I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated... I love you all, I really do, but uh... well, school. That's my explanation. I'm a very busy Honors student. Anyway, I am back temporarily until the end of Spring Break (March 31st). I will let you know when summer starts (we don't know the exact date right now because there were snow days and we have to make up for missed school), because I will be able to update very often then and will probably finish the book during the summer. Get it? Got it? Good. Reviews!~

xBeautifullyxxShatteredx: The drama is coming... be patient. ;)

nibblesfan: It's implied that they spoke about where Erik and Camillé were going to wed, and that will come back up later.

TanaTheScop: I totally understand little reading time. I have little writing time. Wow... you said a lot. 1) the spelling of Iseult varies depending on the version, but mostly it's Iseult. The German version made it Isolde, I think. I cry for that story too. It's so tragically romantic! T-T 2) I have taken Creative Writing classes, but obviously yours are better than mine because we never got that kind of advice. We never focused on inter-character relationships and developing those. Thank you for the advice, and I'll definitely work on incorporating that.

Again, I'm sorry for the length of time between updates. I do still love you guys! Erik and Camillé are mad at me, if that's any consolation. They're hounding me about abandoning them. Anyway, on to the chapter! Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Five: Anger and Irritation

Camillé opened her eyes and smiled, snuggling into the warmth of Erik beside her. His grip around her waist tightened and she looked up at him, seeing his eyes open and a gentle smile on his face.

"Bonjour, ma chatte," he whispered, kissing her forehead.

She hummed contentedly. Erik pulled his arm from her waist and sat up, causing her arm to fall to the bed. One of her eyes opened and she sighed before kneeling behind him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. His right hand rested on her clasped hands in front of him and he kissed the inside of one of her arms. Another humming came from her as he patted her arms as a signal to let him go. She did so, sliding one of her hands down to intertwine with his as both of them stood and stepped off of the bed. He brought her hand up and kissed her knuckles before releasing it and walked out of the room. The silent gesture made her smile as she walked to her wardrobe and debated before putting on a simple shift for the day. They weren't going anywhere.

Camillé stepped slowly down the stairs and back up them, coming up behind Erik where he was composing on his organ, the familiar sound ringing throughout the cavern. She placed her hands on his shoulders and rubbed slightly, hearing the slightly melancholy sound of the music. He stopped, taking a hold of one hand and kissing it lightly. Ayesha was sitting atop the organ and batted at the other hand, the note adding to the reverberations of the others. Both of her humans laughed, and Erik stood from his organ bench. The two walked back to the swan bedroom and began cleaning up the clothing that littered the floor. Camillé bent over and picked up his ascot, twirling it around her fingers slowly as she picked up his waistcoat.

As she stood, she looked down at the floor. "I apologize for my conduct last night, that was… very uncouth of me," she muttered, and a finger under her chin raised her head.

Erik smiled at her. "There is no need to apologize. Were it not for my hesitation… well, I believe you know better than I. Though… I must ask; how is it that you know so well the art of…" he trailed off, not wanting to say the word – his hesitation made Camillé chuckle – but she understood well enough his meaning.

"That's a very long story," she warned him with some hesitation.

"We have plenty of time."

Camillé sighed and sat down on the swan bed, where he joined her. "Do you really wish to know?" she asked, though she had already decided to tell him.

He gave her a sideways glance. "Only if you are willing to tell me. I will not force you to tell me anything, you know that."

"Je sais… but if we're going to be married, you deserve to know," she muttered, then looked past him at the opposite cavern wall, "I'm not… pure."

"What do you mean, 'pure'?" he asked, and she sighed yet again.

"Erik, I'm… I'm not a virgin. I am by no means a virgin."

One of his eyebrows raised and he frowned. "Qu'il a été (Who was it)?"

"Who do you think?" she whispered, then spoke louder, "Rabe. It shouldn't surprise you."

"It doesn't. Infuriates is a better word," he told her through gritted teeth, hands clenched.

She grasped his hands and unfurled them, holding them in hers gently. "Don't blame him. It was years ago, and I was young and he was my handsome hero –"

"Hero? How could that man possibly be your hero, Camillé?"

"Have been," she corrected in a clipped tone, "He is not my hero now. But he saved me from being raped, Erik. I thought he could do no wrong!"

"You were raped?" he exclaimed, gripping her hands tightly.

"Almost. If it weren't for Rabe, I would have been," she explained, and his expression darkened.

He sneered, "He saved you only to take you for himself."

"It wasn't immediate. It's not like he pulled me off the floor and put me in his bed. Even he's smarter than that."

"So did he convince you he was a good man first?" he asked, in the same sneering tone.

