Chapter 24: I Love You
The house was a storm of music that evening, as the sun set in the West, and the first stars of twilight started to dot the sky. There was not a corner of the house that was not touched by a torrent of violent and despairing emotion brought on by the music played on the grand piano in the parlor. In the kitchen, Madeline, the three children, and Isabelle were sitting down at the dinner table, staring at untouched plates of food.
Finally Isabelle could stand no more. She stood up, the chair scraping back on the wooden floor with a little shriek, and everyone else stood as well. Even Gerard climbed down from his chair and followed Isabelle down the short section of hallway leading to the open parlor door. As the other four crowded the doorway behind her, Isabelle stepped in a bit.
Erik had been playing ever since the moment he came home. He seemed completely lost in his music. There were odd stains across his cheeks as though he'd been crying. None of the family was ignorant to what tear stains looked like. Yet right now, he was not crying. His eyes were not even vaguely puffy to suggest that he ever had been.
"Erik!" Isabelle called over the music, her voice being drowned out by it. "Erik . . . your supper is getting cold!"
Her voice penetrated that time, and the music stopped abruptly. Erik's amber eyes lifted to stare at her across the room. They seemed fathomless, and saddened. It was something that Isabelle had never seen before in him. She'd known when he came home that something had been wrong. Yet she hadn't known it consumed him this much.
Erik stared at his family for a long moment, watching as they gazed on at him in concern. Even Gerard seemed to understand that something wasn't right. Madeline had one arm each about her daughters, hugging them close as they stared without comprehension towards their 'papa'. Slowly, he looked back down at his hands, which tingled as they rested on the ivory keys of his piano, now completely motionless as though all the energy had drained out of them.
"I'm not hungry tonight." He said quietly, amazed that his voice sounded so unconvincing. Usually, he could lie his way into Heaven with the tone of his voice. Tonight his heart wasn't into the lie. Although he was actually telling the truth, it wasn't as simple as not being hungry.
Isabelle looked to Madeline quietly, and the other woman nodded, escorting the children back into the kitchen. Isabelle then went about closing all of the doors leading out into the hallway so that they would have a bit of privacy. When she approached Erik on the piano bench, he did not look up. Yet he watched keenly as her elegant fingers came into view, covering his hand gently. He let her lift his hands away from the piano keys. He watched as she closed the lid.
"Tell me." She insisted gently, perching on the bench beside him. "Erik, you must tell me what's bothering you. This isn't about what happened last night. It couldn't be. You were in fine spirits this morning before you left for rehearsals. Did something happen?"
"Isabelle . . ." He whispered softly, shaking his head just a little bit. "Don't worry yourself on my account. It's something I have to work out on my own."
"Oh, don't you dare!" Isabelle grabbed his shoulder. "Don't you dare push me away now, Erik!"
"I'm not pushing you away, Isabelle." He promised. "It isn't that at all. Yet this is something I cannot burden you with."
"Burden me." She replied tartly. "There will be no secrets between us, my darling. Not if you love me."
He looked up at her quickly, turning and taking both of her shoulders in his hands. He stared into her eyes intently.
"I do love you." He vowed. "That is precisely why I must keep this to myself. I must figure out how to deal with this by myself. Please try and understand, Isabelle. If you knew what was running through my mind you would . . . you'd hate me."
"I could never hate you." She told him softly, staring up into his gaze. "Don't you understand that, Erik? I love you more than anything in this world. Whatever this is, let me help you overcome it. Please?"
"I can't!" He said, more fiercely than before. "I am sorry, my beloved, but I cannot! Only trust that I will overcome it. Trust me in that whatever I feel, it has nothing to do with what I feel for you and this family we have here."
"Of course I trust you." She sighed, looking away. "I know you love me, Erik. I know you love the children and that you care about Madeline. Yet I fear you think you are stronger than you actually are. If you try and overcome this on your own, and fail, what will happen to us?"
"Nothing at all." He promised, slowly pulling her into his arms. "I swear, my darling, nothing at all. And nothing shall happen to me."
He held her for a long time, his thoughts drifting back to Christine and the baby. Agonizing over the fact that she was going to have the Vicomte's child would be no help it letting him live out a joy-filled life with Isabelle. Perhaps nothing could cure his regret, his sorrow, or his jealousy. Yet he could bury it away. He could let it be a smaller part of him. He could let himself be wrapped within the joy he felt whenever Isabelle as so near to his side.
Looking down at her again, he reached up to gently stroke her cheek. She smiled at him, feeling his mood slowly dissipate into something brighter. Erik was getting a hold of his emotions enough to hide the terrible parts of them from her. There was no need to put her through such worry and agony because of his traitorous heart.
"Come . . ." He whispered finally, standing, and pulling her to her feet. Isabelle let him lead her to the far door, by the staircase at the front of the house. "Let me take you upstairs."
"Now?" She asked a bit astonished. "Erik, everyone is still awake. We haven't even had our supper."
"Did you care when we had not eaten breakfast or lunch during our honeymoon?" He chuckled softly. "Please, love. Come . . ."
