a/n For this chapter, I will be listening to the wonderful music of John Williams. For the last chapter, I was on a high of The Last 5 Years. Anyway, I like Pertie's idea—I'm wanting a cigarette so I'm going to write instead. Thanks babe!

CHAPTER 6—NO MORE GAZING ACROSS THE WASTED YEARS

It had been a relatively peaceful afternoon—the smallest children were downstairs and Gustave had allowed her to rest in his room. None of them had attended mass that morning. Upon finding out exactly why her mother was angry at her father was bad enough. It had been worse when she had been about to go downstairs to find Gustave and heard a conversation between Christine and her mother instead. She had turned back around and gone back to Gustave's room where she had seated herself on the bed again, stunned at what she had heard.

Now she was lying under the thick blue comforter, head resting on the feather pillows, not trying to sleep but thinking instead. She had always known that she was the reason her parents were married—her father had only gone back to her mother upon finding that she was pregnant. She had found that out during one of their many fights.

Isabella was jolted from her thoughts by a knock on the door.

"Come in."

The door opened and Erik walked in. He gave her a small smile and gestured to the chair next to the bed. "Would you mind if I sat?"

"Go ahead," she said, forcing herself to smile.

He sat and they were silent for several minutes, both of them thinking their thoughts. After several minutes, Isabella blurted, "Does Gustave know?"

Erik raised his eyebrows. "Know what?"

"About… about everything."

Erik sighed and rested his chin atop steepled hands. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I hope to God that he doesn't." He frowned slightly. "How do you know?"

A bitter smile crossed Isabella's face. "I heard Christine and my mother talking." She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. "I'm scared, Erik."

"Scared of what?"

"Marriage." She sighed heavily as she tried to keep from crying. "Marriage and cheating and love and… everything."

A gentle hand covered hers, which was resting at her side. "You needn't worry about a thing, child," he said gently. "Not all marriages have problems like these. And even if they do, that's life—you accept it, you forgive, you move on."

"Do you forgive Christine?"

"Yes."

Confusion clouded her brain. "Why? She was false to you." Opening her eyes again, she rolled her head to the side to look at Erik.

His face was thoughtful, as if something had just occurred to him. "I love her." He gave a small laugh. "It sounds so simple—foolish, even. But it's the truth. I love her that much. I love her more now than I did when I married her, and I didn't think that was possible. It's been nearly eighteen years with her, and I'm only just starting to realize how much I can love."

Isabella rolled back onto her side. It was times like this, when they were open and frank with each other, that Erik felt more like a father to her instead of just Gustave's father. "How did you know that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Christine?"

A far away look crossed over Erik's face. "I thought I had lost her and by the time I found her again I had adjusted to life without her. I was just beginning to think that I could go on—find something else, someone else, to occupy my time. Then I saw her that dayon the stairs…" His eyes had lost their focus and he stared wistfully off into space. "She was so beautiful. She had this look on her face as if she thought she was asleep and would wake up any second. Then she passed out and I carried her up to her bedroom and when she woke, I took her home. She fell off the horse when we got back," he said, laughing. "She looked so beautiful and I couldn't help but kiss her. I left and the entire way back to Eva's and all through the night I could not stop thinking about her. I knew I loved her, I just didn't know how much. Then, the night before her wedding, I was lying awake and I realized that I was going to lose her in the morning. That was when I knew that I was bound to be miserable without her. I didn't ask her to stay, though—I couldn't. I knew she would be safer with your father, and so I let her go. I snuck off to watch her wedding and I cried like a small child the entire time."

Isabella was watching him now with a wistful look on his face. "What happened to them?"

Erik smiled slightly, reaching out a hand to run it over her blonde hair. "He met your mother and Christine came back to me."

"And they had me, so he had to stay."

"He didn't have to stay, Bella," he said gently. "He could very easily have stayed with Christine and left you and your mother on your own. But he left Christine because he loved you both—he still does."

"Sometimes I don't think he loves my mother." Isabella rolled onto her back again. "I know he love me, but sometimes I think that's the only reason he stayed with me."

"That may have been why he went back in the beginning. But he stayed because he fell in love."

"How do you know?"

A small smile crossed Erik's face again. "A few years ago I would have asked myself that same question. But one night, when you were on stage, I happened to glance across at their box and they were sitting together like Christine and I do—whispering and giggling and staring down on you with such love. Then he turned to her and kissed her hand and told her that he loved her." Taking her hand in his, Erik leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "After everything they've been through and all the lies they've told each other, they still love one another." He let go of her hand and tucked the comforter more securely under her chin. "You should try to sleep—you look exhausted."