Camillé glared at him. "Please drop the tone, Erik. If you must know, he was the only gentleman –" Erik let out a harsh laugh and she narrowed her eyes, "—out of a bunch of ruthless idiots. And he was certainly better than Ular."

"Ular?"

"Ular was the one who tried to take me. Rabe… well, he killed him for it," she admitted, looking down at their hands then back at him, "He saved me, Erik. For that reason… I thought he was my hero. And he didn't do wrong at first, not by me. He was sweet and kind, nothing like the other men we worked with."

He sighed. "I cannot see him as 'sweet' and 'kind', nor do I care to."

"In all honesty," she smiled and whispered, "I don't either."

"So Rabe took the innocence of my fiancée. May I murder him for this?"

Camillé shook her head. "He's already imprisoned. There's no need to go and kill him."

Ayesha jumped into the bed between them and into Erik's lap. They both chuckled as he pet her lightly and scratched under her chin. A purr rolled out of their kitten, and they smiled at each other.

"She really is your cat," she told him, rubbing her thumb over his other hand, which she still held.

He grinned up at her. "Well, I suppose cats are naturally drawn to me."

They locked eyes and she laughed at his joke. She leaned over and kissed his right cheek before standing up and walking into the main chamber. Camillé sat down in her desk chair, leaning back and relaxing. A pair of echoing footsteps told her Erik had followed her and he came up behind her, running his hands through her hair. She hummed lightly as she always did when she was content. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, lingering there and taking in the scent of his love; a sweet smell he couldn't identify as anything but Camillé. He walked past her to go towards his organ, but his hand was caught by another as Camillé stood up.

"Where are you going?" she sighed, her voice high, soft, and relaxed.

He smiled and pulled her along with him to the organ. "Come, Bien-Aimée, I have something to show you," he told her.

Erik sat on his organ bench and let go of her hand as he began to play. The notes were sweet as they wafted through the room, far softer than most everything he played. Camillé stepped up behind him and rested her hands on his shoulders, closing her eyes and listening to the music.

"No one would listen,
No one at all,
Heard as the outcast hears…

Shamed into solitude,
Shunned by the multitude,
I learned to listen.
In my dark, my heart heard music.

I longed to teach the world,
Rise up and reach the world,
No one would listen.
I alone could hear the music.

No one would listen,
No one at all,
Heard as the outcast hears."

The notes died slowly and Camillé let a small whimpering noise. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she kissed his cheek.

"I do not shun you, Erik," she whispered, "I listen."

He smiled lightly as he kissed her hand. "I know you do. This song… is a work in progress."

"C'est belle (It's beautiful). Sad, but beautiful."

Erik stood and turned around, letting Camillé wrap her arms around him and hold him close. They stood that way for some time in the wake of his song. He felt… complete.

Camillé sat at her writing desk, Erik's song replaying in her mind over and over. She had written multiple poems about how she was alone before him, how she had felt lost. Now, however, she was grounded and in love. Her life was beginning to make sense. She had love; she had Erik. She was happy. It had been a long time since she had been happy. Somehow, this mysterious man under le Maison d'Opera made her that way. Now she was in love, truly in love for the final time. They would be married and she would be with him until they died.

And that prospect no longer frightened her.

Camillé sat at her writing desk, looking over their wedding drawings. It was truly beautiful, though there was one thing missing. The wedding dress. Erik had taken it upon himself to design and make it, even though she had told him multiple times that it was bad luck to see it before the wedding – he had rebutted this with the correction that the adage was "It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding," and he wouldn't see her in the dress until they were standing at the altar to be married. There were times when she hated his logic. Mostly because she couldn't argue with it.

Six months had come and gone since he had asked for her hand, and they had been very busy. Between both Erik and Camillé searching for any pastor to marry them, Erik designing the dress, both writing their vows (neither wanted to use the regular vows, they weren't at all accurate), and Camillé trying to decide the rest of the wedding details, they had little time for much else. The only thing Erik constantly made time for was his lessons with Christine. This didn't exactly go over well with Camillé. She loved her fiancé, yes, and she wanted him to achieve his dreams, but did he have to go see this little girl every single day?

They argued about it constantly. There were times when Camillé almost felt as if he was spending more time with Christine than with her, and it made her insanely angry. She knew, somewhere in the logical side of her brain, that she wasn't making much effort to spend time with him either and therefore it was completely idiotic to be so angry about something like this, but it still upset her. That was an entire hour or more out of the day that they could have been spending together, becoming closer as a couple. Granted, the time they did spend together was becoming less and less talkative and more and more… passionate.

That was something else that was getting on her nerves. It had been six months – six months! – since the first time they had almost slept together, and every time they came close, he would still back away. She was beginning to lose her patience with him. Every time, he said the same thing, 'It is not that I do not want you, Bien-Aimée, it is simply that I am not used to this yet.' One would think that six months adjusting time would be enough, but apparently not. If this continued, she was either going to murder him or… well, that probably wouldn't work. She was going to murder him.

