XXXI

"We have to get up," Jean said softly. Her fingers were tangled in his hair, lightly scratching his scalp as his cheek rested on her bare belly. Her legs were wrapped around his body, her heels lazily stroking up and down his back. His hands were similarly occupied, gently exploring every inch of her he could reach.

"Must we?" he asked, whining slightly. They'd barely slept at all, merely dozing off for a little while between when they'd passed out making love after Midnight Mass the night before and when Jean had kissed him awake before dawn that morning. She'd whispered 'Merry Christmas' in his ear before taking his earlobe between her teeth and then he was lost to her.

But Jean was ever the practical one between them. "We both need to get cleaned up before Mass. And a bit of breakfast wouldn't go amiss either."

"Do you want to go to Mass this morning?"

"Not particularly," she replied, "but I probably should."

"You're welcome to stay here," he told her. He turned his head to press a soft kiss just above her navel. "Have a lie in. Relax. Keep the bed warm for me."

She chuckled. "I won't be staying in bed, but I think it might actually be better if I stay here. We're already seen coming and going together enough as it is. And there will be far too many people in church today that I don't want to talk to."

Lucien grinned at that. "You're much more antisocial than I'd imagined, Mrs. Beazley."

"Are you really so surprised that I don't want to share you?" she countered teasingly, taking his chin in her hand.

"I promise you won't have to share me any more than necessary," he told her. He pushed himself up and hovered over her naked body and leaned in to kiss her. Their lips moved together in a deliciously practiced way, now.

But before they could get too distracted by each other again, Jean turned her head aside. "Go get cleaned up," she insisted. She gave his bum a swat for good measure, making him laugh.

"Oh I do love you," he said happily. He kissed her one last time and forced himself to get up. He could feel her watching him as he walked down to the bathroom, not bothering to put anything on for the trip.

Jean stretched her back and her arms and her legs in Lucien's bed. The sheets were an absolute mess, both from being pushed aside and tangled as well as being soiled by various fluids from their lovemaking. That would be the first thing she needed to do after breakfast while he was in Church. She'd change the sheets and start the wash on this set.

Her body was exhausted and sore beyond belief, making every movement a protest by her muscles. She'd not had exercise like this in a very long time. Well, exercise was an odd way of putting it, really. But she forced herself up out of bed, knowing she needed to get a start on breakfast for Lucien before he had to go.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror standing in the corner of the bedroom. Jean was taken aback, not used to seeing herself like this. There were lovebites all over her neck and chest, one particularly dark one on the underside of her left breast. There was some red irritation on her stomach and even more on her inner thighs from Lucien's beard. She might have blushed at that if she weren't so thoroughly sated at the moment. Her legs were like jelly and her hair was an absolute mess and her lips were swollen from his kisses. But her eyes were bright and happy, and that was perhaps the very best thing to see.

But Jean had to turn away from admiring her own reflection—something she was not wont to do very often. She put her bra and knickers and the same blouse and skirt she'd worn yesterday before changing into something nicer for Mass. Her hair would have to wait until Lucien was finished in the bathroom. But she was sufficiently dressed to go into the kitchen and fix some eggs and toast for them.

As she started the kettle and got everything she needed from the pantry, Jean began to sing to herself. She often hummed or sang a little while she worked, but she usually resisted while in Lucien's kitchen. After all, he was often hungover or else just very tired when she came to cook breakfast for him. He'd be tired this morning too—they both were—but she was sure that their mutual joy would permit this little musical expression from her.

She was busy at the stove, still singing, when she heard him come up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. "I love to hear you sing," he whispered.

Jean was pleased to hear him say so. She turned her head to catch his lips and then went back to cooking and singing until she finished her song.

When she turned back to the table, she found Lucien fixing tea for them both. Jean plated the eggs and toast for them both. It was only once they'd both sat down that she realized he was already wearing his cassock and collar. A bit of the happiness inside her deflated slightly. She hadn't forgotten that he was a priest, of course. She was the one who had made them get up so that he could go conduct Christmas Mass. But seeing him dressed that way was different somehow. And there was a sudden wave of nausea that put her off her breakfast entirely. Jean just pushed the eggs around on her plate and nibbled pathetically on her toast.

Lucien, however, wasn't bothered at all. He scarfed down the food she made for him. Really, she couldn't blame him. He'd surely worked up quite a bit of an appetite during the night. They both had. Jean would surely be starving later once she got over this…whatever it was. She wouldn't call it shame or regret, because it wasn't that at all. She was happy about the steps they'd taken together. She knew better than anything that Lucien loved her and she loved him, and her spending the night in his bed left her feeling only happy and loved. She knew that without a shadow of a doubt. But now in the light of day with that collar around his neck and his hair coifed back in its usual respectable style, he was back to being Father Blake, not just her Lucien.

"Not hungry?" he asked, noticing the food still left on her plate.

"No, not really," she answered simply. "You can have my eggs if you want them."

He took her plate without question and scraped the eggs onto his own. She took another bite of toast and he shoveled the food into his mouth. Jean had the sudden memory of her boy Jack at about thirteen years old, growing like a weed and practically eating her out of house and home. Jack would ask her if he could finish her meals sometimes if she didn't eat them fast enough. That was a nice memory. She wondered what Jack was doing this Christmas day.

Though Lucien had eaten like a madman, he was kind enough to help her with the dishes, as usual. And working together, they were finished soon enough.

"I'd better go," he said regretfully. He leaned in to kiss her, which she gladly accepted. "You'll be here when I get back?" he asked. There was a note of hopefulness in his voice that she quite liked.

Jean took her chin in her hand again, her thumb rubbing over his beard. "I'll be here," she promised. "I'll do a bit of washing and such while you're gone. And do remember that people will want to talk to you, so don't hurry to escape right after Mass is finished."

"Of course," he replied.

He kissed her once more and took his leave. It did not really enter her mind that it should be strange, her staying in his home while he left to do his work, her lightly nagging him as she had. Perhaps it should have been odd, as she was not his wife and could never be, yet she was acting very much as a wife.

Jean started to feel a little lightheaded and sat back down at the kitchen table for a moment. Her tea had gone cold, but she didn't mind taking small sips of it. She closed her eyes and thought for the first time what it could be like to be his wife. If he wasn't a priest. If they were allowed to be in love and build a life together like anyone else. Would he return to being a doctor? Would she take a job as a housekeeper or maid somewhere else to help provide for them both? Her inheritance from his father would not support the both of them, particularly not if they had to move. And they would obviously have to move.

She shook her head. She was getting much too far ahead of herself. Jean loved her little house, designed and decorated all on her own and exactly how she wanted it. She would not leave it for anything. Lucien was a priest and would remain so forever, for Jean would not allow him to abandon his duties, and if it really came down to it, Lucien would probably balk at the idea of leaving the Church. No matter what he'd said about wanting to leave so they could be together, she knew he was not a man who could stand to be lost. He needed a purpose and a sense of security. The Church gave him that. She'd not be the reason it was all taken away from him.

After a moment, she felt much better. Time to get on with the cleaning. Because what would come of their future did not matter here and now. The both of them had suffered for so long, quiet and desperate and lonely in their own ways. They'd been granted this small happiness together for however long they could hold onto it. Jean would not squander it by succumbing to worries prematurely.