a/n Isabella's dress in this chapter is inspired by an absolutely amazing evening dress I found while somewhat unenthusiastically Googling vintage dresses. It's fabulous! Google www DOT vintagetextile DOT com/newpage218.htm and you'll see what I mean. Christine's is a bit fun, too. It's at www DOT vintagetextile DOT com/newpage502.htm if you have the urge to look at it. Also, there's a small salute to Jason Robert Brown's The Last 5 Years in here, and another one to Billy Joel. Kudos to anyone who can find them.

CHAPTER 10—HERE WITH YOU, BESIDE YOU

The socialites of Vienna were thrown into frenzy over the announcement that the Viscomtess de Chagny was to marry young Count Dussek. It was unsurprising, therefore, that the Dussek household was exceedingly busy during the month of April, readying for a dinner to be thrown for the couple. The afternoon of the evening of the party, Gustave and his father took to sitting in the sitting room, hiding from the women bustling around shouting at the servants and pointing where they wanted different things to go. It was several hours before the butler discovered them and informed them that it was time to begin getting ready. Retreating to his room, he could hear Isabella in the guest room, talking animatedly to her maid, who had accompanied them. As tempted as he was to poke his head in the door to see what she was wearing, Gustave closed his door and began to undress. He heaved a sigh as he looked toward the dinner suit that had been neatly pressed and laid across his bed. Pulling it on, he began to tie the golden silk cravat, but his fingers fumbled with a sudden wave of nerves. He was getting married in two weeks.

A knock on the door nearly startled him out of his skin, and he called for the person in the hall to enter. Isabella stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "They're nearly ready for us downstairs," she said, smiling. "There's got to be well over a hundred people here!"

Gustave could not answer, for he had no breath to do so. She looked stunning. The evening gown she wore was, in actuality, relatively simple, but there was beautiful stitching across the bust. It was black satin damask with a moderate floral print—not enough to be overly bright, but just enough to add a touch of elegance. It ended in a small train that fanned elegantly behind her and accentuated her figure wonderfully. Finishing the ensemble off was one of her family's tiaras, nestled into her blonde hair, which had been piled up on top of her head.

She waved a hand in front of his face. "Did you hear me?"

He gave his head a slight shake to clear it before he answered. "I—I can't get this damn thing right."

Moving to stand in front of him, Isabella tied his cravat with a flourish and smiled up at him as she tucked it into his jacket. "You look very handsome."

"You look—" He searched for words. "Beautiful" could not do her justice. He was sure no one in the world was lovelier than she was at that moment, and when he told her so, she blushed bright red.

"Thank you," she said quietly. Taking his arm, she looked at them in the mirror. "Ready?"

"No," he said weakly. "Do I have to go?"

Isabella raised her eyebrows. "Certainly."

"Then let's get it over with."

As they walked down the hall to the staircase, Gustave's stomach was doing flips and twists. Their parents were all waiting at the end of the hall, toward the top of the stairs. Hearing them near, Christine turned around. Her smile lit up the dimly lit hallway and she reached out to hug her future daughter-in-law. "You look beautiful, Bella."

Gustave was delighted when she blushed again, but his delight turned back to nerves when his father shook his hand, hard, before turning to announce them. Isabella's grip on his arm tightened as they walked to the top of the stairs, smiling politely at the people below, all of whom were clapping enthusiastically. As the applause died down a bit, they descended, moving in perfect tandem as he took her hand to lead her in the first dance of the evening, a gavotte. Afterward, they stepped away from the floor and began greeting the various dignitaries that were in attendance.

When it was time for dinner, Gustave sat next to Isabella, smiling throughout the toasts to them. When food was placed on the table and attention was away from them somewhat, he took her gloved hand back in his and placed a tender kiss on her fingers. She smiled sweetly at him and leaned over to whisper the most wicked things in his ear.

The party went on well into the night and Gustave was beginning to think that he would never have a moment alone with his fiancée. Then, when no one was looking, she took his hand and pulled him outside and into the gardens and kissed him so deeply that he was paralyzed for a moment. When he found that he could move again, he placed his hands about her tiny waist and pulled her a bit closer to him. She pulled away and rested her head on his chest and he reached up to run his fingers across the nape of her neck. "Are you having fun?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," Gustave said dryly. "I do so love being paraded by the three women I love best."

"There's three, then, are there?" she teased playfully.

"Well, there's the brunette women that bore me and, for some reason, kept me, then there's the blonde woman that her ex-husband ran off with, and then there's my personal favorite. She's got blonde hair and brown puppy dog eyes and is amazingly beautiful, but I can't remember her name for the life of me."

Isabella giggled. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he murmured, pressing his face into the side of her neck. "We should probably get back in there before mother starts to worry."

