"I'm going to be your wife." Her hands are deft, tugging at his vest until he's before her in only his dress shirt and tie.

He sighs softly, hand coming up to brush her cheek with the back of his hand. "That's the first time you've said that." The sound of your wife from her lips had gone straight to his head and he felt lightheaded and giddy.

Her face softened and she covered his hand with her own, turning into his touch and pressing a kiss to his palm. "Oh, Lucien. I can't wait to be your wife; to share the rest of my life with you. It's all I've wanted for quite some time."

He shuddered at her words, eyes glassy with unshed tears. His world had been so dark before her and every word of love and reassurance was another pinprick of light to guide him. "I love you," he rasped out, tilting her head up and slanting his mouth over hers in a kiss.

Her fingers curled around his tie, tugging him closer. When he broke the kiss, he simply stared at her as if he still couldn't quite believe she was there, that she was real and in his arms.

Jean's heart clenched in her chest at the look of awe on his face. The divorce and its impact on her had been severe but she hadn't spared much thought for how Lucien was dealing with everything. An idea formed in the back of her head, something to reassure him everything would be okay, that she wasn't going anywhere, that she loved him.

Biting her lip, she played with the buttons of his shirt, peering up at him through thick eyelashes. "You're going to be my husband, Lucien." He closed his eyes and sighed and Jean knew she was on the right path. Lucien needed to hear these words from her.

She tugged at the knot of his tie and lifted the loop over his head, tossing the material onto the floor along with this vest. Lucien's eyes shot open, hands instinctively grabbing her waist. "Jean…"

She silenced him with a kiss and murmured against his lips, "Let me."

His grip on her waist remained tight and he took in the sight of her undressing him with wide eyes, pupils blown wide with desire. Jean's heart thumped in her chest at the sight, imagining that look directed at her in much, much different circumstances.

Slowly, she slipped each of his buttons out of its hole, each unfastened button accompanied by another reassurance.

"You're going to be such a good husband." Another button.

"I love you." Another button.

"I'm so proud to be yours." Another button.

"I can't wait for everyone to call me Mrs. Blake." Another button.

"We're going to take such good care of each other." Another button.

"I can't wait to be married to you." Another button.

By the time the last button was freed, Lucien was trembling in her arms, overwhelmed. She pushed the shirt from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor along with the other garments. Stepping closer, mindful of his stitches, she ghosted her lips over his jaw and neck and ear, murmuring reassurances and hushing him.

It was too much for Lucien. He crumbled, wrapping his arms around Jean and hauling her against him, face buried in her neck. "I love you," he rasped out. His lips brushed over the pulse point in her neck and he continued, "I promise I'll make this right for you, Jean. I promise."

She stroked his hair, nails scraping over his neck, and simply held him. "We're going to fix this together," she stressed. He shuddered in her arms and she closed her eyes against the sting of tears. Her Lucien had been through so much, had thought himself to unworthy of love. She needed to remember to remind him that she loved him just as surely as he loved her.

When his trembling stopped, she pulled away and held him at arm's length. Lucien let out a small sound of protest at no longer being encased in her arms but was quickly pleased when Jean stepped forward and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss.

When their lips parted, Jean's fingertips brushed over the pulled stitches in his side. "Alright then, love, into the bathroom. Let's get you patched up."

Lucien let Jean lead him into the master bathroom, obligingly sitting on the edge of the bathtub as she pulled away his bandages and cleaned it with an iodine swab, replacing it a clean bandage. She leaned down and pressed a kiss above the wound, her lips brushing his ribs.

Straightening up, she stood before him and couldn't resist: she reached out and stroked his cheek, loving the feel of his beard prickling at her fingertips. Lucien nuzzled into the touch like an overgrown cat, desperate for affection. She bit her lip, worried. She didn't think Lucien would ever believe she wouldn't leave him until they had rings on their fingers.

Dropping a kiss to the top of his head, she promised to remind him every day how much she loved him until he believed it.