a/n There are no more pianos and I'm stiff. (quote by Matt)

CHAPTER 8—ALL I ASK OF YOU

Gustave would have given anything to be anywhere but Vienna. The bustling, romantic Austrian city was agony for the young man when the snow began to fall, trapping him inside with only his younger siblings and thoughts of Isabella to keep him company. He stared out of the window as snow fell before his eyes, thinking. It had been two months since Isabella had left and soon Christmas would be here. He hated the thought of the holiday without her—it pained him to think that she may well still be in Rome. She had written to him often to let him know how things were in Italy. She sounded so happy that it made Gustave bitter.

He hadn't realized that his hands were balled into fists until he felt a firm hand on his shoulder and looked up into the concerned face of his father. "You need to relax, son," he said, patting Gustave's shoulder.

Gustave shook his head. "What if she doesn't come back?"

"She has to," Erik said dryly. "Her things are still here."

Gustave managed to laugh a bit at this. He looked back out of the window for a minute before his father pushed something into his hand. "Here." Looking down, Gustave saw a snifter of brown liquid in his hand. His father winked. "Don't tell your mother."

"I don't know if I should," he said slowly. "She's already mad enough at me as it is." Ever since the family had come home, Gustave had come home with friends from the opera at least twice a week, ridiculously drunk, falling in the door and generally being a pain. Christine had hardly spoken to her son in the last two months, and Gustave had a horrible feeling that she had written to Bella, who kept telling Gustave to lay off the booze.

"What your mother doesn't know won't hurt her."

Gustave smiled and took a sip of Cognac. It slid down his throat smoothly and warmed his belly considerably. He gave a heavy sigh and found, when looking at his father, he was now eye-to-eye with the other man. He squinted for a moment before his father squinted back, saying, "You've grown."

Gustave straightened a bit, making himself as tall as his father. "I guess so. I'm as tall as you now."

The door clicked, and both of them downed their brandy as fast as they could before the door opened revealing the family butler holding a letter. "For you, sir," he said, holding it out to Gustave.

Erik forced a small smile for his son before taking the glass from him. "I'll leave you alone." He left.

Gustave looked down at the letter in his hand. He stared at it for a full minute before realizing two things. One, it was not in Bella's handwriting—it looked more like her mother's. Two, it had been sent from Vienna. It couldn't be from Isabella then, could it?

The note inside was short and to the point. It was in fact from Sonia, and it was to inform him that Isabella had been back in Vienna for a week and a half and to ask why he had not yet come by to visit.

"You should come soon," she wrote. "This house is dreadfully boring with just us."

Why hadn't Isabella said something about being back? She'd made no mention of coming back any time soon at all. Feeling more troubled than he had before the letter arrived, Gustave folded it back up, replacing it in the envelope, and left the room. Stopping in the parlor, he told his mother that he was leaving, not bothering to answer where to when she asked. He pulled on his coat as he walked out the door, the cold air hitting him in the face with biting force. He stopped noticing, though, as he walked toward the stable and saddled his horse to set off to the de Chagny home. He rode as fast as he could, not slowing until he reached the drive before the old mansion. He rode up, staring up at Isabella's window. There was a dim light lit, and he scowled up at it. The front door opened as he climbed down and a smiling Sonia de Chagny came bustling out, wrapped in an afghan.

"Gustave!" she cried, wrapping him in a warm embrace. "It's so good to see you! Now get in here before you freeze!"

His horse being taken to the stable by the stable boy, Gustave followed her inside, casting one last look up at Isabella's window before stepping inside. She ushered him into the sitting room, where she perched herself on the edge of her favorite loveseat. She smiled brilliantly at him. "It's so good to see you, dear. How was Czechoslovakia?"

"Fine," he said, glancing around distractedly. "Just fine. Same as always—same old Bratislava."

Sonia gestured toward her maid. "Won't you be a good girl and fetch Bella for me? Tell her she has a visitor." She beamed again.

They sat in silence for several minutes, Sonia smiling happily while Gustave, somewhat uncomfortably, sipped at tea left by the maid. After about ten minutes, there was a slight rustle at the door. Gustave did not need to turn around to know that Isabella was standing there.

