As always, these are not my characters.

I'm sorry, I couldn't resist the title. In fact, I wanted to write something with this title (from the song in 2.2) long before I decided exactly what to write about!

This is the post-wedding story some reviewers asked me to write, following on from my story Who We Think We Are. It would really help to have read that story first, or if you can't face reading all of it, at least the last chapter. If you can't face even doing that, well, they've just got married...

Thanks to Alli-Beth for the hotel xx

Jean stood at the hotel room window, at least pretending to admire the view. Her stomach was a painful knot. This wasn't going at all how she had imagined it and she didn't know what to do next.

Lucien watched her and could see the tension in her, even without seeing her face. Perhaps this had all been a mistake. He took off his jacket and hat and laid them over a chair, delaying for a moment, wondering what to say.

After they had left the pub, Jean had threaded her arm through Lucien's as they walked to the hotel. She hadn't known where they were going to stay, and when it became clear where they were headed, she had started to worry.

The Windsor was not the sort of hotel people like Jean stayed in, or that was what she told herself. In her eyes, it was for the rich and influential, not for widowed housekeepers, and it made her uncomfortable. She was only too aware that this was much more Lucien's world than hers; comfortably-off and well travelled, he had the confidence to appear at home here.

She took a steadying deep breath as they walked through the front doors, and deliberately didn't meet the eye of any of the staff as they checked in and went to their room. The room felt better than downstairs to her, but only slightly. It was large, elegant, and the furnishings were beautiful. She realised that Lucien had chosen with the best of motives, but it really wasn't helping her nerves.

Lucien had noticed Jean had gone very quiet, of course, but he wasn't sure what the problem was exactly. Two possibilities seemed most likely: the hotel, or the expectations of what might happen on their wedding night. Time to find out which it was.

"Jean, what's the matter? Is it this," he gestured at the room, "or is it me?"

She laughed nervously, and turned for a moment to look at him. "Mostly the hotel," she said. "I hadn't expected somewhere quite this grand. It's lovely, but I've never stayed anywhere like this before."

Lucien moved closer to her now, standing behind her as she turned back to the window, and resting his hands lightly on her waist. He kissed the back and side of her neck and spoke quietly beside her ear.

"We can go home if you prefer? Would you be more comfortable at home, or at the Soldier's Hill Hotel? We could be home in Ballarat in a couple of hours."

"No, that would be such a waste, I'll be all right." Jean took a deep, if rather shaky, breath and turned back to the room, and went to sit in one of the armchairs. That was the easier problem to talk about; the other, of course, was the sex. She'd been rather looking forward to it, but now there was a problem.

She'd expected that by the time they got to the hotel it would be evening, they could eat dinner, maybe go for a stroll, then go to bed. Much what had happened on her first wedding night, in fact. She smiled to herself at the memory; at least this time she would know what she was doing.

But most importantly it would be dark by then. She wouldn't have to be naked, or nearly so, in broad daylight in front of a man who had only ever seen her fully clothed, even if he was now her husband.

Rose's words in the pub, followed by the speed with which she left with Charlie, had made it quite obvious that everyone thought she and Lucien would be falling into bed together at the first available opportunity, and that was now, but it was only mid-afternoon.

She was pretty sure that once they were actually in bed it would all be fine, but how to get there? And was that what he was expecting?

She glanced swiftly at Lucien, who had now settled in the other armchair. He was watching her quietly, knowing there was more she wanted to say, waiting till she was ready. She reached out to hold his hand, and Lucien decided he needed to take control before Jean lost her nerve entirely.

"I'm going to prescribe us both a stiff drink, I think," he said and promptly ordered them, and when Jean had drunk most of her sherry he came and kissed her cheek, crouching next to her.

"Tell me," he said, and waited again. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"Well," she started, "I do want to, but I don't know how we're going to get from here to there," she continued, indicating the bed on the other side of the room."

"Right, well, we could walk, or I could carry you. But seriously, Jean, stop worrying. You are brave and beautiful, and I love you. Nothing can go wrong here that would matter in the slightest."

He drew her up to standing and kissed her lightly, then more thoroughly, running his hands down her back and over her bottom, hitching her closer to him as he did so. Both her arms were round his neck and she raised herself on tiptoe to deepen the kiss. Lucien broke away first, smiling at her enthusiasm, which seemed at odds with her nerves. But he could understand how both could be true.

"I'm going to go for a walk around the block," Lucien suggested. "That'll give you time to work out how to get from here to there...and then we'll just see what happens."

Without waiting for a reply, he put his jacket and hat back on and slipped out of the door, sincerely hoping he was doing the right thing.