“He only sent you away to protect you.”
“Knowing that here and here. It’s two very different things.”
“And I hated him for the longest time. And then I remember – I remember feeling strangely afraid.
“Afraid that if I ever came back to this town, I’d end up just like him.”
“And now? Is that such a bad thing?”
“No, I don’t think it is. Not anymore.”
The fire crackled away in their unorganized, soon-to-be marital bedroom. That thought alone warmed him more than the fire or the warmth of being able to share such difficult memories of his father with her: his confidante and soon-to-be wife.
“Jean,” he leaned across the couch to clasp her cheek once again and kiss her forehead. She closed her eyes and opened them to the sound of pinging glass as his tumbler clinked against hers, held loosely in her fingers. She took a generous swig of the amber liquid, feeling the burn linger in her throat. She swallowed it back. He let out a heavy but contented breath. “You know, despite everything that’s happened, I can’t keep a grin off my face. I’ve had to purse my lips to keep solemn at times. You were right. Patrick wouldn’t have wanted us to postpone. Two more days, Jean. Think, this time tomorrow, I’ll be forbidden to see you.”
He looked at her expectantly for a reaction. She only nodded and took another large sip, effectively emptying her glass. She didn’t meet his eyes. She sat still, fidgeting the empty glass back and forth in her hands, looking downward.
“No,” she eventually breathed. “That would be bad luck.”
“And Heaven knows we’ve had enough of that.”
Lucien examined her carefully. She sat frozen looking strangely expressionless. “Jean?”
Hearing her name broke her from her trance and she peered up at him with watery eyes. “Yes,” she finally conceded. “That we certainly have.”
“Are you … I mean, is everything alright?”
"Oh,” she smiled unconvincingly. “Yes.”
He looked at her doubtfully. "You can tell me,” he titled her chin upwards and couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Her bottom lip quivered and her breath shook. “What’s wrong?”
Her face scrunched up as she tried to keep from crying. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, “Please.”
“It’s what you just said, Lucien. About how knowing something ‘here’,” she pressed at her temple, “and here,” she rested her hand on her chest, “are two very different things.”
Her throat made a horrid choking noise and Lucien quickly wrapped her in his arms. He felt her erratic breathing his chest. “Darling,” he lulled. “Shh,” he smoothed his hand up and down her arm before combing it through her hair.
“He never telephoned. He didn’t even write!” she choked dismally. “He’s had months! And nothing! I don’t know why I had my hopes up.”
“Oh, Jean,” he sighed, carefully placing a kiss at her temple.
“Christopher told me he’d reach out to him as well. I suppose he’s been no more successful and now neither of my sons will be there,” she cried, her voice still unsteady.
“We still have the option to postpone, if you wish. I want it to be perfect.”
“No. I don’t know how long Christopher will be gone. We are not delaying in hopes that Jack changes his mind. He’s stubborn and determined not to like you. I wish it could be different. I know it could be different. You’re wonderful and he would realize that if he would only…” she trailed off. “Yes, it’s two very different things; knowing something in your head and in your heart and I refuse to wait any longer.”
“I know,” she nestled her head against his chest and casually toyed with his tie and vest buttons. “You do help.”
“The heart,” he resolved after a moment, “is not stubborn. That’s the brain. Jack loves you. He may be stubborn, as you say, but I saw it nonetheless when he was here a couple years back. The brain is stubborn. I have no doubt he is happy for you - for us - in his heart.”
She loved him for his attempt to cheer her up. It was working. “But they’re two very different things,” she finished. “Who knew I’d have such a poetic husband.”
“Ha,” he chuckled as his stomach flipped hearing her call him her husband. “Trust me. If my brain weren’t always so damn stubborn itself,” he tossed the letter from his father aside, “Well, then my poor heart would have long ago succeeded in telling you how I feel. We would be long married,” he claimed.
“Lucien!” she gasped, the objection in her tone betrayed by her laugh that followed.
He kissed the corner of her mouth. “My head,” he kissed her forehead before he dipped his head down to kiss the swell of her breast through her shirt. He lingered there as he muttered, “and my heart have never been more in agreement of anything as they are about marrying you.”
She indulged for a brief moment. She ran her fingers through his hair to kept his head against her rapidly beating heart. "Two more days,” she promised to him - and to their bedroom in general -when she released him. She felt him recline back into the couch, pulling her into his arms once more.
“Even less than 48 hours,” he intoned wickedly. The light from the flames highlighted the dark of his eyes as his eyes roamed her body. “Jean,” his deepened voice gave her goosebumps despite the warmth from the fire. He noticed her shiver.
“Oh, Lucien. I can’t wait.”
She saw excitement pop into his eyes before his demeanor became rigid for a moment. He hesitated, “We should though, love. What’s another two days, hmm?” he reached for her hand.
She giggled and corrected him. “I meant I can’t wait as in I’m excited. Not the literal interpretation.”
“Ooh,” he blushed. “What can I say? I very much can’t wait to be your husband for a multitude of reasons.”
“Hmm. I can’t wait to be Mrs. Blake for one very specific reason,” she flurried kisses across his face before settling on his mouth. He moaned into her mouth. The final forty eight hours would be sweet torture. Now, he understood why the groom wasn’t allowed to see the bride before the wedding.
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