That night I did everything in my power to make sure Erik felt miserable. I refused to allow him to seep on the bed with me. I rolled him off the bed and with a loud thud he fell to the floor. He only moaned but didn't dare to argue with me. I rarely have a temper, but he knows that on the rare occasions that I do that he would be wise to keep his distance. Although I had a snarl on my face I admired his bare back that peaked over the sheets I had thrown at him. Deep down all I wanted to do was send him back up to me and cuddle, but I am too stubborn to risk not fully proving my point.

When I woke up and was trying to remember what had happened last night my anger disappeared. Erik was no longer on the floor or anywhere in sight. He had placed the other pillow back in its correct position and had laid the sheet he used on top of me. On the other pillow was a single red rose with a black ribbon tied delicately in a bow over one of the thorns. Next to it was a mouth-dropping sketch of me. It was so detailed I could even make out each individual strand of hair. In the sketch I was peacefully settled on my right side. A wide grin was spread on my face and my eyes were closed. My left hand clung to the pillow as if I was feeling it. The most obvious detail was my comfort. I had never seen an emotion so obviously expressed in such a small sketch. At the bottom were the words, "every rose has its thorns." He was mocking me. Yet, he was stating that my attitude last night was a thorn, something that left a wound and had caused pain. The gesture immensely touched my heart. Guilt circled through my body.

He did have every right to be mad at Raoul. After all, he did try to organize his murder. I had been too blinded by anger to consider his point of view. I flung the sheets from me and raced out of the room. I owed him a sincere apology.

I looked in every single room. He wasn't in a single one. I paused for a moment being careful not to make a sound. I spun around to see if he was behind me. He was nowhere to be seen. I outstretched both my arms and swirled around when I hit him from behind me off guard he groaned and fell backwards.

"Oh I'm sooo sorry," I apologized trying to help him up. He shook his head and refused to allow me to pull him up.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak around me like that?" I commented shaking my head. As he stood up my eyes followed him. My head slightly tilted back so that I could see his face. He lowered his eyebrows in annoyance while rubbing the muscle I had stricken.

"Well I was trying to say before that perhaps I was a bit too harsh with you last night." I said trying to sound mature, but his face was just too priceless. I couldn't help but burst out laughing. He stared at me in disbelief. He didn't find the circumstance at all funny. I took in a deep breath to try and calm myself and stared into his eyes. They were a light shade of blue this morning. I admired the way his top lip was placed so softly upon the lower. He realized the change in my eyes and took a step backwards. He blinked slowly and closed his eyes for a moment. His lips parted for a moment to draw in a breath, but once he had received air his mouth was still ajar. I softly placed a hand on his scorned cheek and drew myself into his chest. He slid a hand through my hair and softly nudged my head towards his face. He strained his head down so that I could reach it. I couldn't help but smirk. I grabbed both sides of his face and slowly kissed his bottom lip allowing my tongue to brush it occasionally. I could feel the muscles in his chest rise and fall against my body. Our bodies moved together in a dance-like motion for quite some time. We were interrupted by Rebecca's cries I kissed him once more before striding off to the nursery. My lips began to grow dry from all the moisture.

"Rebecca sweetie, what is it? Do you need to be fed?" I asked walking towards the crib.

"No I want daddy's stories!" she shouted.

"Daddy will tell you a story when it's nighttime." I promised her.

"No, I want it now." She moaned beginning to fake cry. Just like her father, she will stop at nothing to get her way. I had pitied her perhaps too long. All her special treatment has gone to her head.

I didn't take the time to notice that her right index finger was twitching up and down.