#making arrangements

Tommy considered, fishing into his jacket pocket for a cigarette before nodding toward Scudboat: “Look into it.” 

The man was hardly out the door before Polly was pushing herself up from a table, rounding closer to Tommy. 

“What are you thinking?” 

“Well unless you’re planning to marry that whelp of a brother,” Tommy quieted as he lit his cigarette, “We may as well try for the girl.” 

“And who’s meant to be the lamb for that particular slaughter?” 

“Always fancied myself the wolf, not the sheep.” 

“Yourself?” Polly repeated, the laugh rough as it pushed out of her chest. “Thomas Shelby, a married man.” 

“So it comes to us all.”

“A leopard cannot change its spots.” 

Tommy considered this for a moment, eyeing the smoking tip of the cigarette as he absently thumbed the base. 

“It’s not my spots I’m concerned with.”

“What’s the offer?” 

“Their connections in America for our protection. Moss says they’ve had three facilities raided in the last month. Had to pick up and reestablish operations like thieves in the night. It’s slowing the spread of their legitimate and illegitimate publishing.” Tommy glanced toward Polly again. “It would cement the tie between our families. We guarantee their safety. They build us our bridge.” 

“Hear she’s not bad to look at, either.” 

The comment slipped from Arthur’s mouth, and John’s drunken giggle chased it. 

“Shouldn’t make the wedding night too much of a hardship, eh?” John reached back to pat Tommy’s shoulder—but he floundered, missing his mark, and tumbling to the floor. Tommy’s mouth twitched with an involuntary smile as Arthur's laugh filled the pub, and John wobbled to stand. 

“Well, isn’t this a lovely little snapshot of the wedding feast,” Polly drawled. She glanced toward Tommy one more time. “You’re certain you know what you’re doing?”

“Scudboat’ll run the answers down. I’ll speak with her. We’ll go from there.” 

Polly’s lips twisted into a grim simple, head shaking once before she reached out, snagging the bottle from the bar and returning to her table. Tommy considered for a moment, rolling his cigarette between his fingers. 

Easy to look at or not, this was the way through. He could see it now: lives spent cordially down the hall, ships in the night. United in public, their own people in private. 

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji said sharply. “Stop jesting.”

“I am not jesting, Wangji,” Lan XIchen replied, maintaining his smile as he sipped his own tea with clear enjoyment. “I think it would be good for you to spend more time with him. Wei-gongzi is extraordinarily smart, and I was entirely serious when I said that he would profit from another stay. I think it would be good if there were no other students to distract him. That way, he would make very quick progress in his studies, I have no doubt.”

Lan Wangji could not entirely deny the possible benefits of such a plan. He had been a witness, after all. When Wei Wuxian had visited together with the other Jiang sect students, Wei Wuxian had been careful not to put his true skills on display. Whenever one of the Jiang sect disciples was around, and Jiang Cheng in particular, Wei Wuxian would automatically step back and start playing around. When someone was watching him, it was impossible to get him to be serious about his studies.

And yet, Lan Wangji was well aware that Wei Wuxian was smarter than any of the other students. It had not taken him long to divine the origin of Wei Wuxian’s deliberate frivolousness.

Separation from distractions of this kind might be the perfect way to get him to work in earnest on his cultivation for once.

“So tell me, Wangji,” Lan Xichen interrupted his thoughts. “Has he agreed to come to Gusu now? He was very hesitant to accept my offer when I asked.”

Lan Wangji sent his brother a look.

“If he did not accept Xiongzhang’s offer, why would he suddenly change his mind?”

“I do not know,” Lan Xichen mused, an amused smile playing around his lips. “Perhaps he might feel different if Wangji is the one that asks?”

Lan Wangji reminded himself that his brother meant well.

As much as his words might feel like deliberate malice, his brother meant well.

At least, that was what he told himself.

“Why should I ask Wei Wuxian to come to Gusu?”

His brother’s smile turned into a veritable grin. “That, you have to ask yourself.”

Lan Wangji stared into his teacup in silence for several moments.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said, his voice now gentle. “Tell me, what did you speak about with Wei-gongzi?”

“I asked him to come to Gusu,” Lan Wangji pressed out. “Because I thought he would not accept.”

“Ah.”

Lan Xichen poured them both another cup of tea.

“But he did accept, didn’t he?”

Lan Wangji looked at his brother in silent desperation.

“Xiongzhang, why would he accept my offer?” he asked quietly.

Lan Xichen’s smile was back, soft like a ray of sun through the clouds. “Oh, my dear little brother. Why would he not accept, when all he has been wanting ever since your first meeting is your attention? Of course he would accept, if the one asking is you. Wangji, there are people who like you.”

“He has no reason to like me.”

It was said more petulantly than he had intended to.

“There are many reasons to like you, Wangji,” his brother replied. “And I hope you will soon learn that.”

He let the words hang between them for a while.

But Lan Wangji had said all that he could say. He did not want to talk about this topic any longer.

“Well,” Lan Xichen added eventually. “It seems like I have to send orders to make arrangements in Gusu, to welcome our guest properly.”

Lan Wangji stood up and took his leave.

His brother was allowed to live – for now. It certainly was not going to be Lan Wangji who was going to explain to Lan Qiren why Wei Wuxian had come to Gusu for a second time.

---

“Lan Zhaaan,” Wei Wuxian whined. “I thought you would play with me if I came to Gusu.”

He was half hanging over Lan Wangji’s desk, preventing him from continuing with his work without shoving Wei Wuxian off the desk first.

“You are here to study,” Lan Wangji reminded him sternly. “That was what you were invited for.”

“I can’t study all the time!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, turning around so he could look up at Lan Wangji.

To his credit, he had studied, and also proved that he really was as smart as Lan Wangji had always believed he was. And also caused Lan Qiren more than a few grey hairs.

Lan Wangji sighed and tried not to notice how good Wei Wuxian looked in the white Gusu Lan robes he had been given, lazing over his desk.

“And Lan Zhan can’t work all the time, either,” Wei Wuxian helpfully added. “You have to take a break sometime. And then you should pay attention to me. If you don’t, I’ll prank you again.”

Lan Wangji was not very impressed by this threat. He was already familiar with Wei Wuxian’s repertoire of pranks, and by now, he had become impervious to them. Erotic images and other ridiculous things had definitely lost their shock potential by now.

“I need to finish this report,” he said instead.

“Lan Zhaaaaan,” Wei Wuxian whined again, his exaggerated pout clearly communicating his disappointment. “You are such a bore. You can write all the reports you want once I’m gone. Right now, you should play with me.”

But that was the very thing, was it not? Wei Wuxian could be as annoying as he wanted to be, Lan Wangji did not actually want him gone.

It was –

Having Wei Wuxian around was fun.

No matter what his uncle might say (and a lot had been said already when Lan Wangji brought Wei Wuxian to Gusu the second time), Wei Wuxian made Lan Wangji’s world a little brighter. And Lan Wangji would miss that light once it was gone. He tried hard not to get used to having it around. It would make separation all the more painful.

“Lan Zhan?”

Wei Wuxian looked up at him with a question in his eyes.