Erik came storming into the lair, nearly deafening Camillé with the sounds of his footsteps. She stood and walked over to him, trying to calm him down.

"Erik?" she asked, "Erik, what is wrong? Erik? Erik, stop!"

He didn't listen and walked away from her, nearly knocking her over. She huffed and followed him to the other side of the lair, where he disappeared behind a mirror and she quickly followed. Oh. This was his room. She'd never been here before, and it knocked her slightly off-guard. The room was decked in the same red curtains, more mirrors along the walls. There was an almost lavish four-poster bed against the left wall, in the same red velvet as the rest of the lair. She was beginning to wonder where he found so much fabric. The wardrobe across the room was black with golden handles and there were busts of heads with many different masks on them. The far wall had shelves lined with books, just as the work area where her desk was in the main cavern. Camillé watched as Erik threw his cape onto the bed with a furious motion and moved towards him.

"Erik, what's wrong? Please, mon amour, talk to me!"

He turned towards her. "You would not understand if I did tell you, so what is the point?"

"How do you know that?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips, "How can you know I don't understand if you do not tell me what is wrong?"

"Because I know that you do not understand the dynamics of music!" he snapped, sitting down on his bed with his head in his hands.

She shrugged. "Does that matter?"

"Oui!"

"Can't you tell me anyway?"

"Non."

Camillé huffed. "And why not?"

"Because you wouldn't understand, no one would understand!" he shouted, looking up at her, "We've talk about this before, now please leave it alone!"

"You are infuriatingly stubborn, you know that?"

"I am not."

She laughed. "Yes, you are."

"You are more stubborn than I am."

"I am not," she retorted sharply, "You are incredibly stubborn."

He crossed his arms. "When have I been incredibly stubborn?"

"Your whole life."

Erik rolled his eyes. "That is not a good answer. I am far less stubborn than you think I am."

"Erik, please remember… I'm your wife," she reminded him with a raised eyebrow, "You are very stubborn, all the time."

It took all his conscious effort not to smile when she said that. Even though they had not yet married, they had taken to calling each other husband and wife. After all, it had been six months since they had gotten engaged, and they were practically married already. The only difference between them and a truly married couple was a ceremony, a couple of rings, and… the wedding night.

"I suppose I cannot argue with that. But remember that I am your husband, and you are also very, very stubborn," he returned, standing up and stopping before her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Now, it does not matter whether or not I understand completely, but please do tell me what is wrong, Erik. It will feel better to get it out of your mind so that you may relax."

He sighed. "If you insist," he sighed as they sat down on his bed, "Christine is not trying to hit her full potential."

Camillé sat cross-legged and played with his long, pianist (or in his case, organist) fingers. "How so?"

"I know she can reach a B-flat, but she's not trying hard enough. The potential is there, just not the effort. I don't understand why she cannot reach it when she should be able to. Her voice cuts out completely."

She thought for a moment. "What if she's just tired?"

"What?"

"You've been practicing with the poor girl every single night, and a B-flat is by no means an easy note to reach. I would think you'd have realized by now. Erik, you're tiring out her vocal chords. Isn't she in the chorus?" He nodded, "Then she's singing all day, every day. You're working her too hard, mon amour. Let her have a break. Change your lessons to every other night, for her sake."

"But without being pushed, she'll never improve," he retorted, and she laughed.

"And if you push too hard, she'll lose her voice completely."

Erik thought for a moment. "I suppose you're right. No, you are right. Why didn't I see that?"

She smiled and stroked his cheek. "Because you're so focused on improvement and making progress that you forget to rest and take a break every so often."

He smiled back at her. "Madame Giry may call me a genius, but I am utterly convinced that my wife is more brilliant than I am."

"No, I'm not," she shook her head, "I'm just your voice of reason when you need me."

They laughed together and Ayesha jumped into Erik's lap again, as she always seemed to when they were happy. The kitten moved between them for several minutes, allowing them to pet her and give her plenty of attention before she walked off to somewhere. Camillé grinned at her husband and he returned it, leaning over and kissing her. They pulled away and rested their foreheads against each other.

"Je t'aime, Erik," she muttered, kissing him lightly.

He kissed her for a moment before leaning back and pulling her with him. "Je t'aime aussi."

They laid there, Camillé's head resting on his chest while her arm was draped across him. He rolled towards her and held her close and warm as they both fell asleep.

Wow... chapter 25... this story has come a very long way, hasn't it? Thank you for all the support thus far!

Any questions, comments, concerns? Want to hound on me for taking so long to update? I'm okay with that. Really, I am. Review!

- Emmy