A/N: A quick update, lots of fluff. Reviews are delightful things!


Chapter VI: Valentines

Happy Valentine's, darling, Christian whispered, leaning over to kiss Satine awake. Her eyes flickered for a moment, and then she smiled sleepily, reaching her arms about him. The light fell sweetly through the ruffled muslin curtains Margaret and Satine had made in the winter, and the air smelled fresh from the days of rain that had preceded the beauty of early spring. Christian's hair fell over his forehead, and she reached up and idly brushed it off.

How do you feel? Christian asked after a moment. He propped his chin up with his hands as he watched her. In his soft blue eyes was an expression of pure tenderness. He knew Satine dreaded these long months before the baby was born, and tried to imagine if he was in her place. He didn't know if he could take swollen ankles and aching back that Satine tolerated with only a few good cries. He knew from experience that this was the hardest part of her pregnancy, and tried to make things easy for her. She sighed softly, her hand slipping down to her enlarged stomach.

All right, she said slowly, feeling the baby kick against her. She caressed her stomach fondly, imagining the small girl or boy she would soon hold in her arms. What do you think, Christian?

About what? he replied, fluffing up a pillow so she could sit up.

Boy or girl? Christian straightened up and paused, pondering the idea. He shrugged and continued to fix the sheets around her.

I don't know, he said, placing her afghan around her shoulders. I don't think we have much choice in the matter. Satine snuggled closer to the crocheted flowers and looked reproachfully up at him.

You are not helpful.

I know, Christian sighed, looking as though he was enjoying himself hugely. I try. Satine slapped at his arm playfully and let her eyes sparkle into his.

Christian, we haven't even begun to think about names.

I think we did enough of that last time, Christian groaned, easing himself into a chair nearby and propping his feet up on the bed. Remember those lists?

And the baby clothes? Satine added, her mouth twitching. During the nine months of carrying Celeste, she and Christian had prepared enough names, garments, and toys for at least two children-- three if the next one wasn't quite as messy as the first. Celeste reigned over her nursery and the house like the little princess she was, and Satine wouldn't be in the least surprised if her daughter grew up to be as fashion-concious as herself.

I do, Christian said dryly. I don't see why we have to do anything for this one.

Satine began, then changed her mind. At any rate, what do you think?

I always liked the name Ethan, Christian suggested doubtfully, watching her reaction closely. The varying moods that related to baby names always came out on Satine's face beautifully. She didn't fail this time. A look of horror creeped across her face, but Christian guessed that she was only playing with him.

she said firmly. Her slim fingers tapped his wrist absently while she spoke. Ethan Everett? Really, Christian, where do you come up with these things?

I think I read a book about an Ethan once, Christian said reflectively. Satine sighed deeply and fell back onto her nest of pillows. Her hand settled somewhere near her forehead in a dramatic pose.

To think that the name of our child is dependent solely on your reading material.

You love it, Christian said rather rudely as he pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. Satine turned her head and raised an eyebrow at him. He caught her glance and brushed his hand across hers.

I love you, she whispered. She tightened her grasp on his hand. A blot of ink marred the smooth skin of his thumb, and she ran her fingers over it. He had the hands of a poet, and she adored them. She adored him.

And I you, Christian responded, touching her cheek in a brief caress before standing. Speaking of which, I have something for you. He turned to go rummage in his drawer while Satine waited with a slight smile on her face. Still as starry-eyed as he was when he'd first sang to her, and she'd give anything to keep him that way. He'd restored most of her innocence to her with his love, and the child they'd made together. Christian turned back around with a small cream-coloured box in his hands. Satine raised a quizzical eyebrow as he sat down beside her, his arm tucked snugly around her. She leaned her head against his shoulder, taking in the flow of his breath and the tender, spicy scent of him.

Christian said, tossing the lid aside and revealing the contents. It's a little late, he added, his lips quirking in a smile. But I thought it might be nice to have along the gold ring you like so much. Satine's gaze dropped from the box and down to her wedding band-- a simple, broad circlet of gold and back up at the ring in the midst of velvet.

she whispered, her eyes fixed on the milk and fire of the opal that was nestled around its gold setting. She reached out and turned it in the light. She drank in the way it shimmered in the light, the beauty reaching into her soul as she slipped it on her ring finger. She squeezed his hand again, trusting her thanks to shine through her eyes. Men had always given her jewelry, but she never remembered any of those flamboyant treasures becoming a part of her like the things Christian gave her had. He liked to give her gems, poetry, and flowers as if he was still trying to win her heart. Satine kissed him lightly on the lips, and he responded softly, brushing his hand across her cheek as he kissed her back. She shifted her weight to embrace him, and they sat together like that for a long moment, absorbed in loving each other.

In the hall by the bedroom, Margaret adjusted the delicate ringlets of her hair and smoothed the bodice of her gown. Paul had hinted very darkly that he would call today, and Margaret hoped so very much to see him. Her smile blossomed on her face as she lowered her dusky eyelashes. Margaret knew she was in a fair way to lose her heart to the young man, and she thrilled to the consecrated touch of first love.