It was unfair, Lan Wangji thought. Wei Wuxian effortlessly held such power over him. One word from him had the ability to make or break Lan Wangji.

“Wei Ying could stay.”

The words slipped out without intending to.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide with surprise for one moment, but then he laughed – loud, amused, as if Lan Wangji had not just revealed his deepest, most embarrassing wish.

“Oh, Lan Zhan, can you imagine?” he said between two bouts of laughter. “Me, staying in Gusu? Your poor uncle would suffer unbearable pains.”

“I did not ask about my uncle’s opinion.”

That, finally, made Wei Wuxian sit up properly.

But before Lan Wangji could say anything else, or turn away in embarrassment, Wei Wuxian had cradled Lan Wangji’s face between his hands, gently stroking Lan Wangji’s cheeks with his long, clever fingers.

Lan Wangji’s heart battered desperately against his ribcage.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “You are too good.”

Lan Wangji was not entirely sure why his words made him ‘good,’ but he was careful to remain exactly where he was. The last thing what he wanted was for Wei Wuxian to let go of him, now.

“Sometimes I almost wish I had met you earlier,” Wei Wuxian added cryptically. Then he almost seemed to shake off the thought, and his smile turned bright again. “I guess I should be happy to have you here now. Tell me, what am I supposed to do in Gusu if I stayed? Sit around and look pretty?”

That was exactly what Wei Wuxian could do, Lan Wangji thought.

He had a feeling Wei Wuxian would not appreciate that.

“You are still a cultivator,” he reminded Wei Wuxian instead.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to try out being a rogue cultivator,” Wei Wuxian mused. “Would you come with me, if I left to wander the world? It wouldn’t be lonely, with you by my side.”

Lan Wangji would ask what had happened to all the pretty girls in Yunmeng, and why he could not take one of them with him on his travels. But Wei Wuxian was still holding his face in his hand, and his thumb had not stopped gently stroking Lan Wangji’s cheek, so he found it rather difficult to concentrate on anything  other than Wei Wuxian’s alluring lips right there in his line of sight.

If he could only have Wei Wuxian, he might follow him anywhere.

It was a mortifying thought to have, but that did not make it less true.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asked in confusion, and when had they gotten this close?

It was easy to bridge the last remaining space, and press his lips against Wei Wuxian’s in the approximation of a kiss.

When he drew back and released Wei Wuxian, he was met with an incredible sight. Wei Wuxian was staring at him, his eyes huge and black, his mouth slightly open. Tantalising. Tempting.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian murmured.

His eyes were full of stars, more beautiful than the night sky.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji replied.

How could he not respond to being called?

“Lan Zhan!”

And then Wei Wuxian was in his arms, and they were kissing in earnest.

Good grief, Lan Wangji thought to himself as Wei Wuxian pushed him down to the floor.

You’d been getting knowing looks from the women all night—pursed lips from Ada and Polly, and a wide smile from Esme. It was almost wolf-like, the way she watched you—welcome to the pack. 

“I could,” You conceded, nodding, casting your gaze around the party. The revels had only just begun. It was early enough that nearly everyone was coherent, on their feet, but you knew that in just a couple of hours, the party would likely turn to shit. These people would be drunk, coked out of their minds, dancing, and flirting…Probably fucking. You had no doubt that you would be expected to do your wifely chore that evening. 

Maybe that was why a permanent frown had been fixed on your lips from the time you’d put on your wedding dress, as you’d walked down the aisle, all the way through the fucking I Dos. 

“You’re still frowning.” 

You didn’t bother to hide your eye roll before you turned your head fully to look at him. He didn’t give you the same courtesy. He watched the revelers with the same bored speculation as you’d given them just moments ago. 

“And this is what your fucking grin looks like?” You snipped. He raised his cigarette to his lips, drawing in a deep drag that sank his cheeks. He managed to cast you a knowing glance, his brow raising. 

“It’s the most that you’ll get of me tonight.” 

“And of me. Don’t ask me to stoop to something that you won’t bother with. I’m your wife now. At least pretend to respect me in front of them,” You insisted, nodding toward the others. It took him a moment, but Tommy nodded. 

“And behind closed doors?” He asked. 

“That’ll be none of their concern. And you’ll have to take it up with me later.” 

“I intend to.” 

--  

You sat on the edge of the bed, and watched. All Tommy did was light up another damn cigarette. You weren’t sure if you married a man or a chimney. 

You could hardly believe that you had married the man at all. 

Your family had never been a big player in Birmingham, or Camden. You’d kept your head down, stayed out of the way, operated cleanly. When the Shelbys had come to you with a proposition, it hadn’t been for your minor operations in the UK—it had been for your connections in America. They were looking to expand, offered you a good deal, and a union between the two households. 

When it had first been brought to your attention, you’d thought that it was a pretty good idea. But when it came down the line that Thomas Shelby had specified an interest in marrying you, well—the thought had become less and less appealing. If you’d cared less for your family, or known less about the mounting tensions that they were facing overseas, you would’ve laughed the idea off. If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future. 

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. 

You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies. 

Tommy had spoken to you only once before your wedding day. The meeting had been brief, and he’d done all of the talking. He’d promised to protect you, sworn to never raise a hand against you. 

“You know as well as I do,” He’d insisted, “That this is the best way forward for our families. And I know,” He’d leaned in a touch, “That you want what’s best for your people.” He’d reached into his pocket and drawn out a small velvet box, setting it on the table before he stood, straightening his waistcoat. 

“You have until tomorrow night. I need an answer.” 

You’d sent him your reply—a single slip of paper sent with your brother Lewis that simply read: Yes 

“...It was a nice party,” You offered now, unable to stand the silence any longer. 

“You didn’t seem to particularly enjoy it.” 

“No one left with a bullet wound. In my family, we consider that a successful bash.” 

Tommy’s lips quirked just a touch as he nodded. 

“Our brothers seemed to get on,” You hedged, desperate to draw this out. You worried that once you stopped speaking, he may…Want to consummate the marriage. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You’d heard rumors, whispers that Tommy was a good lover, but you weren’t sure that you were ready to find that out yourself. 

“They did,” Tommy nodded again. “Lewis and John already seem thick as thieves.” 

“Yes.” 

The two of you fell into quiet again, and it was a harrowing few moments before Tommy pushed himself off of the dresser. Your hands dropped instinctively to the bed, grasping at the sheets—but Tommy turned and went for the door. 

“G’night, then.” 

Your brow furrowed as you glanced around. Goodnight? But—

“Where will you sleep?” 

Tommy stopped in the open doorway, nodding behind himself. “I’ve a room down the hall.” He turned away, adding, “Shout if you need something.” 

You hesitated a few moments longer before you sprung up, darting forward and shoving the door closed before locking it. You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your forehead rest against the dark, cool wood grain. 

He didn’t take. 

You had gone into the room expecting shoving hands and a quick coupling, but Tommy kept his distance. You weren’t sure if you were more relieved or insulted. You turned away from the door, leaning back against it and peering around your dim new living quarters. 

Relieved, you decided. 

--  

Insulted, you decided. 

