Josephine smiled at the thought and nodded. "That would be lovely." She kissed his cheek, looking up into his eyes. "Gods be good, perhaps we may find a bloom that would suit you as well. Though as I've said, the white rose fits you best. In both forms." It was a small joke, though to her it was true. She was like a white rose, now she understood... at times she had wilted a little, but returned to life as Raoul took care of her, tended to her worries and doubts and shames. "The white rose and the gardener king. 'Tis perfect." She wrapped one arm around his waist, the other around his shoulders, and pulled him close. "But you need not treat me as delicately as you would a flower. A rose is tough, it can stand a bit of roughing up."