"Oh, not yet. I want you to myself for the next ten minutes."

"I'm finding it difficult to argue with you. Alright—ten minutes." He looked down the sloping lawn to the front door, where many of the men had congregated outside to smoke. "Look—isn't that Joseph Pratt? Who's that with him?"

"It's not his wife, that's for sure. I think it's his mistress."

"She's got to be thirty years younger than him! And what kind of man brings his mistress to a celebration for a betrothed couple?"

"You're absolutely right—it berates the sanctity of marriage. She's very pretty, though."

"I don't think so. I think she looks like a vixen…"

They continued in this way for some time before they were joined by Jean and Zaira. He was steering her out of the house while she staggered a bit, the long, ornate Persian skirts she wore getting in the way of her tipsily moving feet. The four of them made a jolly little party and they sipped champagne as they giggled at the people down below. They had been pointing out a small group of three middle-aged men, none of whom were with their wives or mistresses, when Isabella suddenly grabbed Zaira's hand.

"Jean Dussek!" she cried. "What is this that I see on this beautiful girl's finger?"

Then the two women were squealing and cooing over the ruby and diamond platinum band on Zaira's left hand. Gustave grinned and pumped his cousin's hand enthusiastically, congratulating him on his long overdue proposal. This brought the conversation back to weddings, and Gustave tried his hardest to zone out of the discussion.

"Sometimes I wish I would have asked her to elope with me," he said dryly, as the girls began to talk about wedding dresses, dinners, and decorations. It was something Gustave had heard too much of in the past few months.

At Gustave's comment, Jean gave a low chuckle. "I can imagine," he said. "How did you tell your parents you were engaged?"

Gustave smiled slightly. "I was drunk when I told them I'd proposed and she'd said she needed time. The second time, I came home with her and it took my mother about two seconds to see the ring on her hand and she started screaming. I didn't know my mother was a screamer."

Jean took a swallow of his champagne. "I don't know what exactly to tell mine," he said. "I suppose it would be easier if she wasn't Nadir's ward. She's practically a daughter to him. When we were younger, she was almost like a sister. Then we got older. I went to France for school and I didn't see her for a few years. When I came back from Paris to work with your father, we had both grown up and she wasn't the gangly little girl from Persia anymore. She was older—a full grown woman. Beautiful. And it took me about five minutes to go head over heels for her." He smiled, a far-away look in his eyes. "And she said she fell for me all over again."

"That's what you should tell them," Gustave said. "Besides, the whole family's been placing bets on when you'd actually get around to doing it."

Jean's face went red. "I—I was waiting to—"

"Make your way in the world so you wouldn't have to rely on the family fortune, I know." Gustave smiled at his cousin. "Still, though—it's about time."

It was early morning before the last guests left to return home. Christine and Erik busied themselves carting the younger children up to their rooms. Christine took a break to feed Eve before kissing Gustave goodnight and heading to her bedroom. When she entered the room, a comical sight greeted her.

A bit tipsy, Erik had collapsed, exhausted, onto the bed, still dressed. One leg was hanging over the edge, shoes still on, and his right arm was thrown over his head. Christine smiled and sat him up as best she could. Untying his cravat, she tossed it onto a nearby chair. She pulled his arms out of his jacket and vest and laid them over the back of the chair. Unbuttoning his shirt, she looked at his face. He looked exhausted. The uncovered half of his face was a bit lined and there were bags under his eyes. After she had divested him of his shirt, she gently moved him back down. As gently as she could, she removed his shoes, stockings, pants, placed them on the chair, and shoved his legs up under the covers. Now thoroughly exhausted herself, she hung up the evening gown in the closet and stripped down to her chemise. Never in her life had she worn a dress that was so comfortable, she thought to herself as she climbed into bed. Erik had teased her over the American style of the dress, but it had flowed beautifully and been so very comfortable that Christine had not had the urge, as she often did, to leave early simply to undress and go to bed. She smiled at the closet, vowing to keep the dress and wear it as often as she could.

Climbing into bed and under the covers, Christine snuggled up to her husband and rested her head on his firm chest. Looking up, she saw that she had forgotten to remove his mask. She did so, setting it on the bedside table. Christine leaned down to kiss his red, puffy cheek and he stirred slightly. His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him, and his lips rested on the top of his head. "Goodnight, my angel."

Christine yawned and leaned into him. "Time to sleep," she murmured. "I love you."

"I love you."

Then she was asleep, dreaming of a little boy with brown curls running toward her across an immense lawn and tumbling into her open arms before she barraged his face with kisses and carried him off for his long overdue afternoon nap.

a/n Up next—the wedding and more sex for all! Yay!