Tommy had the gall to lean in and peck your cheek when he’d come down to breakfast that morning. 

It took everything in you not to shove him away.

Polly made no comment on how wane you looked the next morning, nor did Ada or Esme cast you knowing grins or teases. They all watched Tommy, and the little slip of a shadow that you’d met last night—a birch-pale, dark-haired woman named Lizzie. 

You didn’t think that the news had made it back to your family—the fact that your husband had just spent his first night as a newly-married man with a prostitute-turned-secretary while you slept alone in an unfamiliar room wearing the lacy nightie that you’d bought specifically for your honeymoon. 

Esme and Ada excused themselves as quickly as they could, but Polly lingered, and offered,

“He’s a prickly sort, and these things take time. Men have their needs and urges.”

“...Right,” You pronounced crisply as you stirred some sugar into your tea, “And I’m a novice in a nunnery.” 

--  

“You should’a seen the girls at the party last night,” Lewis groaned.

For all of your irritation during the last few days, you’d been happy, truly happy to see your family enjoying themselves. Carving out your space in the literary scene of London and running a few underground print shops wasn’t exactly a serene existence. You constantly had to move operations, vet workers, stop-up leaks in production cycles and deal with snitches. Your entire family was dedicated to the business, but your brother was the most determined of the lot. Lewis had become the man of the house at a young age, after your father had been hauled into prison for treason. 

So to see him let loose a little—well, more than a little, truth be told—was a heartening sight. 

“I don’t think I would’ve quite enjoyed them the way you did,” You raised a brow, smile widening as he ducked his head bashfully, “But I’m glad you had a good time.” 

“And you?”

The pointed question came from just behind you. You didn’t dare turn to look at your Aunt Pearl. She knew you far too well. You could hide your feelings and concerns well enough from Lew—you had plenty of practice. But Pearl had been a motherly figure, a guiding hand in what would’ve been an otherwise rudderless life. She learned to read you like an open book when you were young, and you had been powerless to change the way that she understood you, even as the seasons of your life had passed. 

You turned your head back toward her just a touch, biting the inside of your cheek as you waited for her to go on. It was a few moments of quiet before she urged: “Lewis, go get some air.” 

You drew a deep breath in through your nose, fighting to steady yourself, and giving Lewis an encouraging smile and nod before he stood, pushing away from the kitchen table and heading outside. You saw him tipping his head back toward you, trying to catch on the line of questions that Pearl was about to level—as if neither of you knew any better to wait until he was fully out of earshot. 

“Who’s Lizzie?” She finally asked. You weren’t sure how to answer at first. You scrubbed your hand over the back of your neck, making sure that you heard the door shutting behind Lewis. 

“It’s just…Growing pains,” You finally offered, gaze set stalwartly on the table. “Every couple has them.” 

“Where was he last night?” 

“How should I know?” “He’s your husband. You’re supposed to know.” 

You didn’t have a chance to argue before she strode closer, her hand resting on your shoulder. You didn’t flinch, or draw away. You were used to her hand on your shoulder, her nails digging into your skin. She didn’t dig her nails in just now—she merely rested and waited. 

“Growing pains,” You finally offered again as you looked straight ahead. It was as if Polly had her hand on your other shoulder, and was staring you down in warning. 

“Pains?” Pearl repeated. “Physical?” 

You don’t want to answer, but—

“Emotional,” You blurted. It was another moment of quiet before she hummed. You stopped yourself from turning to look at Pearl—to catch the no doubt heavy judgment in her dark eyes, and the twist of displeasure to her small mouth. 

“I see.” 

“It’s early,” You insisted. She hummed again, stepping around you to walk toward the window. It didn’t take much to glance over, to see where Lewis was playfully fighting with John and Finn. 

“Do they know?” Pearl asked. 

“About where he was?” You shook your head. “I’m sure his brothers do.” 

“And?” 

“And what?” You scoffed. “It’s no business of theirs. Our marriage is between myself and Thomas.” 

Pearl turned to face you with a crisp smoothness, her eyes narrowed as she cocked a hip.

“And that’s all you have to say about it?” She asked. You pursed your lips. You had plenty to say about it, but it would land on deaf ears. Any of Pearl’s meddling would spell trouble, and you weren’t about to sic the dogs less than twenty-four hours into wedded bliss. 

“Yes,” You nodded firmly. Pearl’s eyes narrowed further before she hummed, turning back toward the window. 

“...This is good for us, Pearl,” You reminded her. “The Shelby’s are strong, they know what they’re doing. I just have to hold up my end.” 

“And what end is that?” 

“That of a doting wife.” 

“And mother?” 

Doubtful. Thomas couldn’t even be bothered to touch you as it was. But it was early, you reminded yourself. Things could still change. Things would change. They had to. 

“Perhaps,” You leveled evenly. “Someday. Time will tell.” 

“Time,” Peal repeated, nodding as she rounded you. “Well, if we’re going on time, so far, you’re not managing it particularly well.” 

You slid down in your seat a little as Pearl finally left the dining room. Your interest in the day’s paper had been sapped; your tea had gone cold. You didn’t want anything to do with Thomas Shelby, or with his family, not anymore. If you were going to make it through at least one year of marriage, you needed to nip this in the bud. 

-- 

“I need to talk to you.” 

Tommy didn’t so much as glance at you, his gaze trained steadily on a horse. You waited a moment, shifting from foot to foot, but perhaps you shouldn’t have waited. You’d spent nearly two weeks waiting. Maybe he hadn't heard you? You stepped a little closer and raised a hand to touch him. You couldn’t bring yourself to make contact, and your hand curled in on itself just before it could brush his waistcoat. 

“Thomas?” You pressed. 

“I’m busy.” 

“When can we speak, then?” 

“Tonight.” 

Certain that he meant it earnestly, you turned away and left.

But the evening came and went, and you found yourself sitting alone, stewing in front of your uneaten dinner and eyeing his empty plate. The house was too quiet, and your thoughts were far too loud. You needed to clear your buzzing head—you wanted a drink, and some fun. 

-- 

“You can’t let them push you around.”

The warning was spoken knowingly. You knew that she was right, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Esme’s eye. Her gaze was so heavy, so all-knowing—nothing like the bright, uninterested gaze that Thomas often offered you. But Esme was having none of it. She dipped her head into your field of vision and clapped her hand over yours where it rested on the table beside your drink. You shook her hand away lightly, reaching for your drink instead. Maybe coming to the office to nip out of the bottle Polly kept in her desk had been a bad idea. But you couldn’t bring yourself to just sit in that house and rot in your anger. 

“No one is pushing me anywhere,” You grumbled.

Esme let out a soft, cruel chuckle. 

“I know what it is,” She insisted, “To come into this family and feel on the outside, feel that you don’t have a voice. Becomin’ a Shelby doesn’t erase who you were before.” She reached out again, taking up your drink and drawing in a deep pull before you could argue. As annoyed as you were, you knew that she was right. You nodded slowly, topping the glass up when she set it back down. 

“...Should I not bother replacing Polly’s alcohol, then?” 

Esme’s smile grew as yours did, and the two descended into quiet giggles. 

-- 

“We need to talk.” 

