A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews :) I am open to any suggestions on how to improve my writing; although the story is already completed and I have little intention of changing it, I will keep any criticisms in mind for my next piece. On with the chap.

Chapter Ten

Oh, Christine.

We have finished our meal. You've a content smile on you lips, seeming pleased with yourself for cooking your husband dinner for the first time.

"Tired, my sweet?"

"No. . . not quite yet."

"Oh?" I am surprised, as it has grown a bit late, what with our slight detour in the drawing room, prior to dinner.

"Yes. . . Tell me a story?"

"Certainly," I say, rising from the table. "Come along."

You make to follow me, but then seem to remember something. "Oh, but I must clean up first. That is what a good wife does. . ." You begin to clear the plates.

"Yes, of course," I reply with a slight smile, before turning and making my way to the drawing room.

Soon enough, you join me, and to my surprise, instead of kneeling down beside me, you take a seat on my very lap.

"Christine. . .?" I ask you confusedly.

"What?" you asked, slightly impatient.

"What are you doing?"

"Sitting down," you reply, as if it were the most natural thing on earth to take a seat with me. "Am I too heavy?"

"No," I exclaim quickly, as you are hardly a feather on my lap. "I just. . . never mind. . ."

Doing my best to erase this moment of awkwardness, I launch in on my favorite story, the tale of the nightingale and the white rose.

You close your eyes, and appear to truly be thinking about my words. To my great surprise, I find your hand holding mine when I reach the point in the story where the nightingale courts the rose, but the rose refuses.

When I reach the climax of the tale, the rose accepting the nightingale, you lace your soft, slender fingers with my skeletal ones and give my hand a gentle squeeze.

I try not to think too much of your actions.

"I knew you would select that one," you say warmly, once I am finished.

Staring at our joined hands, I reply, "Yes. . . a favorite of mine. . . You should be off to bed now, dear — I mean, darling."

You smile, and press a gentle kiss to my hand.

Oh, but do I deserve such affection from you, a true angel?

"Yes, I suppose so. . . Goodnight, Erik," you whisper, rising from my lap.

I stare at you as you exit the room. You seem to have grown up, Christine. You are hardly a little girl any longer, and when you told me you were ready to accept the responsibilities of being a wife, you did not lie.

Once I am certain you are in bed, I rise from the chair and retire to my bedroom, though I do not rest. Instead, I begin to re-read the papers you gave me, for at least the fifth time.