She leaned back on the trunk of the olive tree, felt the familiar knots of wood pressing her back.

She let herself simply hear.

The music he played was his own…a complex piece, constantly changing as he improvised. It was low and rich with undercurrents of gentleness and passion.

And she realized what made it so powerful and beautiful. It was as if she were listening to his soul.

She opened her eyes for a moment and watched him play. His own eyes were closed as he played, completely absorbed in his music.

He gives himself to each and every note…his music conceals nothing…there is no mask when he composes, when he plays.

But it was almost too soon that the music stopped and she watched as he carefully replaced the violin in its worn case.

He sat down beside her, his hand reaching for hers almost instinctively now. He looked around the secluded grove, almost ill at ease in brightness of the late afternoon light.

"Erik," she said, resting her head on his shoulder, her free hand on his knee, "be happy here with me."

"I've often doubted that I even had the ability to be happy. You have proven otherwise."

There were two things that needed to be said. This was the place for both.

"Erik, the night we met…I dreamed of you. That you were with me here."

"Helene, I was ready to kill you that day," he said, his hand tracing her neck as he remembered wrapping that damned rope around her throat.

"But that night, I dreamed that I was here in this grove. A man was with me…he made love to me," she said, blushing at the memory of that restless night, "at, first, I thought it was Theo. But it wasn't…it was you. I never imagined…I never thought it could be true."

She let go of his hand and held her arms open to him.

"Erik, I want you to…I want you to come to me here and now."

Her shawl slipped from her shoulders as he kissed her, pushing her down beneath him.

The air was filled with the sweet, spicy scent of the wild oregano and thyme as it was crushed beneath their bodies.

She braced her hands against his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart as he pushed her skirt and petticoats up past her knees.

As he eased into her slowly, he pushed her windblown hair back from her face and her eyes met his.

This woman in his arms was Helene de Chagny…the widow of a Sicilian count…the woman he loved…the woman who loved him willingly and completely…his wife.

He let his hands explore her face as if for the first time, feeling the softness of her skin against his fingertips.

He whispered her name as he took her, his voice almost lost amid the rustling of the gray-green olive leaves, the call of shepherds rising from the valley below.

"Helene...my Helene."

-----------------------

The sun was just setting beyond the mountain, the bright rays mingling with the deeper glow within the crater.

The earth was growing cool beneath them, but neither Helene nor Erik was willing to move, to break from the comfort of their embrace.

He was leaning back against the olive tree, Helene resting against him.

Only once did she stir in his arms. His white shirt was wrinkled, unbuttoned and she turned to press a soft kiss on his bare skin.

"Flesh of my flesh," she murmured, still breathless and dazed.

Nothing had been held back, there had been no fear of loss, no fear than this would be the last time.

The surrender had been mutual and complete.

"Helene," he said, at last, "we should go back to the house."

He let her go slowly and reluctantly. She winced a little as he helped her to her feet.

They did their best to set their clothing straight. He fastened the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons of her dress, shaking the dust and leaves from her shawl,

And it seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to help him knot his black silk cravat.

He bent to pick up his violin case, but she caught his shoulder.

"There is one thing I have to tell you. I want to say it here."

She pulled the shawl tighter against the increasing chill of the evening and looked up at him. The branches cast a shadow on him so that she could only see the ravaged side of his face.

She let her hand move down his arm to his wrist.

"Erik, I am going to have a child. I didn't know until I left you…until it was too late to go back to you. I swore I would find a way to tell you one day."

"A child? A child," he said in disbelief.

She felt him tense, saw a moment of amazement turn to uncertainty and heard his voice hoarse with fear.

"Helene, what if…"

She laid her fingers on his lips to silence him. Then she reached up, masking the unmarred side of his face with her hand.

"Hush, Erik. We are going to have a child."

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THE END

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