A Valentine’s Day Story Featuring Sylvie and Erik (and baby)

Mon Bébé, An Erik and Sylvie Valentine’s Story
France, February, 1876
(Note: this story takes place shortly after the events described in Book Three of the Disfigured Series, “Spirit of Revenge”)

I stood before the tall cheval mirror in our bedchamber, clad in my white cotton nightgown, scrutinizing my reflection, a scowl on my face. I would turn thirty-two this July. Three and a half months earlier, I had given birth to a son, my beautiful Stèphane, now sleeping (for a change) in his crib near the fireplace. It had been a long, difficult birth culminating in weeks of bed rest; Stèphane was une bébé grande, and it had taken a long time for me to heal.
I now had two wonderful children, and I had realized my dearest wish, to be a mother. And I had Erik. My life felt complete. I felt fine, restored to health. All our dangers and trials lay behind us. So why wasn’t I happy?
I stole a quick glance over my shoulder toward the door to be sure it was closed before returning to my somber self-inspection. I thought of Erik and how his face had fallen when once again I had rejected his advances the night before. I saw again in memory the naked disappointment he could not hide. He had opened his mouth to say something, but then he stopped, shook his head and rolled over to face away from me.
Sighing despondently, I leaned closer to the mirror to study my face. I have not always been in the habit of staring at myself in mirrors, I assure you, Reader. This morning I had my reasons. I just could not bring myself to explain them to my impatient spouse.
How much had the years altered me? I had been twenty-six when Erik and I had met, almost six years ago now. I scowled at my reflection. I still had the blue eyes and honey-blond hair that he admired, but now my face seemed so round!
Stepping back, I gathered and pulled the cotton fabric of my nightgown tightly over my midsection, regarding my figure in dismay. I could only conclude the problem must be my advanced age: instead of getting my figure back quickly as I had with my first enfant, Marie, my body stubbornly refused to return to its former dimensions, despite my nursing mon bébé daily. How could Erik not find me repellent now? Perhaps if I…
“What are you doing, Kitten? Can I help with that?”
I released the nightgown hastily, allowing it to settle back over my body. A hot embarrassed flush spread over my cheeks. Drat it, why did Erik always move so stealthily? One could never guess when he would appear as if out of nowhere, like the phantom he had once pretended to be.
“I am…just getting dressed,” I answered quickly. Opening my armoire, I ruffled through the gowns hanging inside, searching for one that would still fit me. Reluctantly I settled on one of those that had been let out during my pregnancy. Just as I pulled it out, clutching it against my body, Erik’s arms came around me from behind, wrapping around my waist tenderly. His soft seductive voice murmured close to my left ear.
“Instead of getting dressed, why don’t we go back to bed?” He pressed a warm kiss into the side of my neck, eliciting a shiver. “It has been too long, Kitten. Why do you make me wait?”
I hesitated, uncertain how to respond to him. The poor man, I knew this must be difficult, for Erik was a man of strong passions; because of how long it had taken me to heal from the baby, we had not yet resumed our conjugal relations. And the only thing holding us back now was…me.
A sudden, loud squall made us both jump, and gave me a welcome excuse to avoid answering Erik’s question. Pulling from his embrace with an apologetic murmur, I hastened to the cradle. Behind me I heard Erik let out his breath in a long sigh.
“Are you hungry, mon bébé?” I leaned over the cradle. Wide awake now, our son was clearly in a temper. Red-faced, he waved his little fists in the air, his cries loud and insistent. At just a few months of age, Stèphane already exhibited quite a strong will. I knew where he had got it, and it was not from me.
Gathering up the squalling baby, I went to sit in a comfortable chair near the fire. I sent Erik a rueful smile, which he did not return. He stood watching, his expression unfathomable, while I prepared to nurse Stèphane. I could not repress a small gasp of pain as I settled him into position. I glanced up at Erik again.
“I could wish he were a bit more gentle,” I murmured. “He does everything with such determination.” I rather dreaded him getting his baby teeth.
Stèphane settled into his breakfast. His pale blue eyes, so much like his father’s, gazed unblinkingly into mine. Leaning closer to him, I smiled and could not resist making some silly babbling noises. Still nursing, he reached up one pudgy little hand and placed it over my lips.
Erik burst out laughing. “It would appear he does not care for your baby talk.” His good humor restored, Erik reclined on the bed, propping his head up with one arm while he watched me. He loved to watch me nurse the baby. It had been the same with Marie. As for myself, I felt horribly self-conscious, knowing as I did that my upper half was considerably larger than it used to be. Blushing slightly, I returned my attention to Stèphane.
Smoothing the baby’s soft, light brown hair with a gentle touch, I gazed at him thoughtfully. “He reminds me so much of you, vous savez,” I remarked to Erik. “And not only his appearance, for he has your eyes and hair, but also his personality. He has a strong will. I would not be surprised to find that he has also inherited your brilliant mind, mon mari.”
