Hello all– Sorry it has taken me so long to get this chapter to you. Living with chronic pain is a real pain (pun intended), and the past few weeks have been particularly difficult for me. This is the final chapter, but there will be an epilogue (which I will post in a few days). I would like to thank all of you who posted reviews, favorited, alerted and took the time to read my little tale. It means a lot to me. Y'all rock!

A Thousand Words
Chapter 17
Erik's Opening

Erik was a rock star.

His exhibition at the gallery was a smash, and everyone there clamored to shake his hand or have a photo taken with him or just be near him. He truly was the man of the hour. I could tell–since he hardly let go of my hand the entire evening–that all the attention unsettled him at first, but he gradually got into the spirit of things and finally let himself enjoy being the center of attention.

I have to admit that I was a little uncomfortable myself at first, since I'm not used to so many people fawning all over me. Who am I kidding? I'm not used to anyone fawning all over me! But, since Erik's new portrait of me was the centerpiece of his exhibit, I suppose it was to be expected.

I was so glad I talked him out of putting the nude portrait on display. This new one was drawing enough attention on its own.

Erik grudgingly agreed to the new portrait, and he painted me in roughly the same reclining position, on the same shabby sofa in his studio. This time, however, I was wearing a knee-length spaghetti-strap gown. Of course, he wouldn't let me see the work in progress, so I was shocked to see that he had painted me lying on what appeared to be a bed of Persian tapestried cushions, wearing a silver silk chemise that was drawn up seductively on my thighs and with one strap falling down my shoulder. He painted my hair in wild curls falling about my shoulders, and the expression on my face gave even the most casual observer no question as to what was on my mind.

"Erik!" I cried in mortification when I finally saw the finished product.

"Yes?" he asked innocently, but with a devilish smirk on his face. "Is there something wrong?"

"This is almost as bad as the first one! You can't show this!"

"Oh, but I can! You said I could do another portrait and show that one. You demanded it. This is it."

He crossed his arms and grinned at me.

"But... but..."

"But nothing, my dear. I obeyed your rules. You are clothed. You are decent."

"But it's so decadent!"

"That wasn't specified in your request."

"Erik, please!"

"I'm showing this, and that's final."

I punched him in the arm. "You play dirty!"

He smiled broadly. "Yes, I know."

So now, standing here in the gallery, trying not to look at that portrait, I observed all the people milling about who were looking at it. Staring at it. Gawking at it. Leering at it. And when they realized that I was the model for the portrait, they began leering at me. It gave me the creeps.

There were lots of "artsy" people there, lots of well-heeled people who hopefully would buy some of Erik's work or commission him to paint for them, and lots of friends.

Erik's family even came over from Paris. Erik introduced me to them as soon as they arrived, and even though they didn't speak English nearly as well as he did, they were very polite and we managed to carry on a decent conversation. His parents seemed to be truly impressed with both their son's work and with the exhibit in general. His brother Jacques was with his wife Emilie. I guessed that they had worked through their marital difficulties, whatever they were, since it seemed that they couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other–holding hands, linking arms, etc.

I saw Megan on the far side of the room and excused myself from Erik to go say hello to her.

"Oh, Christine," she exclaimed as she hugged me, "I miss you so much! The ER just isn't the same without you!"

"You know, I kind of miss it too," I replied. "But only sometimes," I added.

We both laughed.

"You look beautiful," Megan remarked, nodding to my dress. I splurged at a little boutique and bought a sleek little wine-colored dress with a low neckline. It showed off Erik's rose necklace very well.

"Thanks, Megan. You look great, too."

"So, what have you been doing with yourself?" she asked.

"You mean, besides my new modeling career?" I inquired with a grin, gesturing to the infamous portrait.

"I can't believe that's you!" Megan enthused as she dragged me back in the direction of the canvas in question. "You look so very beautiful! Of course you are, but to have a real painting of yourself... He's so talented. I wish someone would paint me like that!"

"I wish he hadn't," I said quietly.

"Why?" Megan's eyes grew round. "I'd kill to have someone paint me."

"I just didn't want him to display it like this," I replied.

