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It really wasn't a big deal in any way. All Eve, he had been giving me little treasures, most of which he had made. I had mine in a velvety, red bag that I had tucked away upstairs. I mostly wanted to spend time with him. More so than all his tangible items he was bestowing upon me, the present I valued most was his companionship and his conversations.

Right after dinner, he shows signs of wanting to go into his music room, so I quickly stop him and put the little bag in his hand.

"It's very small." I say. "I didn't think you would want anything big. But I thought you might like it. For our first Christmas."

"Our first Christmas." he repeats. He tilts the bag a little so it rolls out in his hand.

He stares at the little golden ring for several seconds.

I twist my hands together, and look down. My cheeks are flushed. I count to ten in my head, and then look up.

He is staring at me blankly, the ring still in the center of his outstretched hand. I couldn't read his expression, and I was certainly not prescient. And now I was terrified by his lack of reaction.

"I wasn't sure if it was the right size." I admit. "There were only a few choices."

"No, no," he says hastily. "It's fine. The ring. It's fine. Perfect. Fine."

Despite his reassurances, he still does not put it on.

I am far too used to this to be too much perturbed, so I say brightly, "Thank you for all my gifts. Happy Christmas!" And then I cannot resist, and I ask, "Do you like it?"

"It's fine." he snaps. "I said it was fine, didn't I? You must learn to listen, girl." After a slight pause, he adds in a gentler tone, "Happy Christmas."

And he disappears rather abruptly into the door behind him.

So I lean against it, and listen to his violin.

I think about what I am feeling; when I was with Erik for the first time, I would have used this blessed opportunity to go back to my room. A few months ago, I would have cried and wondered what I had done wrong. But now I just sit… I just sit and appreciate the music he is giving me.

Thus, my first Christmas with Erik took place with us in separate rooms, while I drifted to sleep on the floor.

Neither of us mentions it next week, and I finally understand that it really isn't a big event. Erik did not know how to celebrate Christmas, and he did not know how to react to something being given to him. He was not rude; he simply had no prior knowledge on how to react.

He was cheery the next morning, so he held nothing against me. He simply couldn't understand why I had made it such an occasion.

I would not make that mistake in the future.

During the week, nothing eventful happens, except for Marianne falling into a five foot pile of snow, until one day, Erik comes in and announces that he is going to build a piano.

"Build a piano?" I laugh. "Why, Erik, you can't do that!"

He gives me a sulky look. "Yes, I can."

"But how are you going to get all the parts?" I frown. "The wood, and the music?"

He rolls his eyes. "The music? Please be serious."

"You know what I mean."

He stands over me, his expression very dominating. "If I say I can build one, then I can!"

"Of course!" I agree instantly, watching the flames in his eyes flicker and die. "I know you can. You can do anything."

He kept himself very busy, disappearing into his study for hours at a time. Once, he disappeared from home for three days—if her were anybody else, I would have been distraught and hysterical—but then he returned home, carrying something in a leather sack, and going straight to his room.

Marianne was over once while Erik was making a lot of noise in the room, and rather than try to hide it when her eyes grew curious, I say quickly, "That's just Erik. He's home—working."

"Oh, how wonderful!" she says exuberantly. "Perhaps I could meet him later."

"I—I suspect he will be very busy. For a long time." I tell her, turning away.

Marianne looks at me painfully.

"You really don't want me to meet him, do you?" she asks.

I shake my head. "I would love it if you met him."

She suppresses a bit of a grin at my enunciation. "But he doesn't want to meet me?"

"Not you." I correct. "He just doesn't want to meet anybody."

"Ah." she says. "Karl is like that, too."

I want to say that Karl is not like Erik at all—Karl is sweet, thoughtful, and very handsome for starters—and that I doubted that if Karl began behaving like Erik, he would not be allowed in the house.

I confront Erik later.

He is in the hallway, and I stand in front of him, my hands on my hips.

"I've decided you are going to meet Mari and Karl." I say in my sternest voice. "There is nothing you can say to change my mind. I'm going to tell them the truth, and you are going to be kind and courteous to both of them, and not mention anything degrading about yourself or your appearance. Are you even listening to me?"

He puts one slender finger to his lips, and says, "Hush." He gives a very small smile and holds out his hand.

I look suspiciously at him. He holds it out. I see no ring.

But I take his hand, and he pulls me into the music room.

"Look." he croons. "Look what your Erik has made for you. For us."

I like the way that he says us so much, that I have already decided to forgive him by the time I am in the room. He takes me to the corner and draws back a curtain.

"Close your eyes." he cautions, and I suddenly know what it is, and I tremble with excitement.

"May I open them now?" I ask happily, and I move closer, where I know it is at. Amazing… Erik truly is amazing…

The tiny piano sits flawlessly in the corner of the room, looking forlorn and unused.

But not for much longer, I know.

Erik looks like a proud little child who has just done something wonderful that merits praise. So I kiss him on his cheek, half astonished, half thrilled, and ask him to play for me.

"Erik!" I exclaim, over and over. "How did you do it? You made a piano!"

He looks a little smug as he sits down and plays one of my favorite pieces. How wonderful it is to hear the piano after all this time! For the past weeks, Erik has only been playing his violin. Oh, I love Erik's violin!—but there is something about it. When he plays it, his melodies are so mournful, so sorrowful, that it makes me very sad. But when he plays the piano, it's simply beautiful.

His tune crosses the bridge and goes into a different melody, transposing into something I find vaguely familiar. He watches me with analytical eyes.

"I know this song…" I offer, trying to think back to when I heard it.

"Yes." he replies seriously. "I played this for you once. Sometimes, I think you didn't appreciate it then… but you do now."

I smile at him, my heart welling. It is Erik's fourth song. The last one of the tunes he played for me that one evening under the Opera. The ones that had confused me to no end…

"You weren't listening." he states, his finger never leaving the keys. "Do you remember?"

Yes, I could remember. The first song spoke of gentleness and tender feelings, when he first came to know of me. The second was how he'd seen us then—still struggling, still learning, but still beautiful. The third had been his passions, his secret desire when I was still a dead bride to him… and I had been so distraught over that one, that I had hardly listened to the last song, the song that he said was the future… the song that would be us, someday…

But I listen now.

"I told you, Christine," he says honestly. "I told you we would be happy someday." And his notes are happy, beautiful and serene, flowing together in perfect intervals up the scale.

I look at his empty finger, more determined than ever that my ring will go on him, so that he will belong to me as surely as I belong to him.

But there is time for that later. Now—and I can tell by the victorious look in Erik's eyes—it is time to sing.

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