When Celeste found Erik, he was scowling deeply and aggressively pruning a rosebush.
"I thought I'd find you venting with the piano, not a plant," she remarked as she approached, settling herself into one of the garden chairs nearby.
"My mind is too loud to play," he said in a low voice, gentler than a growl but harsher than a murmur.
She nodded her understanding - she knew all of his quirks by now and could translate most of his sayings. For a while, she sat in silence, simply watching the golden sunlight filter through the leaves of the many trees and plants around their garden, and listening to the rhythmic snap of Erik's shears.
She had been mildly surprised at his interest in cultivating the garden, but then he did seem to be good at anything he turned his hand to, and he had always given her roses. In fact, rose bushes took up one side of the garden, a multitude of shades and colours bursting through the leaves. A couple of trees stood proudly at the end of the lawn, the light dappling under their canopies. She couldn't name half of the other plants he had sown, partly because there were several exotic varieties he had imported from abroad - many were from Persia, though he had to select ones that would grow in Europe. The fact that he was so invested in the garden, while she simply enjoyed sitting in it, was yet another way they were unconventional.
Normally, Celeste would have been content to sit and wait for as long as Erik took to open up, but he had become considerably less volatile over the years, and he was not the only one she needed to talk to.
Instead, she cleared her throat, pausing until he lowered his hands and turned to her before speaking. "Do you mind telling me what that was all about?" she asked calmly.
His jaw clenched, as did his fists, but his gaze was cold compared to the hot anger of before. "You mean protecting our daughter from scumbags?"
"Scumbags?" Celeste raised her eyebrows, fighting to refrain from laughing aloud. "The boy can't have been more than twenty, and he practically fainted when you strong-armed him inside.
"That could all have been a front," he replied obstinately.
"The poor thing even looked like he was wearing his best suit," she continued, determined to be at least as stubborn as he was. "Did it ever occur to you that he might have come to ask your permission to court Belle? Or at least to introduce himself?"
"It's not my fault if he's spineless," Erik muttered, tugging sullenly at a leaf. "And, in any case, she's far too young to have a suitor!" He met her gaze again, eyes flashing as he got a second wind of protective fury.
"She's older than I was when I met you," Celeste pointed out, one eyebrow arched.
"That's not the point!" he spluttered.
"She's old enough to make her own decisions," she said firmly, raising her voice as he began to mutter again. "And it's none of our business what she chooses! Whether Monsieur Morais is a scumbag or a coward, whether it's him or another man, or if she gets courted by a dozen men before finding one she loves; it's not our business. It's our job to keep her safe, yes, but not keep her from living! If she believes she likes someone, it's not our place to tell her she's wrong or that her affections are misplaced. If she gets hurt, then we pick up the pieces. If she's happy, we support her. If she needs help, we advise her as best we can. If she doesn't ask for our input, we don't interfere." Celeste sighed. "If we fight to trap her, we'll just push her away.
Erik sighed too, visibly deflating. He moved slowly towards her, discarding the shears and sinking to the ground by her chair. "I just want to keep her safe - physically and emotionally. I don't know or trust Monsieur Morias." His head dropped to rest against her leg, and she instantly raised a hand to stroke his hair reassuringly.
"I know, darling," she murmured. "But we have to trust her judgement."
He looked up at her, his eyes sad. "I know the cruelty that normal people hide inside themselves. I don't want her to be hurt like I was."
"But what if she finds love like you did?" Celeste asked softly, her heart squeezing a little as it always did at the reminder of all the pain he had been through. "Can you deny her that?"
"No," he sighed, turning his head and kissing her hand. "I just never… I don't know what I'm supposed to do - I never went through any of this with my parents."
Or mine, she thought, but knew he was too considerate to mention the grief that had barred them from that experience.
"I suppose I'm just afraid of losing her. She really is precious to me," he continued, a slight tremor creeping into his voice at the admission.
Celeste touched his chin, tilting his head up so that his eyes met hers. "If she does love someone else, it doesn't mean she loves you any less," she said firmly.
Erik sighed. "I know."
She paused. "You probably ought to sort things out with Monsieur Morais."
He sighed again. "I know," he repeated, leaning into her for a moment longer before standing and straightening his suit. He offered a hand and raised her to her feet, before giving her a gentle kiss. "Thank God I have you to straighten me out."
She smiled wryly. "Don't rejoice yet, I still need to talk to Belle."
Celeste made her way up the stairs, hearing Erik exit through the front door as she went. She reached Belle's bedroom door and knocked, hearing the muffled sounds inside still.
