a/n Here ya go. I put in a little bit of sex. Thanks, Steve.

CHAPTER 7—THERE WILL NEVER BE A DAY WHEN I WON'T THINK OF YOU

Semele had opened to enormous praise in Vienna, so much that Erik was considering another run of it sometime later in the year. For now, though, the entire family was taking a much needed vacation from Vienna and all its troubles, accompanied by the Khans.

The Dussek family estate in Czechoslovakia was beautiful. The original, imposing house had been torn down over ten years before by Erik to make way for a new villa that overlooked the city. Trees surrounded it and a small stream ran along the edge of the property. The first time Erik had come here with Eva, shortly after the Paris fire, he had imagined himself living here with Christine, perhaps with several children running around. The only problem had been the house that dominated the land. It was old and dark and had been poorly taken care of after the deaths of their parents. Not wanting to live in a place that he hardly remembered, and only remembered with pain, he had gone to live in Eva's little-used Vienna apartment. Years later, he had returned with a blueprint and an obscene amount of money, both from his inheritance and his work at the Vienna opera, and torn down the old monstrosity. He had built the villa mostly for pleasure, and as such had gone into a great deal of extravagance that had given Christine a laugh at the time. Now, with five children of their own in addition to Eva's, he was glad for the ten bedrooms he had put in the house.

Tonight, the house was quiet, as Eva and Nadir had taken the children to Bratislava to an opera that was touring from Paris. Christine and Erik were alone in the enormous house with Jean, who was pouring over ledgers to decide if he had enough money to propose marriage, and little Eve, who was busily toddling around the bedroom. Erik stood on the balcony outside of his bedroom staring down at the city below while Christine sat inside, knitting a pair of socks for Eve. Glancing behind him, Erik saw the little girl working her way toward him with her arms outstretched. He knelt down and waited patiently until she got close enough to grab. Rocking her in his arms, Erik saw his wife smiling out of the corner of his eye. "What?"

"You're cute," she said. "She's going to look like you, you know."

Erik looked down at the child now cooing contentedly in his arms. Her curly locks were already darker than those of her mother's and her eyes, which had been crystal blue at birth, were now more green than blue. There was a tiny cleft in her chin and she, like Gustave had, loved to sit in his lap and make noises with the piano while he wrote. An image of a female version of himself popped into his head, and Erik knew that he would have to keep a close eye on Eve when she got older—she'd be stunning.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and Christine turned her head. "Come in."

Jean poked his head in. "Could I interest you both in some fine wine?" He dangled a bottle in his hand in the opening of the door.

"Certainly," she said, smiling at her nephew. He opened the door the rest of the way and stepped in. Erik stood, carrying the now sleeping Eve to her crib in the next room. When he returned a minute later, Jean had poured a deep red wine into the glasses resting on the desk. He held one out to Erik, who took a sip and smiled. "Life's too short to waste on bad wine," he said, quoting the old Slovak saying fondly as his taste buts rejoiced his nephew's fine taste in wine. He looked at the bottle, which was a green and looked unfamiliar. "This is fantastic—what is it?"

"My own magical blend from your vineyards," he said, smiling. "It's a couple of years old."

"Did you happen to make any more than this?" Christine tilted her head back. "It's wonderful."

"Of course," he said. "But you'll want to be careful. It's a little strong."

An hour and a half later, the three of them had consumed two bottles of Jean's wine and were all ruddy in the face and laughing drunkenly. The door to the bedroom and Eva stepped in. They got very quiet for a minute, as if they were teenagers who had broken into the liquor closet, before Christine gave a small snort and they all burst into hysterical fits of laughter. Eva looked at the desk, where the last wine bottle still had a bit left in it. "You've had my son's alcohol, haven't you?"

"It's really good, Eva," Christine managed to say. "You should try some."

"I have," she said dryly. She smiled a small smile. "I'll put your children to bed then, shall I?"

Erik managed to sober a bit before saying, "Yes. Just tell them we've already gone to bed."

Eva nodded and excused herself, but not before downing the remnants of the bottle. Jean pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and staggered over, clapping a hand on Erik's shoulder. "She's great, Uncle Erik," he said randomly, jerking his head at Christine. "If you both will excuse me, there's a lovely Persian woman waiting for me in my apartments." He placed a sloppy kiss on Christine's cheek before staggering from the room, calling for Zaira.

Christine stood up, wobbling unsteadily for a moment before crossing to Erik and depositing herself in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him sensuously. He kissed her back immediately and just as things began to get heated, there was a knock on the door. He gave an angry sigh before standing up, setting Christine on her feet and crossing to the door. Opening it a crack, he saw Gustave standing with a letter in one hand with tears running down his handsome face. Erik's annoyance immediately left him and he opened the door all the way, gesturing his son inside. Gustave strode in, collapsing in a chair and dropping his head into his hands.

Christine looked alarmed as she looked at her son. "What's wrong, baby?"

He breathed deeply for several moments before raising his head. He stared at his parents for a minute before he said bluntly, "Are you drunk?"

Erik and Christine looked at each other sheepishly for several moments before their son's voice broke in. "Good. That makes three of us."

A shocked look on her face, Christine said, "I thought you were at the opera. And you don't seem drunk."

"It hasn't had time to sink in yet," he said. "I hope you didn't really want that brandy, Dad."

Erik leaned forward. "What's happened?"