It was steely when it left you this time. Despite that, Thomas still paid you no mind. In fact, he went out of his way to take his time drawing on his cigarette before fishing into his waistcoat. He pointedly drew out his pocket watch, flipping it open and eyeing the time. The tick tick tick of the second hand passed for several long moments before he flipped it shut again, lifting his gaze to the hustle and bustle of the office around him. 

“Later,” He offered. 

Later, always later. Weeks of later, of hearing Lizzie’s footsteps and the creaking across the floor as she left the house before you were up and about for the morning. Weeks of sitting alone in that empty house, putting on a brave face for Pearl and Lewis. Weeks of anger and shame eating through your gut. 

“Now,” You spat.

He turned his head toward you, brows ticking up. You could feel the pace of the others in the shop around you slow just a bit, and speeding up again as Thomas shot them a glance.

“Alright,” He murmured, resting his hand on your lower back. You let him steer you toward his office, resolute in your irritation. He opened the door for you, waving you inside and shutting the door behind the two of you. 

“What is so urgent that you pulled me away from my work?” 

“Your work of watching other people count your money?” You quipped in irritation. 

“...What is it that you want to discuss.” 

“You need to keep your whoring private.” 

Thomas’s brows jumped with intrigue, his chin tipping down toward you.

“Explain.” 

“I understand that we went into this with our eyes open and a mutual understanding that the actions that we were taking were for the good of our families, but to the rest of the world, we are husband and wife. I will not ask you to stop your carrying on, as I can't imagine that you’d abide by it if I did, but keep it private. I will not step out on you publicly, and I expect to be given that same respect.” 

Thomas blinked before he straightened, pushing away from the door and stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. He muttered something that you couldn’t hear, and you frowned. 

“Pardon me?” 

“Publicly,” He repeated firmly. “You said that you wouldn’t step out on me publicly.” 

“I did,” You nodded. 

“Do I get to know the lucky man’s name?”

Your face went hot with indignation. Was he trying to embarrass you? Whether he was or not, it was working. You folded your arms across your chest. 

“You’re missing my point.” 

“I take your point. You want me to treat you as my partner, and as my wife, you have that right.” 

“And will you?” 

“You can trust me to be discreet.” 

“I don’t trust you to do anything.” 

Thomas’ expression closed off, his eyes narrowing a touch, and your stomach twisted with nerves. 

“And might I ask why.” 

“What have you done to earn it? In our, what, two weeks of marriage, I have hardly seen you. You’ve made no point to acquaint me with your family or your business, and you’ve spent your nights down the hall with another woman. I’m not your wife, I’m a boarder.” 

Thomas considered for a moment before he gave a short nod. 

“I understand. I will make changes.” “Thomas—” 

“I will.” 

You pursed your lips together, pushing a sigh out through your nose before you gave a small nod of concession. 

“Alright.” 

“Anything else?” 

“...No.” And, just to seal the deal, “Thank you for your time. And for listening.” 

Thomas nodded, straightening up and opening the door for you. You strode toward it, and were nearly through before he rested a hand on your shoulder. You went still, turning your head toward him just a touch. Before you could get a good look at him, Thomas leaned in, brushing a kiss to your cheek. It was the most that he’d touched you since he’d kissed you the morning after your wedding. You thought that he may be making a show of affection for the office, but Thomas turned his head, brushing his lips against your ear.

“If I ever find out that another man has touched you,” He murmured, “I’ll take off the bastard’s hands and give them to you as an anniversary present.” 

You balked, shock wracking your chest as he placed a final kiss to your temple before he gave your ass a pat, spurring you into action and sending your scurrying back into the office, and out of his reach. 

--  

“It’ll be nice for you to fix up the place and make it your own,” Polly commented. 

“She was always going to get around to it of course,” Pearl insisted. You didn’t dare look away from the row of dressers. The one that you had in your bedroom was fine, but it was a bit small. You’d ordered several new pieces of clothing on Tommy’s account—well, on your joint account. Giving the name Mrs. Shelby had incited stunned, wide eyes from the shop keeper’s assistant and prompted fawning and a healthy discount. 

Still, as much as you were trying to bring your families together, you realized belatedly that in this case, it was an awful idea. Polly and Pearl had taken every opportunity to take digs at one another, leveling backhanded compliments with smug smiles and drags of their respective cigarettes. The two of them were so painfully similar, and perhaps that was why they seemed to hate one another so much. 

“Of course,” Polly echoed placidly.

“I want this one,” You pointed to the one in front of you.

“I’ll find the assistant,” Polly offered, brushing past you. You sighed heavily, shaking your head. 

“Please pull it together,” You muttered.

“I’ve nothing to pull together,” Pearl pronounced.

“Please,” You bit out again. “I can’t make any of this work if you and the others don’t, either.” 

You heard a deep sigh, chased by the tapping of her cigarette ash beside you. 

“I will be myself.” 

“I don’t need you to be yourself, Pearl. I need you to be pleasant.” 

A little knot of tension unwound as Pearl chuckled. 

“Becoming a missus really has given you fangs.” 

“I’d rather not use them, if possible.” 

“I understand.” 

“Thank you.” 

“...Are you going to give Miss Sourpuss the same talking-to when she gets back?” 

“Lord above.” 

--  

“You look like you’ve had a marvelous time.” 

Bringing Pearl and Polly to a somewhat peaceful place had been shock enough for that evening, but this took the absolute biscuit.

You might’ve yelped in fear at the sound of his voice if you hadn’t spotted the burning cigarette in the ashtray mere seconds before he spoke. As it was, you didn’t answer right away. You plastered yourself against the backdoor, your hands curled around your key and your purse. Thomas just arched a brow, expectant and silent. He wasn’t supposed to be there. You’d been told that he had business, and you had figured that once that had concluded, he would take care of other…Matters. You'd thought you’d have the house to yourself and have a nice cuppa before going to bed. 

You finally managed to push yourself forward, away from the door, your face hot with drink and embarrassment. 

“I didn’t think you’d be in,” You admitted. 

“You didn’t think I would be spending the evening in my own house?” 

“Esme told me there was a family meeting. She said that they can run late.” 

“You were misinformed.” 

“Clearly.” 

You watched Thomas warily as he drifted closer, going tense as he stepped around behind you. You hardly dared breathe for a moment, then let it out as you felt him slide your coat from your shoulders. 

“Thank you,” You mumbled as he stepped away with it.

“Were you with Esme?” He asked, tossing your coat over the back of a chair. 

“Mhm,” You nodded, taking a few steps deeper into the kitchen. “And Ada, Polly…And Pearl.” 

“Where were you?” 

“Polly’s house.” 

“Mm.” 

You watched Tommy round the counter, taking up a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey. You nodded, stepping closer. “Please.” 

He poured a good amount before setting the glass on the table. You sat down, watching him do the same. The light in the kitchen was low, casting an orange glow about the room. You felt almost like you were being interrogated as Tommy tucked his cigarette between his lips for another drag. You took your drink up in turn, giving your hands something to do. Besides, finding your husband at home had harshly staunched your blissfully tipsy mood, and you were desperate to get it back. Tommy made no comment as you took a deep swig, and you fought away a wince at the taste and burned as you gulped it down greedily. 