"Go away," her daughter's voice called through the wood, the order weak and thick with tears.
"Would you like to talk?" Celeste asked softly. There was another moment of silence, then the door opened.
Belle looked like a child once more, cheeks streaked with tears and bottom lip wobbling. As if to reinforce this image, she stepped forwards and into her mother's arms. Celeste held her tightly in an instant, stroking her hair and murmuring reassurances. Belle was too tall to hug her like a small child would - height was something both children had inherited from their father - but she nevertheless wrapped her arms around Celeste's waist, her hands fisting in her mother's dress and her face buried in her hair.
It was several moments before Belle pulled back again, golden eyes shining all the brighter through her tears. Celeste tucked wayward hairs behind her ears and wiped her cheeks, kissing her forehead like she really was just a child - which she still was, in many ways.
She steered the girl back into her room and onto the bed, sitting beside her so she could maintain the embrace. "Go ahead, darling," she murmured soothingly, still stroking her daughter's hair. "Tell me everything that hurts."
Belle leant sideways, tucking her head into Celeste's shoulder the way Erik had only recently rested against her knee. "Isaac only came to say hello, and to walk with me into town." Her voice quavered as she spoke, and her words were punctuated with sniffs. Celeste produced a handkerchief from her pocket, and she continued. "He was going to talk to you formally, maybe even when he walked me home later, but Papa -" She broke off with a small sob, and Celeste squeezed her shoulders.
Belle had inherited both Erik's fiery temper and Celeste's defensive fury, but in this moment, she was just a sad young girl, stuck between first love and heartbreak.
"Papa was so mean to him, and now he'll probably never want to see me again, because he's so hurt and angry and embarrassed." Belle hiccupped. "And he's the only boy I've ever liked here, and he's going away to Paris soon, so he'll forget me and I'll be left with no one."
"You'll never have no one," Celeste interjected, needing to at least reassure her daughter on that front. "You'll always have your family, even Matthieu - annoying as he may be at times." She glanced down and was relieved to see Belle's lips quirk. "And I'm sure Monsie- Isaac will still want to see you, if he really cares about you, and he wouldn't forget about you even if he went to the other side of the world.
"But how can I see him if Papa hates him -"
"Your father doesn't hate him. I'm sure he'll like Isaac once he gets to know him. Besides, he only reacted that way because he loves you - though I admit it's an odd way to show it. All he wants is to keep you safe and happy. In fact, he's gone to see Isaac now and set things right."
Belle sat up, her slightly bloodshot eyes widening. "What?"
"He went to talk to Isaac, to apologise and see whether they can get along." Celeste touched her daughter's arm. "Whether or not you end up marrying Isaac, we don't want to be the reason."
She gave a watery smile. "Would you really be happy if I married him?"
"Of course," Celeste assured her warmly. "You can marry Isaac, or anyone else, or no one at all - we'll be happy as long as you're happy. And we'll always be here for you, no matter what."
Belle's smile became brighter, and she leant forward to hug her mother again, though this time more from affection than for solace. They stayed there for a while, both a mother cradling her child and two women embracing, until they heard a light knock on the door and pulled apart.
Erik stood in the open doorway, his expression contrite. "I've been to see Isaac," he said quietly, and Celeste saw the pained look flash across his face as he took in Belle's tears, and the redness of her eyes and nose.
Belle stood, hurriedly wiping her cheeks. "And?"
"And he's a lovely young man." His face softened into a smile, and hers did the same. "I'd be proud to have him as a son-in-law, if that's what you choose."
"Thank you, Papa!" She beamed, all tears forgotten.
He nodded, fingers fidgeting with his cuffs. "Belle, I'm sorry -"
She cut him off with a tight hug, wrapping her arms around his middle and burrowing into his chest - Erik at least was still tall enough to hold his children like they were young again. "It's okay, Papa," she said softly.
He held her tightly back, looking up at Celeste in relief. She grinned back, relaxed that her family was calm and cohesive once again. He held out a hand to her, and she rose to join them, slipping under one of his arms and hugging both him and their daughter.
"Belle, are you doing alright?"
They all raised their heads at the sound of Matthieu's voice, and spotted him approaching down the corridor. He stopped when he saw the huddle: Celeste smiling, Erik relaxing, Belle tearful but happy. Celeste held out a hand as Erik had to her, her smile widening as she looked at her son. He sighed in resignation but moved wordlessly to join them, wrapping his arms around Belle and being enveloped by his parents.
They weren't a normal family, in so many ways, but they were together, and that was what counted.