a/n I'm soooo sorry this took so long, as I always am. I've had a ton of stuff to do—my English class requires me to go to the library about three times a week to pump out the three rough drafts before the final draft. Good times.

CHAPTER 4—LET HER MIND WANDER

When Christine woke early the next morning to be awake for mass, she was slightly surprised to see Isabella when she walked into the kitchen. "Isabella?"

Looking up from her coffee, Isabella smiled slightly. "Good morning, Christine," she said. "How are you this morning?"

"Fine," she said, sitting down on a stool and pouring a steaming cup from the carafe on the counter. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I thought I'd go to mass with all of you today," the blonde girl said. "I… I'd rather not go with my parents this morning. They were odd the whole way home last night and I heard them shouting last night. I couldn't tell what it was about, though," she added.

Christine set her cup down, staring out the window at the stables. "They were shouting?"

She saw Isabella nod from the corner of her eye. "Maybe it's just mother," she said. "She's been acting odd this week. I came home from rehearsal on Tuesday and she was crying. She would not tell me what the matter was."

Nodding, Christine crossed the kitchen to sit across from Isabella. "Did your father say anything about…" Christine paused. "She was very upset; did he seem worried about her?"

"Of course," said Isabella, looking surprised that Christine should ask this. "He kept saying he was sorry."

"Sorry for her, or for something he did?"

"For her, I'd imagine," Isabella said. "He'd die before he did anything to upset her that much."

Christine swallowed a bit more tea before she stood up again. Forcing a smile for the young woman, she said, "I think it would be lovely if you joined us for mass. I know Gustave would love to have you, and so would the rest of us. If you'll excuse me, I need to dress."

Turning, Christine rushed from the kitchen. She had hardly set foot on the stairs when there was a knock on the enormous front door. Christine paused while the butler opened the door and grimaced when she heard the voice of her first husband.

"I do believe the Countess is still abed, sir," said the butler, but Christine turned back to look at him.

"No, I'm here," she said. "Show Viscomte de Chagny to the sitting room—I'll be down in a bit. Offer him coffee as well, but make sure Isabella doesn't see him." She said the last part softly so that Raoul would not hear—the last thing he needed right now was to have his daughter trying to find out what was wrong.

Rushing back up the stairs to her bedroom, Christine hurriedly slipped from her nightgown and into a blue Greek dress that did not require a corset. She paused briefly at the bedside to gaze down at her sleeping husband. His mask was off and his hair was ruffled from sleep. Deep breaths escaped from his slightly parted lips, and Christine leaned down to touch her own lips to his. He shifted slightly and his eyes peaked open. "Hello."

"Hi." Christine reached up a hand to push back the hair that hung in his eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Early." Christine kissed his forehead. "Go back to sleep."

"When are you leaving?"

"In a few hours." Straightening, Christine mussed his hair a bit more. "You should come with."

Stretching, Erik peered up out of her through green eyes that were clouded by sleep. "Why?"

"Because you never attend mass with us, and I have a feeling that we're going to need a great deal of prayer this week." Dropping another kiss on his marred cheek, Christine turned and walked from the room, pulling on slippers as she went. She arrived at the sitting room and glanced at herself in the mirror before she walked in.

Sleep lines surrounded her brown eyes and there were evident strands of gray mixed into her hair. She ran her fingers through it and rubbed her fingers across her teeth before stepping inside to have a conversation she really did not want to have.

Raoul was sitting on the love seat with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. He reeked of smoke and whisky, and Christine frowned. "Are you drunk?"

"No." Raoul's eyes opened. Christine was not surprised to see that they were bloodshot. "Not anymore."

"So that's how you remedy your mistakes," she said darkly. "Drown them in a bottle."

"Only last night," he said. "Sonia's angry with me."

"She should have known better than to marry a man who cheats and lies."

"Like you and Erik did, you mean."

No matter what he said, he was still drunk. Christine had seen Erik and Nadir intoxicated several times and knew that the slurring of Raoul's words had nothing to do with his apparent exhaustion. "I did not feel obligated to marry Erik," she said softly. "You only stayed with Sonia for Bella—you know that."

