiled at Madame Rayleene.

"We were just discussing what she guessed the child might be within," Rayleene remarked to her husband as he sat stiffly beside her.

"A son, I would imagine."

"Oh contrary, my dear husband," Rayleene answered, "I think it's a girl."

"You always wanted a girl," Sandonsky answered.

At nightfall, Alexi told Michelle what had been said between the three men, explaining the sudden drafting issue that had occurred. Michelle listened carefully as Symon dreamed. She took it hard, but better than she had feared she might. She didn't want to wail into Alexi's embrace, but she didn't enjoy the news at all.

"I will return to you, my love," he answered.

"I know," she embraced him tightly as they sat on the edge of the guest bed provided to them, "And I will wait for your return,"

"I will see you to the train station before I leave," he said carefully.

She squeezed her eyes shut; then the tears had come. She was hated here, for being a previously single mother of a son with no father.

Rayleene seemed to love him, but Sandonsky was a whole other story. He hated them fromt he moment his eyes laid on them. Michelle wept for her husband, for making him look bad in front of his family.

"It's not your fault, it's society. I love you, Michelle; ever since the finale of A Midsummer Night's Dream, I have always loved you. What my family thinks won't change it." He ran his fingers in her hair, and along her spine, "I love you Michelle Gregorsky,"

"And I you, Alexi Gregorsky," the last word stumbled a bit on her tongue, but he knew what she said was truth.