“How was the meeting?” You asked.

“Fine…Would you like to know what it’s about?” 

“If you’d like to tell me.” 

You figured he would let it go there, but he gave a short nod, offering: “We’ve reached a trade agreement with your man in New York.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” 

“Lewis can fill you in on the particulars later.” 

Your brows jumped. “Lewis was there?” 

“The business concerned him, I made sure he was in attendance.” 

“I’m sure he appreciated it.” 

He hummed, leaning back in his seat. You took another deep swig from your glass, but you couldn’t bring yourself to draw your gaze away from Tommy’s. He seemed so relaxed—though, maybe it was absurd to find a man relaxed simply because he had removed his suit jacket. Still, he looked irritatingly dashing in his waistcoat. 

“Tell me about yourself,” He ordered as you lowered your glass to the table. You cleared your throat, shaking your swimming head to try and clear that, too.

“Pardon me?” 

“Well,” Tommy plucked up the bottle again, topping your glass up. “As you have reminded me, you are my wife. I ought to know something about you.” 

“...Are you drunk?”

His lips quirked with a small smile. “No. But if you keep on like that, you will be.”

“I’ll be fine.” 

“If you say so.” 

“I do say so, thank you.”

“I have to be drunk to want to learn about my wife?”

My wife. It made you feel oddly warm as he said it…Though perhaps that was the whiskey. 

“We didn’t exactly have the most conventional courtship, or wedding,” You reminded him.  

“All the more reason for me to learn about you now.” 

“I don’t know where to start.” 

“How about with the things you like.” 

“I will tell you,” You nod slowly, “But only if you tell me about yourself in turn.” 

Thomas seemed to purse his lips before he sat up in his seat. He held his hand out, the gold of his wedding ring glinting in the light. 

“You have a deal.” 

You hesitated for a few moments, certain that he was putting you on. But when he didn’t draw it back, you raised your hand in turn, grasping his and giving it a shake. 

--  

The first hint of light made you wince and turn away. Your mouth was obscenely dry; your head was pounding harshly. You groaned, rolling away from the window. Oh…You did not feel good. Your head felt like it was going to burst; your stomach rolled like you were taking a rocky transatlantic crossing. Oh, god…Were you going to be sick?

You peeked an eye open, then squeezed it shut again. Oh, no. You weren’t sure which was worse, having your eyes open or keeping them closed. You hesitantly opened both eyes, then groaned more loudly, tucking your head beneath your pillow. No. Having your eyes open was definitely worse. 

You heard a harsh thudding, as if a giant has managed to get into your room. What on earth—

The pillow lifted away, and you tipped your head up into the cool brush of fingertips against your forehead. 

“How’s our Sleeping Beauty?” 

You weren’t sure what flustered you more: the teasing tone of Tommy’s voice, or the way the word beauty sounded coming out of his mouth. 

“Right as rain,” You mumbled. “Or I will be, once you stop yelling.”

His chuckle brushed your forehead. 

“Pearl is on her way to look in on you. Apparently Esme is doing just as well as you are this morning.” 

“I don’t wish this on my worst enemy.” 

“Rest up.” 

“I wasn't planning on doing anything else.” 

“Good girl.” 

Before you could ask, or argue, or throw a hand out to slap him on the shoulder, he brushed a kiss to your forehead, then drew away fully. You listened to the retreat of his footsteps, a pause, the scraping of the curtains being drawn closed, and the gentle scruuuuuuh—thump of him shutting your bedroom door behind himself. You only dared look around after a few minutes, when you were certain he was gone. You rolled onto your back, sighing and trying to ignore the thud-thud-thud behind your eyes. 

You feel like hell, but last night was sort of…Nice. 

Drinking with the girls and breaking down some of the barriers before your families had been a success, but coming home to Thomas was…New. It wasn’t unpleasant, as you would’ve previously thought. You scrubbed your hand gently across your eyes, trying to recall your conversation. You had it in bits and pieces—his love of horses, his devotion to his family, his worries for Arthur and John. You wondered if he told you those things because you’d been spifflicated that he didn’t think you’d remember a damn thing. But you remembered. 

You remembered the almost kind way that he’d smiled at you a couple of times. You remembered the way he’d taken your hand and led you up the stairs, steadying you when you’d wobbled and taken uneasy steps. You remembered him turning his back as you’d gotten undressed, waiting for you to get into bed before bidding you a goodnight. 

A knocking on the door drew you up from your recollection, and you winced at the sound. 

“Yes?” You croaked. The door opened, and to your surprise, two heads poked through. 

“You’re in a state,” Polly chuckled before Pearl opened your door the rest of the way. The two entered your room, each eyeing the furnishings that were soon to be replaced. You pushed yourself up, wincing as your head spun. 

“Had a night, did you?” Pearl settled onto the bed beside you. 

“Could you lower your voice, please,” You grumbled. 

“Did you go right to bed when you came home?” 

“I meant to.” 

“But you didn’t?” Polly chimed in. 

“No.” You winced as you raised your voice just a touch. “I…I had a conversation with my husband.” 

Polly and Pearl cast one another curious glances, so unlike the cutting looks they’d leveled at one another just a couple of days ago. 

“It was fine,” You added. “It was…” Nice? Enlightening? Something you would be happy to have again? “Cordial.” 

“Was he drinking?” Polly plied.

“We both were.” 

Polly and Pearl each hissed, chased by sympathetic tuts.

“You should’ve quit while you were ahead,” Pearl admonished. 

“I certainly know that now.” 

Polly took another look at you before she patted Pearl’s shoulder, offering, “I’ll put the kettle on.” 

“You’re a saint,” Pearl smiled. You sagged back against the headboard, scrubbing a hand over your brow as Polly disappeared.

“Since when are the two of you so friendly?” You asked. Pearl shrugged. 

“We’ve come to an understanding…As you have with your husband, apparently.” 

“I think it may be a very different kind of understanding.” 

“D’you mind if I smoke?” 

“...I don’t mean to sound harsh, but if you smoke, Pearl, I will be sick.”

“Better out than in.” 

“Please, no.” 

-- 

It wasn’t every night—it wasn’t even most nights, but you began to spend time with Thomas. It started with him coming home just as you finished dinner, and progressed to Thomas making it home just in time for dinner. Conversation wasn’t always freely flowing, and a few of those first dinners were a little quiet, and awkward. But as you spent more and more time together, those silences became more and more rare, and when conversation wilted, the quiet was comfortable. 

You still slept apart, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d heard Lizzie creeping out of the house as you awoke. Maybe she’d managed to work out which floorboards didn’t creak; maybe Thomas had stopped having her in the house…Or having her at all. 

You were certain that the second possibility was the most likely. It still wasn’t the ideal situation, but you appreciated it all the same. Not only had Thomas kept his promise and been discreet, but he was taking the pains to distance you from his romantic liaisons. It was…Almost sweet, all things considered. 

--  

“...What are you reading?” 

You jolted at the question, sucking in a gasp and dropping the manuscript that had been in your hand. Thomas’ brows rose as he walked deeper into the sitting room. 