Isabelle giggled gently, shaking her head at him as he silently opened the door. He began to lead her to the foot of the stairs, yet abruptly turned. He tugged sharply on her wrist so that she lost her balance and fell towards him. He slipped his free arm about her as she fell towards it, and then placed his other arm immediately under her legs so that he could lift her from her feet. Isabelle laughed aloud; covering her mouth quickly when she realized this caught the attention of those in the kitchen. Erik chuckled softly, carrying her fast up the stairs, covering her mouth with his own when her hand came away from her face.
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Lying with her hours later, Erik stroked Isabelle's long auburn hair, and settled gentle kisses around each little part of her face. There was not a single aspect of this woman that he did not love beyond all rationality. When he made love to her, everything he'd ever felt for any other woman was forgotten. Even the crush he'd had on Luciana when he was a teenager was completely annihilated by his adoration for Isabelle. She was half asleep as she lay in his arms now. Yet at each kiss she would coo with approval. She was still basking in the afterglow of their intimacy, and these moments were usually when she was the most beautiful. It was amazing he could stop making love to her for a moment when she looked like this. If it were possible, he would never stop.
"My love . . ." He sighed quietly, nestling his face against her hair at last. It was late at night now. They had been enjoying each other for hours. Fleur could be heard downstairs, tinkering on the piano as Madeline tried to talk her into going to bed. Gerard could be heard singing his own little made-up tune as he lay in bed, trying to go to sleep. Marguerite was somewhere in the house, though it couldn't be said where. Perhaps she was in the kitchen, working on the writing exercises he had given her some time ago. Madeline had been wise enough to keep the little girls downstairs. Gerard would be safe being brought so close to their intimacy. When he was in his room, he was usually oblivious to anything except for his own young thoughts. The noises now reaching them seemed to be a comforting addition to his relaxation and bliss.
"Erik . . ." Isabelle murmured, still half-asleep. "My love . . ."
"No, no." Erik soothed. "Don't. Go to sleep, sweetheart. Sleep. Dream."
She shifted against him a bit, the corner of her lips quirking into a little smile. Erik smiled broadly, and closed is eyes, rolling onto his back and pulling her on top of him. Even at this abrupt movement, she didn't even stir. Erik pulled a sheet up over them so that when their bodies cooled they would not turn cold from the air. Then, relaxed as he'd ever been before, more at ease than he could have ever hoped to be after such a day, he began to drift off to sleep, thinking only of his bride.
The house was a storm of music that evening, as the sun set in the West, and the first stars of twilight started to dot the sky. There was not a corner of the house that was not touched by a torrent of violent and despairing emotion brought on by the music played on the grand piano in the parlor. In the kitchen, Madeline, the three children, and Isabelle were sitting down at the dinner table, staring at untouched plates of food.
Finally Isabelle could stand no more. She stood up, the chair scraping back on the wooden floor with a little shriek, and everyone else stood as well. Even Gerard climbed down from his chair and followed Isabelle down the short section of hallway leading to the open parlor door. As the other four crowded the doorway behind her, Isabelle stepped in a bit.
Erik had been playing ever since the moment he came home. He seemed completely lost in his music. There were odd stains across his cheeks as though he'd been crying. None of the family was ignorant to what tear stains looked like. Yet right now, he was not crying. His eyes were not even vaguely puffy to suggest that he ever had been.
"Erik!" Isabelle called over the music, her voice being drowned out by it. "Erik . . . your supper is getting cold!"
Her voice penetrated that time, and the music stopped abruptly. Erik's amber eyes lifted to stare at her across the room. They seemed fathomless, and saddened. It was something that Isabelle had never seen before in him. She'd known when he came home that something had been wrong. Yet she hadn't known it consumed him this much.
Erik stared at his family for a long moment, watching as they gazed on at him in concern. Even Gerard seemed to understand that something wasn't right. Madeline had one arm each about her daughters, hugging them close as they stared without comprehension towards their 'papa'. Slowly, he looked back down at his hands, which tingled as they rested on the ivory keys of his piano, now completely motionless as though all the energy had drained out of them.
"I'm not hungry tonight." He said quietly, amazed that his voice sounded so unconvincing. Usually, he could lie his way into Heaven with the tone of his voice. Tonight his heart wasn't into the lie. Although he was actually telling the truth, it wasn't as simple as not being hungry.
Isabelle looked to Madeline quietly, and the other woman nodded, escorting the children back into the kitchen. Isabelle then went about closing all of the doors leading out into the hallway so that they would have a bit of privacy. When she approached Erik on the piano bench, he did not look up. Yet he watched keenly as her elegant fingers came into view, covering his hand gently. He let her lift his hands away from the piano keys. He watched as she closed the lid.
"Tell me." She insisted gently, perching on the bench beside him. "Erik, you must tell me what's bothering you. This isn't about what happened last night. It couldn't be. You were in fine spirits this morning before you left for rehearsals. Did something happen?"