"So what if I did?" Raoul stretched his legs in front of him and peered at Christine. "You didn't want to be married any more than I did. You fucked Erik Dussek the night before we were married."

Christine winced. She had never heard him speak with such vulgarity. "I'm not the one who spent our entire honeymoon in whorehouses!" Christine said angrily. "I can't help it if you never learned any lessons from our marriage. It failed because we were unfaithful to each other and you haven't learned anything. You keep sleeping with pretty young things and expect Sonia to forgive you."

"You think your marriage is perfect?" Raoul said in a soft, dangerous voice. "Why don't you ask Erik what all he got up to when he went to Madrid two years ago? Does he know what you were doing while he was away?"

A sharp pang struck Christine's chest. "Stop it, Raoul."

"Oh, yes, perfect Erik," he said, bitterly. "Perfect brother, perfect Count, perfect father, perfect husband. Isn't that right, Christine? He's the perfect husband, isn't he?" He laughed at the look on her face. Taping her foot with his cane, he glared at her. "Don't tell me how to run my marriage."

"Don't make love to women in the same place you lay your wife!" she shouted. "I could have forgiven you, Raoul. I would have let it go, but no. You brought her to our house, into our bed! Our bed, Raoul! And now you have the nerve to accuse my husband of being false to me? How dare you!"

Raoul's face fell. He looked away for a moment and when he looked back Christine could see that her outburst had sobered him considerably. She heaved a sigh and poured a cup of coffee. "Here."

He took the cup from her and took a sip. "Thank you," he said softly. "And I'm sorry."

Christine was quiet for a long time as tears flowed down her cheeks and memories streamed through her mind.

"I don't care if you come back at all…"

Raoul's face smiled at her across the bed. "Good morning."

"You've never loved me at all, have you…"

"Good morning."

"I hate you…"

"When's he coming back?"

"I hate you… I love you…"

"Next week."

"Go. You'll miss your train…"

"Does she know where you are?"

"We'll speak more when I return…"

"No. She never does, though."

"I love you…"

The memories were bitter and still fresh and Christine had damned herself since the day she had left the house, leaving the children under the charge of Eva. Both of them agreed that it had been a mistake. But that didn't mean it hadn't happened.

Raoul managed to find his feet and leaned heavily on his cane. "I'm sorry, Christine," he said softly. He left.

Christine sat for a long time, not noticing that someone else was in the room with her. When she looked up, she found herself staring into the green eyes of her oldest child. She felt tears running down her face as Gustave watched her over his steaming cup of coffee.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

Christine forced a smile onto her face. "Of course I am, darling!" She stood and began to straighten the carafe and the coffee cups. Her hands were shaking and Gustave took the cup from her. Grasping the edge of the table, Christine began to sob. She slumped to the floor, still clutching Gustave's hand, and he knelt next to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her to him.

She knew when he spoke that he knew—had always known. "It's alright," he said gently. "Everything will be fine, mother."

"Bella," she choked. "Bella's—she's in the kitchen."

"I know." Gustave's shoulders tensed suddenly, and Christine looked up to see Erik standing in the door. His face was undecipherable as he waved his hand at Gustave. "Isabella's outside. I do believe she knows something she shouldn't."

Gustave rose and walked past his father to the open door. Erik reached behind him to pull it shut. He stepped over to Christine and pulled her to her feet. When she was steady, he poured himself coffee and said, "I heard your conversation."

"With Gustave?"

"With de Chagny."

Christine squeezed her eyes shut. "I… I don't know what to say to you."

Erik gazed out of the window. "I suppose…" He inhaled sharply and Christine realized with a jolt that he was close to tears. "I suppose I deserved it. I was rather horrible to you before I left."

"That's no excuse," Christine murmured, reaching for his hand. "We were terrible to each other. And I was pregnant and angry."

Pulling her toward him, Erik rested his chin on her head. "I love you more now than I did the day I married you," he said softly. "And I love you more after what happened two years ago."

"I love you, too," Christine said softly.

"Perhaps we should all sleep in today."

"Perhaps."

a/n Don't worry, all will be well. Again, I'm soooooo sorry this took so long. English sucks. At least my boyfriend's nice to me. Kudos to anyone that feels like reviewing this!