“You scared me,” You grumbled. “How long have you been here?” 

“A few minutes. I called out twice when I came in.” 

“Oh,” You frowned. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard you.” 

“Clearly.” 

He walked deeper into the room, taking up the fallen manuscript and sitting on the green velvet settee beside you. You let your gaze linger, sweeping over him. His jacket had always been removed, though his waistcoat was still intact. His cool eyes swept over the page, brow furrowing a touch as he took in the content. His head began to turn toward you, and you hurriedly stood, rounding to the bar cart. 

“Would you like a drink?” You asked. 

“Sure.” 

You plucked up the bottle of whiskey, uncapping it and pouring a good amount. You rounded back to him, holding the glass out. He crossed his legs, resting the manuscript against it before he took the drink with one hand, patting the seat beside him with the other. You lowered yourself back down hesitantly, acutely aware of the way your thighs brushed. 

“What is this?” He asked, nodding toward the pages. 

“A book that was sent to us.” 

“Topside?” 

You smiled a little. Topside was how your family had always referred to the legitimate side of your publishing operations. You were certain that you and the others had said it around Tommy and his family before, but you were surprised he remembered. 

“Yes,” You nodded. 

“D’you like it?” 

“Ah…” You considered before you blew softly between your lips. “I’ve read worse.” 

“I’m not sure if that’s an indictment or praise.” 

You chuckled. “It’s got a good frame, but the writing is unpolished. Could be good, with a little bit of work.” 

“Will you work on it yourself?” 

“I may. Need something to do with my time.” It felt like the wrong thing to say as soon as you said it—but Thomas simply hummed, turning the page as he lifted his drink to his lips. 

“Redecorating hasn’t been enough of a challenge?” He asked after a moment. 

“Well it was, but I’m nearly through. The only room in the house that I haven’t touched is yours.”

“And why is that?” His eyes slid toward you, and the sudden shock of blue made your stomach flip. You shrugged a little, shaking your head. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” 

Thomas nodded before he turned back to the pages. The two of you fell into silence, and you leaned in a little, reading over his shoulder.  

“...Dinner’ll be ready soon,” You told him after a few moments. He nodded, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, away from you. 

“What’re we having?” 

“Roast chicken.” 

“Vegetables?” 

“Potatoes and carrots.” 

“Gravy?” 

“Of course. I’m not an animal.” 

Thomas huffed a soft laugh through his nose. He turned his head toward you a little, his lips brushing your temple. The touch made your eyes slide closed, your stomach fluttering at the sensation. You were so caught up that you nearly missed what he said next:

“We’re going to London tomorrow.” 

You frowned, glancing up toward him. “Why?” 

“I’ve a meeting.” 

“A meeting that involves me?” 

“I want you with me.” He turned his head a little more, nuzzling lightly against your hair. “Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out of the house for a bit.” 

“I get out enough.” 

“I think you could do with a bit more.” 

You hummed thoughtfully before you leaned away, patting his thigh lightly. 

“I’ll go check on the bird.” 

You only managed to get up and take a single step before Thomas caught hold of your hand. You glanced back as he raised it to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to your knuckles. The action was so small, yet so intimate that it made your breath catch in your throat. He gave your hand a squeeze before letting go of it, letting his arm drift up to rest on the settee. You turned away, hurrying toward the kitchen. 

Once you were alone, you braced your hands on the counter, drawing in a deep breath and pushing it out again. Your skin seemed to tingle where he kissed it, and you glanced down, as if you could see some discernible change. You shook your head, shaking your hand before you turned to the oven. 

Dinner, get dinner together. You could worry about Thomas’ touch and the trip to London later. 

Next Part

Maybe it was the fact that Tommy had trusted you with this in the first place. Maybe it was how close he’d stuck to you on the car ride down, urging you to sit closer so that he could hear you properly over the rumbling of the road beneath his tires. Maybe it was the fact that, unless something else prevailed, you were going to share a bed with your husband for the first time that evening.

You glanced back toward Tommy and found him eyeing the courtyard below. You cleared your throat, looking over your shoulder and nodding inside.

“Do you like it?”

He turned to you, a small, patient smile on his lips.

“Yes,” He reassured, his thumb sweeping gently over your lower back. “I like it.”

You nodded, relieved, and turned back to the courtroom.

“What time is your meeting?”

“Six o’clock.”

“What time do you want me ready to go?”

“Five thirty should work well enough.”

You reached out, fishing into Tommy’s jacket for his timepiece. You ignored his heavy, curious look as you eyed the face. You had a couple of hours between now and then.

“Alright,” You shrugged, tucking the watch back where it belonged before you turned, heading into the room. It was another moment before Tommy followed you back inside.

“What’ll you wear?” He asked.

“That depends.”

“On?”

“Where we’re going and who we’re meeting.” You crouched by your suitcase, casting Thomas a sidelong glance. “You still haven’t told me.”

He hummed, drifting closer and leaning against the bed frame.

“We're meeting Jay Miller.”

You frowned. That name sounded familiar, but you couldn’t place it. He waited patiently as you wracked your mind. Jay Miller. Jay Miller…

Your mind flashed with a face that you used to know well—a warm smile, a lopsided grin, the flutter of dark lashes as you took him between your lips—

You turned away from Thomas, your face going hot.

“I didn’t know that you knew Jacob,” You said crisply.

“It’s a young acquaintance. Lewis made introductions.”

And you would have to thank your brother for that—perhaps with a smack upside of his head. What the devil was he thinking, introducing your husband to your former beau?

“How fortuitous.” You straightened from your suitcase, looking down at its contents. Jay Miller. Lord above. You hadn’t seen the man in years. Maybe he wouldn’t remember you? Maybe he wouldn’t dare say a thing in front of Tommy. Maybe Tommy didn’t even know—

“That one.”

Your mind quieted as Tommy stepped up beside you, pointing into the suitcase. Your brow furrowed as you followed his direction, crouching down to pluck up a purple beaded dress.

“Why this one?” You asked, turning the fabric over in your hands.

“I’ve never seen you in it.”

“You haven’t seen me in most of the things I’ve packed,” You pointed out. Tommy hummed, pressing tightly up against your back, making your stomach turn somersaults.

“Then this’ll be a good place to start,” He insisted.

“And you still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“We're having dinner at the Granville Hotel."

You drew in a shaky breath as he stepped away again, reahing into his pocket for his cigarette case as he headed back toward the balcony. You'd wear your purple dress to the Granville Hotel. Fine. You looked down at the dress, smoothing the crepe satin with your fingers. You’d known that you would need to prepare yourself physically, but preparing yourself mentally was now an entirely different matter.

-- 

It was a boon that Jacob seemed as shocked to see you as you had been when Tommy had mentioned his name to you. For as long as it had been, Jacob seemed almost wholly unchanged. He stood from the restaurant table, straightening his jacket as you and Tommy grew closer.

Jacob’s dark hair was neatly coiffed; his warm, dark eyes lingered heavily on you as you approached him on Tommy’s arm. He was taller than Tommy, nearly 6’4, with broad shoulders, and biceps that bulged in such a way that they seemed to challenge the seams of his suit. 

