"Jean, I am trying to make things better."
She doesn't think anything of his words at the time, just kisses his cheek and carries on with dinner. She doesn't notice the way he grasps her hand a little tighter, the way he clings to her that evening–hands splayed on her back and fingertips leaving bruises on her hip. Each touch begging her to stay, to have faith in him, to never leave him.
Jean sleeps in his arms that night, exhausted from the events of the day, and content to be held by him. Lucien doesn't sleep; can't sleep. Not when he knows he's on the verge of losing her.
It will always be somewhat messier with me.
He won't stop annoying you until he's working.
Piece by piece you've unraveled everything your father has built.
The divorce, this business with the church, all of it weighing so heavily on your mind.
I tried drinking myself to death.
He tightens his hold on her–his light in the darkness–and vows to himself to do everything in his power to be the best person he can be for her, to never cause his light to extinguish. He would be better for her.