"Christine," a deep voice said in my ear as a hand clasped my shoulder.

I turned to find Randy standing behind me.

"Randy!" I exclaimed. "I'm so glad you could come." I threw my arms around him just as his found their way around me.

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

"I thought that after the last time we spoke..."

"About that," he began as he pulled me aside, "I shouldn't have said all those things. I'm really sorry."

"You were just saying what was in your heart, Randy."

"Maybe, but I had no right to dump it all on you. I can see you're happy with him."

"I am," I said with a smile.

Forgive me?"

"Of course."

He smiled back at me. "Just promise me that if he ever mistreats you, you'll call me so I can kick his ass?"

I laughed. "It's a promise."

"Good. Now, where's this infamous portrait I've heard so much about?"

"It's right here," Megan piped up, gesturing beside her.

Randy turned to view the painting as he released his hold of me. He whistled long and low as he viewed the canvas.

For some reason I felt even more uncomfortable having Randy see it than anyone else. I thought quickly of a diversion.

"Randy, I want you to meet one of my dear friends. Megan, this is Randy Chastain. Randy, Megan Goddard."

"A pleasure," Randy said as he took Megan's hand.

Megan blushed three shades of red as Randy gallantly kissed the back of her hand.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Do you think you can show me the finer points of the exhibit?" he asked Megan.

"Sure," she replied.

Randy turned to me. "Please excuse us," he said with a small smile.

"Of course," I said with a grin.

Randy took Megan's arm as she led him to the far side of the gallery.

I glanced about for Erik and found him, with prune-faced Cynthia, surrounded by reporters and photographers–not his favorite people. He looked like he'd rather be in front of a firing squad.

I made my way over to him.

"If you will please excuse us," Erik said to those around him as he took my arm, "We have urgent business."

"Took you long enough," Erik whispered to me. "I'd been trying to get your attention for the past ten minutes."

"Oh, stop whining," I said with a grin.

"But Erik, when will you play for us?" one of the group called after us, gesturing to the sleek black grand piano occupying one corner of the main gallery room.

"Oh yes, you must play!" exclaimed another.

My grip on Erik's arm tightened. He looked down at me as I glanced up at him.

"You did ask to have the piano here, Erik," I whispered to him.

"I'll only play if you sing," he whispered in my ear.

"No way!"

"Then I won't play."

"But you said you would."

"I take it back."

I glared up at him. "You promised," I hissed at him.

"Fine. I'll play one song, then we'll sing a duet. How about that?"

I could have slugged him, the way he smirked at me. He knew he had me over a barrel. If I didn't sing with him, he wouldn't play. And by now, a rather large group of people had gathered around the piano–and us–waiting for something magical to happen.

"OK. You win. But I don't like it."

He led me to the piano and sat at the bench. I stood behind him where I could watch his hands as he played. I loved to watch his fingers deftly move over the keys. It was hypnotizing.

Erik began playing. It was the same piece he played for me at his apartment. His fingers flew over the keys, filling the gallery with the most beautiful, haunting music anyone there had ever heard. His body swayed as he played, his eyes closed, caught up in the emotions he created and poured into every person there. I watched their expressions as Erik played, and they all reflected mine the first time I heard the music–haunting desire, unimaginable loneliness, everlasting hope.

My hand went to my throat and touched the gold rose that dangled from its chain as I remembered the story Erik told me about its origin. If it was true, that story could be told with this music.

As the last notes faded away, the room burst into applause. Erik grinned and even blushed a little as he murmured his thanks.

"Thank you very much," Erik said as the applause died down. "If you'd like to hear another..."

Before he could continue, the room broke out into more applause with an "Encore!" or two thrown in for good measure.

"I suppose that answers that question," Erik said with a smile. "I'd like to ask the lovely Christine Denton to join me for this song."

More applause as Erik put an arm around me and guided me to stand at the side of the piano, where we could see each other.

Leaning over to whisper to me, he said, "Bridge?"

Nervously, I nodded.

Erik played the opening chords to "Bridge over Troubled Water," and a few murmurs of recognition rippled through the crowd. I was a little shaky, but I opened my mouth to sing.

