Unconventional

The Eighth Month

I sat at the piano bench as Erik paced the floor of his parlour.

"I don't know how to be a father, I never had one! My love is a poison, it ruins everything it touches..."

"Don't say that!" I protested, but he wasn't listening.

"Why did I let myself do this...the chances...Christine, what if? I'm so ugly, how can I have been so selfish?"

"How can you call yourself ugly, Erik? You're not ugly, you're unique." You're mine. "To love someone is to not try to change who they are. And we will both love this child."

He paused and looked at me. "But will the Vicomte?"

I sat, speechless as he shook his head and left the room.

I left without saying goodbye. I didn't really know what to say for he had angered me. Would Erik be a good father? Of that I had no doubt. Could this child inherit Erik's face? Yes, it was certainly a possibility, but it was one I was prepared to overcome and face the consequences if it arrived. It seemed though, that Erik would never forgive himself. He regretted this, and it hurt.

I spent an uneasy night, upset that I had left Erik in his time of need. As soon as dawn broke I dressed and took a carriage to the heart of the city and then on foot made my way to the opera house.

I found him knelt on the floor, installing a lock on his drinks cabinet.

"Has Nadim been thieving from you again?" I joked, but he didn't laugh, he simply rose and looked at me.

"No, I'm merely being preemptive, for when the child is crawling and curious."

"Oh, that's really thoughtful. I admit, we've yet to make any preparations like this at home."

"There's this also," he said, pulling back a dust sheet to reveal a beautifully intricate cradle, complete with soft white blankets. "To make it easier when you visit. And this," he opened a draw and withdrew a scroll tied with a yellow ribbon. "Open it," he encouraged.

I unravelled the scroll to find a piece of music etched onto the pages. I hummed the notes.

"It's the lullaby you were composing on that very first night..."

"Yes—" I interrupted his words with a kiss. I could not help it. The kiss was gentle, giving, romantic. Erik pulled back and placed his hands upon my shoulders.

"Christine, do you love me?" He asked. And I couldn't lie. I would never lie to this man. "You can't ask me that," I managed to whisper.

He walked away and settled wearily upon the piano bench.

I was falling in love with him. I was falling in love with the father of my child! I thought to myself with bitter humour. It should have been perfect. But it wasn't. How could it be when I was married to another man? A kind man. I had always loved Erik, it was true, but this was different from before, when I had loved an angel.