"Isabelle . . ." He whispered softly, shaking his head just a little bit. "Don't worry yourself on my account. It's something I have to work out on my own."
"Oh, don't you dare!" Isabelle grabbed his shoulder. "Don't you dare push me away now, Erik!"
"I'm not pushing you away, Isabelle." He promised. "It isn't that at all. Yet this is something I cannot burden you with."
"Burden me." She replied tartly. "There will be no secrets between us, my darling. Not if you love me."
He looked up at her quickly, turning and taking both of her shoulders in his hands. He stared into her eyes intently.
"I do love you." He vowed. "That is precisely why I must keep this to myself. I must figure out how to deal with this by myself. Please try and understand, Isabelle. If you knew what was running through my mind you would . . . you'd hate me."
"I could never hate you." She told him softly, staring up into his gaze. "Don't you understand that, Erik? I love you more than anything in this world. Whatever this is, let me help you overcome it. Please?"
"I can't!" He said, more fiercely than before. "I am sorry, my beloved, but I cannot! Only trust that I will overcome it. Trust me in that whatever I feel, it has nothing to do with what I feel for you and this family we have here."
"Of course I trust you." She sighed, looking away. "I know you love me, Erik. I know you love the children and that you care about Madeline. Yet I fear you think you are stronger than you actually are. If you try and overcome this on your own, and fail, what will happen to us?"
"Nothing at all." He promised, slowly pulling her into his arms. "I swear, my darling, nothing at all. And nothing shall happen to me."
He held her for a long time, his thoughts drifting back to Christine and the baby. Agonizing over the fact that she was going to have the Vicomte's child would be no help it letting him live out a joy-filled life with Isabelle. Perhaps nothing could cure his regret, his sorrow, or his jealousy. Yet he could bury it away. He could let it be a smaller part of him. He could let himself be wrapped within the joy he felt whenever Isabelle as so near to his side.
Looking down at her again, he reached up to gently stroke her cheek. She smiled at him, feeling his mood slowly dissipate into something brighter. Erik was getting a hold of his emotions enough to hide the terrible parts of them from her. There was no need to put her through such worry and agony because of his traitorous heart.
"Come . . ." He whispered finally, standing, and pulling her to her feet. Isabelle let him lead her to the far door, by the staircase at the front of the house. "Let me take you upstairs."
"Now?" She asked a bit astonished. "Erik, everyone is still awake. We haven't even had our supper."
"Did you care when we had not eaten breakfast or lunch during our honeymoon?" He chuckled softly. "Please, love. Come . . ."
Isabelle giggled gently, shaking her head at him as he silently opened the door. He began to lead her to the foot of the stairs, yet abruptly turned. He tugged sharply on her wrist so that she lost her balance and fell towards him. He slipped his free arm about her as she fell towards it, and then placed his other arm immediately under her legs so that he could lift her from her feet. Isabelle laughed aloud; covering her mouth quickly when she realized this caught the attention of those in the kitchen. Erik chuckled softly, carrying her fast up the stairs, covering her mouth with his own when her hand came away from her face.
//////////////////---------------------///////////////////////////////
Lying with her hours later, Erik stroked Isabelle's long auburn hair, and settled gentle kisses around each little part of her face. There was not a single aspect of this woman that he did not love beyond all rationality. When he made love to her, everything he'd ever felt for any other woman was forgotten. Even the crush he'd had on Luciana when he was a teenager was completely annihilated by his adoration for Isabelle. She was half asleep as she lay in his arms now. Yet at each kiss she would coo with approval. She was still basking in the afterglow of their intimacy, and these moments were usually when she was the most beautiful. It was amazing he could stop making love to her for a moment when she looked like this. If it were possible, he would never stop.
"My love . . ." He sighed quietly, nestling his face against her hair at last. It was late at night now. They had been enjoying each other for hours. Fleur could be heard downstairs, tinkering on the piano as Madeline tried to talk her into going to bed. Gerard could be heard singing his own little made-up tune as he lay in bed, trying to go to sleep. Marguerite was somewhere in the house, though it couldn't be said where. Perhaps she was in the kitchen, working on the writing exercises he had given her some time ago. Madeline had been wise enough to keep the little girls downstairs. Gerard would be safe being brought so close to their intimacy. When he was in his room, he was usually oblivious to anything except for his own young thoughts. The noises now reaching them seemed to be a comforting addition to his relaxation and bliss.
"Erik . . ." Isabelle murmured, still half-asleep. "My love . . ."
"No, no." Erik soothed. "Don't. Go to sleep, sweetheart. Sleep. Dream."
She shifted against him a bit, the corner of her lips quirking into a little smile. Erik smiled broadly, and closed is eyes, rolling onto his back and pulling her on top of him. Even at this abrupt movement, she didn't even stir. Erik pulled a sheet up over them so that when their bodies cooled they would not turn cold from the air. Then, relaxed as he'd ever been before, more at ease than he could have ever hoped to be after such a day, he began to drift off to sleep, thinking only of his bride.