Isabella smiled and closed her eyes, falling asleep before Erik had shut the door behind him

The sun had just begun setting before Isabella woke and Sonia took her home. Now, Christine sat in the window seat of the music room, leaning her head against the frame while her oldest nephew caressed the keys of the grand Steinway in the middle of the room. She was glad to hear him play—his talent rivaled even Erik, who himself said that, with more practice, Jean could someday be better than he.

Today, Jean was playing beautiful music from one of Erik's seldom touched Romantic period books. "To Spring" had always been one of Christine's favorites, and Jean was playing it for her now. She could feel herself falling asleep as Jean softly played the beautiful chords that made up the song, and the next thing she knew a small hand was tugging on hers. She opened her eyes to see that the window was now dark and she had been covered with an afghan from the chair. Angelique was at her side, pulling her hand, saying, "Mama, it's time for supper!"

Christine ran a hand over her eyes before smiling down at her child. "Alright, love, I'll be there in a moment. Just give me a few minutes to get woken up."

Satisfied that she had done her job, Angelique flounced from the room. Christine looked around. Jean was gone—the music was back on the shelf. The room was lit by a single lamp that had been lit on the table next to the door, which opened to reveal her husband. Smiling, he crossed the room, sitting next to her. She leaned her head against his firm shoulder, feeling for the millionth time in her life that she had found the one safe haven in the world in this man. His arms wrapped around her and for several long moments, neither of them spoke. After a minute or so, he said, "Long day today."

She nodded, not wanting to talk about it. He seemed to have other ideas, though.

"I spoke with Bella."

"Really."

Erik rested his chin atop her head. "She's a wonderful girl."

Against her better thoughts, Christine asked, "Did she know?"

"Yes." Erik brushed his lips across her forehead. "She said she heard you talking to Sonia."

Christine groaned and leaned against Erik. "Everything's such a mess," she said sorrowfully, "and I don't know how to fix it." The words sounded like they were coming from a child and Christine longed for nothing more than a long vacation from everything that had come crashing down in the last twenty-four hours.

"Don't worry," Erik said. "It'll fix itself. Eventually," he added, as an afterthought.

Giggling, Christine leaned back to look at him. There were bags under his eyes and his hair was slightly unkempt, but his green eyes shone bright with love and she pulled his face down to hers, kissing him deeply. He moaned and pulled away. "I'm supposed to be getting you for dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"Yes you are."

Standing up, Erik pulled Christine to her feet. She smiled at him and he kissed her again, more tenderly this time. When she pulled away, he heaved a heavy sigh and rested his forehead against hers and swaying slightly to music only he could hear. He began to hum an unfamiliar tune as he danced her around the room.

"What is that?" she asked.

"I don't know yet," he said. "It's something for you, though. About you—about us." He let go of her and turned to look at the piano for a moment before turning back to her. "I'll be a while," he said. "Make sure to save some for me."

Four hours later, when Christine returned to the music room, she found her husband asleep over an unfinished score of music. She gently slid it from under his hand and looked at it. Amnesty of Angels. She studiedthe music. The accompaniment was written for piano and was complex, but appeared to flow beautiful. The words were in French and spoke of undying love and wondrous beauty. As she studied it, she realized that the piano part was made up of Erik's favorite intervals and chord progressions, while the voice part was fitted perfectly for her range. A rush of warmth washed over her as she looked again at the title. Underneath it, a dedication had already been scrawled: "Pour ma épouse pardonnante toujours, Christine." For my always forgiving wife…

Christine put the score back down on the piano and gently nudged Erik awake. Managing to drag him back to the bedroom, she removed his shoes, and then went to work on his shirt, his vest and cravat long since having been discarded. She pulled off his socks, leaving him only in his pants, and hauled his legs up onto the bed. Changing from her day clothes into a nightgown, Christine crawled into bed beside her husband who roused from his sleep just enough to pull her next to him so that she could rest her head on his broad chest.

"Goodnight, my angel," she said softly, tracing his lips with her fingers. "And thank you."

a/n Okay! So I don't know where exactly I'm going with this, so settle in for a nice long wait before the next update. It's 12:20 a.m. right now, if that gives you any idea of when I write, so my window is very small to begin with. I have some ideas of what could go on next, but I'd really like to hear what all of you have to say! Also, there is that week long break of Thanksgiving—don't necessarily expect an update. I'm sorry, I know—I'm naughty. However, I have juries coming up (if anyone out there is a music major, you know exactly what I'm talking about and why I won't be online much) so I need to practice my music. I will work on this stuff sporadically though, because I've realized it's a wonderful stress reliever from homework and it actually helps me refocus my stuff. Peace out, rock on, R/R! And if I don't update before then, have a safe and happy Thanksgiving!