Erik appeared much struck by what I had just said. After a moment’s silence, he rose from the bed and came to stand by my chair, gazing down at Stèphane. So intent was his expression, he seemed to be seeing the baby for the first time. He reached a hand down and the baby, tracking the movement with his pale blue eyes, promptly seized one of Erik’s fingers, wrapping his own tiny ones around it in a firm grip.
“You are fortunate indeed, little one, to have been born perfect, unlike your father.” He studied the baby intently. “As I watch you grow, I will also see myself, as I might have been.” The bleakness in his voice pierced my heart. His eyes were deeply sad, and a sigh escaped him.
Before I could respond, Erik spoke again, in close to his normal voice. “I believe he is falling asleep, Kitten.”
Indeed he was. His eyes had drooped shut and he had relaxed his grip on Erik’s finger. Carefully I disengaged the baby from my bosom and adjusted my nightgown into place. I stood and walked around the room slowly, patting Stèphane on the back until the inevitable happened.
“Ugh,” Erik muttered, looking away. He had not liked this part when Marie was a baby, either. Knowing nothing about babies, or children for that matter, all sorts of perfectly normal things seemed strange, even repulsive, to Erik. Last year, when Marie had lost her two front teeth, he kept impatiently demanding when the new teeth would grow in. He thought she looked odd without them.
Even as I gently lowered the sleepy baby down into his cradle and pulled a soft blanket over him, I found myself turning over in my mind Erik’s words of a moment before. I had often had cause to wish his cruel mother to perdition, but never more than now. Her hand, which had bestowed his first mask on him, reached out even now through the years to touch and sour his relationship with his own son. That Erik might come to resent Stèphane as he watched him grow into a perfect, undisfigured copy of himself had never occurred to me. I must not let that happen. I would not. My chin came up. But what could I do?
Turning from the cradle, I caught a glimpse of myself in the cheval glass. I hated the way I looked; I felt unworthy of earning my husband’s desire. I also suddenly felt quite small, and selfish. When he needed me, I had been pushing him away out of shame at my appearance. Après tout, I could do something about my problem. I could push away my dessert, but Erik could not change his face.
Was I being absurd? What I wanted now was to comfort him, and so I made up my mind. I prayed I would not regret it.
He had opened his own armoire and was reaching for a waistcoat, his back to me. I took a deep breath, and then another, summoning up my courage.
“Erik.”
“Oui?” He turned to look at me over his shoulder. Holding his gaze, I fearfully grasped the hem of my white nightgown and pulled it slowly over my head. I tossed it to the bed, and stood before him unclothed and exposed. My teeth began to chatter, from nervousness, not cold, for the room was warm. I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Look at me,” I said, my voice sounding small and scratchy. I gestured down in a sweeping arc with one hand. “This is why I have not…I did not want you to see…what I…” I felt my face grow hot with embarrassment. He surely must find me repulsive now.
He was looking at me. His pale eyes scorched as they ran over my abundant form, from my head to my toes and back again. He sucked in a breath.
“Do you mean to tell me…” Scowling fiercely, Erik reached me in two strides and seized my shoulders in a hard grip, glaring down at me in outrage. “Do you mean to tell me that you have been denying me for weeks because you think I would not desire you? Because your body has changed?” He shook me roughly. “Damn you, Sylvie! How could you be so foolish?”
“I do not know! I feel so ashamed. All I see when I look in the mirror is…” Erik stopped me by placing his hand over my mouth. I looked back wide-eyed at him. He appeared to be very angry.
“Tell me something.” The hand dropped away. “Is that the only reason you have not wanted to make love with me? Just that and nothing more?” His eyes burned into mine, his grip on my arms just short of painful.
I stared up at him, confused. What else could there be? I nodded, blushing. “I was afraid you would take one look at me now and…”
Erik put his hand under my chin and pushed my face up firmly. He brought his mouth to mine and kissed me fiercely.
Raising his head, he shook me again, hard. “Does that feel like I don’t want you? I love all of you, you idiotic, exasperating woman. When will you ever learn that?”
I sighed happily. I loved it when Erik spoke to me in such a romantic manner. Perhaps I had done the right thing après tout.
I watched, perplexed, as he suddenly released me and strode to the door. Was he leaving? Before I could ask where he was going, he had locked the door. He sent me a scorching look.
“You are not leaving this room for quite some time, Kitten, so I hope you do not have any pressing engagements. And you certainly do not require this dress.”
“N…no, I don’t think I…oof!” I landed on the bed with a bounce, on top of the forgotten gown. My spouse was looking down into my eyes, a light kindled in his.
“Bon. After what you have put me through, I am going to mete out a great deal of punishment, beginning now.”
And he did.

The End (for now)