Erik took the second verse, then played the musical bridge, and then we sang in harmony on the third verse.

As the final chord died away, the room burst into applause once more. I glanced at Erik, who stood and took my hand. We both took a bow, and the applause did not show any signs of stopping. We bowed again and again.

Cries of "More!" reverberated through the gallery. Erik glanced at me, hoping I'd agree to sing another song, but I backed away.

"This one's all you," I said with a grin.

He finally shrugged one shoulder and retook his position at the piano. Erik thought for a moment, then looked up at me with a sweet smile as his fingers hovered over the ivory keys.

A sweet melody began, and then Erik began to sing.

If a picture paints a thousand words
Then why can't I paint you?
The words will never show
The you I've come to know.
If a face could launch a thousand ships
Then where am I to go?
There's no one home but you
You're all that's left me too.
And when my love for life is running dry
You come and pour yourself on me.

Erik glanced up at me. I had a tear in my eye and quickly swiped it away as I smiled at him.

If a man could be two places at one time
I'd be with you.
Tomorrow and today
Beside you all the way.
If the world should stop revolving
Spinning slowly down to die,
I'd spend the end with you
And when the world was through,
Then one by one the stars would all go out
And you and I would simply fly away.

More applause. Cameras and cell phones took an untold number of photos; I knew some of them would wind up on the Internet within a matter of minutes. Someone shoved champagne flutes in our hands, and we clinked glasses in a toast. That set off more flashes. Then Erik leaned down to kiss me.

"Christine...," he whispered in my ear, "my Christine..."

The breathiness of his voice sent shivers down my spine. He took the glass from my hand and set both his and mine on the piano. Then he took both my hands in his and sank to one knee in front of me.

All chatter in the gallery immediately stilled.

"Erik, what...?"

"My darling Christine, in the short time we've known each other, I have known happiness, joy, laughter, and... love. I never in my life dared to dream that I'd find a woman who would love me as I am, but you have seen past the surface and come to know and love the real me, the me inside. And for that, I love you all the more."

A tear coursed down my cheek, and I hurriedly swiped it away.

"Christine, my love, will you do me the immense honor of becoming my wife?"

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a diamond ring and held it up to me. A very large diamond ring. There was no fancy box; he didn't need all the bells and whistles. The ring spoke for itself.

I heard gasps and "Oh!"s and even a few sobs and sniffles from the crowd around us.

I stood there, frozen.

Erik remained in front of me, still on one knee, holding the ring up to me, a hopeful look on his face.

The room was silent.

Finally, someone in the crowd said, "Well, say 'yes' already!"

Nervous laughter erupted around the room.

A sob burst from my chest, then I grabbed both his hands and pulled him to standing. Grinning, I finally said the one word he had waited for me to say: "Yes."

"Yes?" he asked, hardly believing my response.

"Yes, you silly man!" I threw my arms around him and kissed him.

The entire room burst into applause.

"I love you," I said against his lips.

"And I you," he responded.

He pulled away to take hold of my left hand and slide the ring home on my finger. It was a perfect fit. Just as we were.

XXXXX

Everyone at the gallery wanted to offer their congratulations. Somewhere along the way Erik and I were separated. When I had a chance to look around for him, I saw him in a small group, seemingly comfortable, so I took the time to scan the rest of the room.

I saw Erik's parents, arm in arm, happily perusing their son's art. Judging from their expressions, they were impressed.

I saw my former colleague Dr. Kim and started to go talk to him, when I realized that he was talking to the dour-faced Cynthia. They seemed to be in the middle of a conversation. And then something amazing happened–Cynthia smiled! As I watched her in wonder, marveling that she even knew how to smile, I remarked that she even looked kind of pretty when she wasn't busy looking all prune-faced.

I also saw Megan and Randy, who seemed to be joined at the hip, enjoying a glass of champagne and gazing at each other like lovesick puppies.

I wondered to myself: can love be contagious?

The lyrics are from "If," written by David Gates, made popular by the '70s group Bread. I know I'm dating myself with this song–I may not be as old as dirt, but I am older than the tree in my front yard! I actually took the name for this fic from the lyrics of this particular song. Duh. –ls