“Mr. Shelby,” Jacob turned his attention to Thomas, shaking his hand warmly.

“Mr. Miller,” They shook hands before Tommy gestured toward you, “I believe you know my wife.”

“I do,” Jacob nodded, “But I’m ashamed to say that I have not had the pleasure for quite some time.” He took hold of your extended hand, and while you’d expected a shake, he bowed over it, brushing a kiss to your knuckles. You fought to hold your expression steady as he leaned back, murmuring, “Mrs. Shelby.”

Mrs. Shelby. It had been your truth for nearly six months now, but you heard it so rarely that it hardly seemed to fit you.

“Mr. Miller,” You answered softly. “It is nice to see you again.”

“And you.”

“Shall we sit?” Tommy asked.

“Please.” Jacob waved his hands to the seat on the other side of the table from him. Tommy pulled your chair out for you, nodding as you murmured your thanks. He leaned down, dropping a kiss to the crown of your head, and you couldn’t help but glance back with a small smile on your lips. You didn’t even care if it was for show. The outward affection that Tommy had given you in the last few weeks felt so nice. It had been so long since you’d felt anything like that, not since—Well. Not since Jacob, at least.

You let your eyes stray to the other side of the table where Jacob seemed to be perusing the wine menu. It was a relief. You weren’t sure what business the two were engaged in, and finding out right off the bat would have been a bit much for you to handle. You knew well enough now that Thomas liked to ease into his business rather than state it outright.

--

Dinner was delicious. Course upon course upon course of perfectly prepared, filling food, chased by sips of the best bottles of wine that the restaurant had to offer you. Jacob and Thomas spent the entire meal exchanging pleasantries, talking around business…Until you reached the wasteland between dessert and the bill.

“...Now,” Jay started, folding his arms on the table. “We ought to come to our reason for meeting.”

“In front of the lady?”

“She can handle it.”

Where there had been a tease in Tommy’s voice, there was a thread of annoyance in Jay’s, insistent and firm. You weren’t sure who you were more grateful for at that moment. Jay knew you in your place in your family’s structure; Tommy was still learning you, in a way. He shifted in his seat a touch beside you, curling his arm around the back of your seat.

“I know she can,” Tommy insisted. “I just wanted to remind you that it’s simply not polite.”

Polite. You were almost certain that that word had never once applied to Tommy Shelby. Jay gave Tommy a tight smile, giving a small nod.

“Well then,” He replied, tone clipped. “Let’s get to it. We have sixteen distribution centers, but we’d only be able to lend five to you and your operations.”

You glanced toward Tommy, trying to gauge his reaction to the news. He nodded slowly, tapping the ash from his cigarette into the tray on the table.

“When we last spoke,” He spoke matter-of-factly, his tone tipped with venom, “You told me that ten centers would be available.”

“Yes, well.” Jay’s gaze flitted toward you lightning-quick, then away again. “That was blue sky thinking on my part. The fact of the matter is, we have five. Take them or leave them.”

“I’ll leave them.”

Your gaze flitted over to Tommy, stunned. He’d leave the option of five, rather than pursue them and find five elsewhere?

“You’re kidding,” Jay scoffed before he nudged you beneath the table with his foot. “Talk some sense into your husband.”

You considered for a moment, taking in Tommy properly. It was stalwart—almost flat—but he quirked a brow. You took in his expression, his countenance…And you knew. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be enough for him. You shook your head a little, your gaze fixed on Tommy as you agreed:

“It’s ten or nothing, Jay,” You warned.

“Please,” Jay laughed. “You can’t have bought into his shit so quickly.”

Tommy’s expression flickered as he turned to meet Jay’s eye again, his eyes narrowing.

“You doubt my wife’s sense?” Tommy frowned, his voice daring Jay to disagree.

“Thomas,” You warned softly, but it was drowned out by Jay’s, “I’m questioning whether your wife still has a mind of her own.”

Tommy stood so quickly that it made you jolt, stunned at the sudden move. Jay followed suit, the glasses on the table rattling as his thighs hit the table on the way up. You reached out, hurriedly steadying the table as the motions drew the attention of the other diners. You looked up, gaze darting between the two of them.

“You question my wife’s intellect. That is a dangerous path to walk.”

“I knew her long before you, Shelby, and better, if I do say so.”

“Is that right.”

“Thomas,” You hissed, “Don’t.”

Your dread grew as Tommy’s gaze held steadfast and heavily on Jay’s.

“Tommy,” You reached up, catching hold of his hand and squeezing it, “Please. Not here.”

It was another long, harrowing moment before Tommy lowered himself to sit beside you again, his arm curling around the back of your chair. You watched him, your heart pounding as Jay reluctantly lowered himself to sit, casting an apologetic smile toward the maître d.

“So,” Tommy drawled, “If five is all you’ve to offer, we may as well conclude our business now.”

“I suppose we should,” Jay agreed, his gaze drifting toward you. Your eyes dropped to Tommy’s shoulder, holding steadily there, rather than look at Jay.

“I’ll take care of the check,” Jay offered.

“There’s no need,” Tommy insisted, drawing out his money clip and slapping a stack of bills on the table. “It’s on us.”

--

Your entire body was hot as you stormed into your hotel room, already reaching up to remove your earrings as you crossed the threshold.

“Was that necessary?” You spat, glancing back toward him.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

You bit your inner cheek, holding in a hysterical laugh. That was bullshit. You tossed the earrings onto the vanity, ignoring one that pinged off of the mirror and onto the floor. You reached back, struggling to tug your dress off. You huffed in irritation, simply holding your arms up. It was a moment before Tommy strolled over, drawing the dress off of your body. You turned away from you before he could get a proper look, snatching the dress, your pajamas, and robe before hurrying behind the room divider to change.

You drew off your slip and your stockings hurriedly, listening to Tommy mill around on the other side. You tugged on your pajamas and robe, tying the tie tightly before rounding the divider, your pretty purple dress balled up to shove into your suitcase.

“I did not appreciate that,” You announced primly, crouching beside the case for your toiletries. 

“Appreciate what, precisely?”

“Being used as a bargaining chip.”

You straightened, settling at the vanity and taking up your cold cream to take your makeup off.

“...That’s not why I brought you.”

“Bullshit.” You met his eye in the mirror, uncaring of the fact that you likely looked ridiculous, smearing cream all over your face. “You wanted a position from the higher ground, and bringing me, you got it.”

You sprung up, striding over to the restroom and taking up a washcloth. You twisted on the tap, running it under the water and raising it to clean away the cold cream. You looked into the mirror, swiping away the remaining smudges of kohl beneath your eyes. You drew in a steadying breath, fighting to staunch your irritation. It felt good, but it just wasn’t enough.

You could hear the twisting of a bottle top, chased by the almost melodic sound of whiskey being poured into a glass. You straightened up, pitching the used washcloth into the basin of the sink and winding into the room. You plucked the glass of whiskey out of Tommy’s hands moments before he could take a sip, stomping over to the balcony and yanking the door open. You drew in a deep gulp as you leaned against the balcony, peering into the courtyard. The small winding path around it was lit with small lanterns, swaying in the evening breeze. You heard Tommy’s footsteps approaching after a few moments, but refused to look in his direction.