"Mother." Dear God, had her voice always sounded so beautiful? "Mother, who is—"

"I'll just leave you two alone," the older woman said happily. She gave Gustave's shoulder a pat as she walked past him and he heard her kiss her daughter's cheek. There was silence for several moments before she spoke again.

"Who is it?" Her voice sounded mischievous. "Papa? Did you come home early—"

She stepped around the chair to see Gustave staring straight ahead, drinking his tea with every appearance of being calm. He had always been good at masking his emotions on his face, but his hand shook and gave away the emotion bubbling up inside him.

"Gustave," she said softly. "How—how are you?"

"I think what you meant to say," he said, setting down his tea, the calm air now obviously forced, "is how did I know you were here."

"Well." She managed a small laugh, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers. "I suppose so."

"Your mother sent me a letter. I came here when I got it." He leaned back in his seat, forcing a smile, now. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

Isabella suddenly burst into tears, and Gustave felt horrible. Neither of them spoke for a long time, but he held her for what felt like hours while she cried into his shoulder. After some time, she managed to choke out, "I wanted to settle back in. I don't even have everything unpacked yet. And I was scared. I was afraid you'd be angry with me for leaving. I'm sorry, Gustave."

She looked so pitiful that Gustave burst out laughing, holding her a little closer. "Darling, I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "I don't blame you for being angry. I didn't even tell you I was back. I didn't know… I didn't know what to say to you." Suddenly, she tilted her head back to look up at him. "Are you taller?"

Laughing again, he kissed her forehead. "That's exactly what my father said to me this afternoon. I can look him in the eye now."

"I love you," she murmured against his shoulder. "I missed this."

"What?"

"You. You holding me." She inhaled deeply. "I missed the way you smell."

"I smell?"

"Like cologne."

Taking her hands, Gustave led her toward the comfortable loveseat and sat down next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. "Hello."

He smiled down at her. "Hello."

"Did you miss me?"

"You know I did," he said. "I'm sure my mother told you all about it."

Pulling a face, Isabella tightened her hand on his. "I wish you hadn't drunk so much. You worried your poor mother sick." She planted a kiss on his cheek. "But I'm glad you're safe. And here." She draped her arm over his waist, her hand coming to rest on his thigh, where his pocket was. Nimble fingers tracing over the lump there, she smirked. "Happy to see me?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "But that's not what that is."

Her face turned bright scarlet. "Oh. What is it?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, straightening up. He knew damn well what was in his pocket, but he didn't want to ruin the perfection of the moment with it. It was to his horror, therefore, that she dug into his pocket and pulled out the tiny box that had started all their troubles. They both froze when she saw what it was. The tiny box from Cartier was clutched in her fingers, and they both stared at it, knowing what it meant. His mind was racing with a million thoughts as she looked at it with those beautiful eyes. He was terrified.

But then she looked up at him and took his hand, pressing the little box into it. "Ask me again, Gustave."

His overactive brain screeched to a halt and he shook his head to clear it. "What?"

"Ask me again. You know—what you asked me before you left. Before I left." Her chocolate eyes filled with tears as she squeezed his empty hand tightly.

It hadn't been this hard last time. There had not been so much riding on it. Back then, there had been no Rome, no vodka and dancing girls on bars, no fighting, no little white lies that had caused pain. There had only been them and a tiny box he had bought on a whim, just in case. But now, he had to work to ease himself onto one knee and not to fall over. His fingers were shaking more than before as he popped the box open, revealing the ring that he knew would fit so perfectly onto her slender finger, and taking her hand again with his other hand. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before opening them again to look at her. Her face was so bright and hopeful, eyes so beautiful, lips so inviting…

The four little words slipped from his lips before he had time to think any more about it. Then she was tackling him to the ground, kissing his whole face before making her way to his mouth. He wasn't sure, looking back later, who put the ring on her finger. He thought it was him, but it could have been her, or both of them. But it was on and she was his. Forever.

a/n Couple more chapters and an epilogue and this bad boy's done.

a/n (after baby fix-its) Thanks to Dani for the TM pointing out that I mixed up mommy and daughter again. Originally, Sonia's name was going to be Isabella, then for some odd reason (I still don't remember why) I changed my mind. The back of my brain still says Isabella sometimes, though. smiles sheepishly Thanks, DJ.