"She wants a break." He handed the letter to Erik, who read it with a heavy heart and a guilty conscience.

Caro Gustave,

Let me first assure you that what I am about to tell you was not brought about entirely by your proposal. I do love you—you know that. It's just that right now I'm having doubts about myself and my feelings. I feel that everything I've ever known about love and faithfulness has been thrown into a shadow of doubt. I cannot explain myself entirely without betraying the trust of both of our parents, but I will say that I have learned things about them in the last few months that upset me greatly. You may have noticed that I have been a bit distant, and I regret now that I told you when you asked that nothing was wrong with me. Something was wrong. It was nothing you did—it was never anything you did. You're a wonderful man, and someday I want take you up on your offer. Right now, though, I need some time to myself to gather my thoughts about us. I'm not ending what we have. Quite the opposite, actually—I'm trying to save it. I'm afraid that if I accept now, I'll regret it, knowing what I know. I don't want that to happen—I don't think I could bear it, or live with myself whilst knowing that I had hurt you so. All I ask right now is time.

I will be staying with some old school friends in Rome for a few weeks while I sort everything out, so I will be difficult to reach. I'll write you, though, I promise. And as the song goes, "There will never be a day when I won't think of you."

Sempre il vostro,

Isabella de Chagny

"What did you ask her?" Erik asked.

Gustave stared down at his hands for a moment before digging into his pockets. He removed a small black jeweler's box with "Cartier" stamped on the top in gold lettering and opened it, revealing a large diamond ring. "I asked her to marry me," he said softly. "She didn't answer, and I told her to think about it."

Christine reached for her son's hand. "I'm sure she'll come around, darling," she said. "It's as she said—she needs time. She's had… a bit of a shock."

Gustave's eyes were accusing. "What did you do?"

"I'm sure you'll hear about it in time, son," Erik said gently. "You can tell her we told you to ask you about it—I haven't the heart to tell you myself."

Gustave nodded. "I thought you'd say that. Does Aunt Eva know about it?"

"I'm quite certain Nadir would have told her."

He nodded, then shook his head. "I think that brandy's starting to sink in now." Holding a hand in front of him, he moved it closer to, then farther from, his face.
"How do you know when you're drunk?"

"When you can't tell that you have five fingers."

"I think there's ten on this hand." He began to laugh and Erik sighed heavily, standing again and pulling his oldest child to his feet. "Where are we going?"

"You're going to bed before you do or say something you'll regret later," Erik said. "Tell your mother goodnight."

Flipping his mother a jaunty salute, Gustave said, "Goodnight, mother. You truly are the most beautiful woman in the world."

Christine blushed slightly, kissing Gustave on the cheek. "Goodnight, love."

Erik maneuvered his son out the door, having to support him almost entirely as he walked him to his room. "How much of that brandy did you drink?"

"A bit," he slurred. He smiled brightly at Eva's maid, Corinne, as she passed. "Hello!"

Erik caught the woman by the arm. "Would you mind watching him for a while tonight?" he asked.

Corinne gave Gustave a once over before nodding curtly. "Come, young man," she said. "And don't you get fresh with me."

"Oh, don't you worry about that, C'rinne," he said, "I only get fresh with Isabella."

Erik cringed and headed back down the hall to Christine. When he opened the door, he was nearly floored by the sight that greeted him. In the two or so minutes that he had been gone, she had managed to dim the lights, light several candles, and strip entirely naked. Now, she was reclining on the bed, eyes closed, her fingers tracing lightly over her full breasts. Erik's breath caught in his chest, both from mad desire and tremendous adoration for her. She opened her eyes when he shut the door and smiled luxuriously at him. "Hello, handsome." She vaulted forward onto her knees and crawled toward him. "Come here."

He had no thought in his mind other than total obedience. Her brown eyes were hazy with desire and, while she was still a bit drunk, she was sober enough to know exactly what she was doing, and he knew that she would hate him in the morning if he did not listen to her. He crossed the room to stand at the end of the bed, still a bit stunned at her unusually bold behavior. She smiled up at him and began to loosen his cravat. He leaned down and let his lips trace over her bare shoulder. She gave a soft moan and pulled his cravat from his neck. She hastily removed his vest and unbuttoned his shirt before pulling him on top of her. She arched her back, pressing her bare chest against his, as he gently nipped at her neck. He kicked off his shoes, and his trousers quickly followed. Shirt still on, Erik grinned down at his wife. "What exactly is it that you want, Countess?"

"You," she said desperately, bucking her hips up toward his, but he pulled away just far enough to avoid her. A high pitched whine escaped from her lips when he said, "I'm right here."

"But you're not here," she said.

Grinning wickedly, knowing that she'd have a fit, he maneuvered himself until just the tip of his hard body was inside her. "There."

"Erik Dussek," she growled, and her eyes lit up with a fire he had never seen from her before. "If you value your manhood, then get it all the way in. Now."

"Your wish is my command," he said, and without warning, he hammered into her. She gasped and her back arched up of its own accord. He slammed into her again and again while she wrapped her legs around his waist and lifted them higher and higher as she neared her release. Her moans increased in intensity and suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, her fingernails dug into his back and she began to shudder. He felt her clenching around him and he followed her over the edge of pleasure. For several minutes after, neither of them moved. When he rolled off of her, he stared at the ceiling for several minutes before he began to laugh.

"What is it?" Christine asked.

"You never did get my shirt off, Madam."

Then she laughed, too.