For the past few weeks, Paul had been a familiar site in the dainty parlor, and Satine was more than pleased by his appearance. He was intelligent, handsome, well-read, and romantic-- in short, a proper husband for Margaret. But there was a certain strange air that passed over him at times that Satine did not like. Occasionally his dark eyes would shift in a manner that troubled her. She knew men well, and she knew enough to not be completely convinced. But Margaret's trusting sweetness would lend itself well to any man, and Satine knew, beyond a doubt, that Paul was of a higher class than most of the young men that populated the small town. For one thing, he had never tried to flirt with Satine, and that was impressive enough in itself. The stammers and callow remarks of the young men only amused Christian, but Satine was irritated by their attempts. Was a woman never safe from unwanted attention? She'd been able to understand it at the Moulin Rouge, where her face and dress simply begged for attention, but shouldn't a respectable woman, someone's wife, be safe from that? Paul's unfailing politeness towards Satine softened any reserve she might have held against him, and Margaret gloried in knowing that her beloved sister approved the match. Christian liked him as well, and even went so far to remark that no one would object to friends like Paul-- a tacit agreement to his courtship of Margaret.

Margaret finished fussing with her appearance just as Christian appeared in the hallway, followed by Satine. The young girl glanced over at her brother, who tugged lightly on his wife's hand to get her to follow, and her smile came out in its entireity. She and Christian had always been close, but it wasn't until his marriage that she'd been truly able to understand what Christian had been talking about when he'd angered their father. Love, Christian had said, was the greatest thing this world held. And it was.

Morning, Margaret, Satine called out as she followed Christian to the breakfast table. You look nice, dear. It's a good thing to look lovely in the mornings, you know. Might be a special guest for breakfast. She tried to contain a mischevious grin, but it broke out over her lovely face. A very special guest.

Thank you, Margaret replied softly, watching her reflection frown pensively. After a moment, she stopped and stared at the two of them as Satine's words sank in. Satine-- are you up to something? They laughed, sending bright tones of merriment throught the house, and Margaret's eyes opened wide. Flushing, she ran up behind Christian, feeling her stomach contract in hopeful anticipation.

She wasn't disappointed. Paul already sat there, and the place next to him was graced by the presence of a long box. He rose as they entered, Satine serenely placed on Christian's arm as if they hadn't been giggling like schoolchildren the moment before. She really was a wonderful actress, Christian reflected bemusedly as he pulled out a chair for her. Satine gave him a reproachful look as he sat down that suggested he'd better not disturb her facade or he'd hear of it later.

Morning, Mademoiselle Margaret, Paul said. He helped her to the chair next to him, and Margaret was suddenly very thankful she'd taken the time to curl her hair and put on her ivory morning gown. His piercing gaze cut through to her soul, and she flushed.

Good morning, she said faintly. She could have sworn that she heard Satine give a little laugh, but as her eyes swung over to meet her sister, they only met puzzled innocence. Oh-- what's this? Margaret's hand lingered over the red satin ribbon that held the box together.

It's for you, Paul said, a trace of shyness entering his voice. The look on his face was completely and utterly charming. Margaret was promptly reduced to a fluttering young girl. that is, one very thankful that she'd been trained to keep an English demeanour at all times. I hope you like them, he added as she slid the cover off. Margaret was unable to keep her smile away when she saw the graceful arrangement of roses and ferns that lay within.

Oh, Paul! she breathed. They're beautiful. Paul only smiled in return, and Satine felt the warm pressure of her husband's hand on hers as they watched the younger couple together. It was sweet, Satine reflected as she took a sip of tea. Not up to the ideal of singing a duet on top of an elephant, but one couldn't have everything. From the look on Christian's face, he was thinking the exact same thing.

Later that afternoon, Margaret stood in the doorway to the parlor with her hat and parsol. Chrstian glanced up from his book to eye her.

he asked idly, noting her dreamy expression. Margaret nodded and blushed prettily.

I'll be back in time for supper. We're going with a few other people to the brook and then perhaps around the walnut grove.

That's fine, Christian said absently, waving a hand towards the door. Enjoy yourselves. Margaret nodded quickly and ran out the front door, already waving to Paul.

Makes you feel old, doesn't it? Satine asked playfully, her gaze rising from her own book to catch Christian's.

Christian replied indignantly. She caught the glimpse of mirth in his eyes, and deliberatly exaggerated her disbelieving expression as he protested. I'm not old!

Certainly, dear, Satine replied, carefully cultivating a strain of amused patience for her voice. As she expected, Christian's jaw dropped and his arms immediately found their way around her. Satine smiled widely as she broke away from a passionate kiss.

Well. . . she began doubtfully, only to be interrupted by another kiss. Perhaps not. . .yet.