“What if you’re right?” He asked after a few moments.

“Then I’d say that you’d accomplished your mission.”

“Thank you for following my lead.”

“You should’ve taken the five.”

“Excuse me?”

“Better to have five to start with and look for five,” You argued, glancing up at him. “You could’ve negotiated a lower fee with Jay and an equal fee elsewhere.”

“You think my choice is foolish.”

“I think it’s short-sighted.”

Tommy’s brows rose and fell swiftly.

“You’re certainly entitled to that opinion.”

The telephone rang on the side table just inside the bedroom, and Tommy stepped away with a murmur of, “Excuse me,” As he went back inside. You turned to watch him, leaning against the balcony and watching him. He plucked the phone up, tucking it against his ear and answering, “Yes…Ah, Jay,” His gaze darted to yours. “I didn’t expect to hear from you this evening…Mm…Mhm…I see…”

Your brows rose, stomach roiling with nerves as you listened.

“Yes…Yes, ten centers will still do just fine,” Tommy insisted. You narrowed your eyes slightly. Dickhead.

“Of course… I understand…Thank you…Lovely doing business with you as well.”

You rested your chin on your hand as you heard Tommy lower the receiver back into the cradle. A moment later, he joined you on the balcony. You listened as he drew out a cigarette, tucked it between his lips, and lit a match. You caught the acrid scent of his cigarette just a few moments later.

“...Go on,” You finally sighed.

“‘Scuse me?”

“Gloat. Get it over with.”

“I think I’ll wait.”

--

“Tell me about him.”

Getting into bed with Thomas had been nerve-wracking. You’d been certain that he’d stay up and go out, but as you’d shut the light off and gotten under the covers, he’d joined you. There was a good amount of space between the two of you. You’d been staring at the ceiling, praying that sleep would come quickly, but you’d laid in silence until he’d asked that shocking question.

“What?” You frowned, letting your head loll to the side to look at him.

“Jacob Miller.”

You could feel him watching you in the room’s low light. You rolled onto your side to face him, tucking your hands under your head.

“I’m sure you did your research before doing business with him.”

“I did, but everything that I know is strictly professional. How did you meet him?”

You sighed softly, casting your mind back.

“It was at a party.”

“You brother’s?”

“No, he was still too young then. One of my Aunt Pearl’s friends threw it.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen.”

“How old was he?”

“Mm…Twenty I guess.”

“You liked him.”

“Not at first.”

“Why not?”

“He was just…I don’t know,” You shook your head. “He was too showy, flashy. Loud. But, he was already drunk by the time I got there. He’s far more calm when he doesn’t have a few in him.”

“Did you want to marry him?”

You considered for a moment, your thumb sweeping along the band of your wedding ring.

“I used to, I suppose.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“...It didn’t feel right.”

“And our marriage did?”

Did. The word hit you low in the belly. Did? Not does? What made Tommy think that your stance on the marriage had changed already? Was it your irritation at his tactics earlier that evening? You were certainly justified in that upset, and you wouldn’t let him talk you down from that, at least.

“...It’s different,” You insisted. “Jacob and I were simply attracted to one another. No strings. You and I married for the sakes of our families.”

“Do you regret it?”

You were quiet for a moment, taking in Tommy’s features.

“...No,” You shook your head. “We both got what we wanted. Didn’t we?”

Tommy nodded slowly, his foot gently brushing yours beneath the sheets.

“That we did.”

You nodded, relief melting over you.

“Have you ever been in love?” You hedged. It took a moment before Tommy admitted, “Yes.”

“Who was she?”

“There was a girl. Greta. We were young, and…She got very sick.”

“Only her?”

“...Another, named Grace. She worked at the Garrison.”

“Why her?”

“I thought we were cut from the same cloth.”

“...And now?”

Pain flashed across Tommy’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Now I know better.”

-- 

It was strange to wake up with someone else. You opened your eyes slowly, focusing on the rise-and-fall of your belly with the weight of Tommy’s arm atop it, the heat of his body pressed into your side. You tipped your head to look at him, taking him in properly in the early morning light. You raised your hand, gently smoothing back his sleep-mussed hair.

The night had yielded far more than you’d expected. You hadn’t expected Tommy to tell you about his first love, and you hadn’t expected him to ask about yours. You hoped that it would bring you closer, but with Tommy, you could never tell. Maybe it was leverage…But if it was, why would he have told you about Greta, or Grace? You peered up at the ceiling, noting to yourself that you ought to ask Peggy more about them when you got back to Birmingham.

You glanced toward Tommy as you felt him sigh, nuzzling your shoulder sleepily.

“...Morning,” You murmured. He hummed softly, turning his head from the window.

“I want coffee.” “I’ll order room service.”

You rolled over, reaching for the phone. You sucked in a breath as Tommy’s arms curled around your middle, his body pressing up against your back. You swallowed thickly, reaching out to dial the front desk.

“...Hello?...Two coffees…” You requested, “And, um…” You drew the receiver away. “Do you want anything to eat?”

“Toast for now.”

“And two orders of toast…Room 402…Thank you.” You hung up, settling back down in bed. “It’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

“Should be ten for what we’re paying to stay here, ” Tommy sighed, brushing his cheek against your shoulder.

“Did you sleep alright?”

“Fine…You?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Tommy rolled away, stretching and yawning widely before he sat up. You stayed in bed, trying to remember the warmth of Tommy cuddling so close, certain that you wouldn’t feel it again any time soon. You’d forgotten how nice it was to be held. You watched him for a few moments, taking in the expanse of his pale back before you finally pushed yourself to sit up, lowering your gaze to the sheets as Tommy turned back toward you.

“...You alright?” He asked after a moment. You swallowed thickly, forcing a placid expression as you met his gaze again.

“Of course.”

For a moment, you thought that he may push back for an answer, but he let it go, nodding as he fished into his coat pocket for his cigarettes.

-- 

The news that the Blakes would be visiting Birmingham had reached Pearl first. She had mentioned it to Polly, who had told Tommy while Lewis was in earshot. Lewis had written and sent you a note, and you’d had the facts of it by noon.

By the time Tommy returned for the evening, you were completely occupied with the arrangements. He found you in the kitchen with notebooks and your planner spread out over the table.

“I see you’ve heard,” He commented.

“I have.”

“Is there dinner?”

“There's soup and bread in the oven.”

Tommy grunted, walking more deeply into the kitchen. You hardly registered the feeling of him resting his hands on your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the back of your head.

“...How was work?” You asked after a few moments.

“Fine.” You heard the oven door open, then close again. You tutted as he nudged some of your work aside, setting his plate down before he sat beside you. You could see Tommy rolling his sleeves up out of the corner of your eye, but you simply drew another notebook nearer to yourself, eyeing an itemized grocery list.

“What are you doing?” Tommy asked after a moment.

“Totaling the estimated costs. I want everything to be prepared before they arrive.”

“Mm…Have you eaten?”

You turned the page of your mother's old notebook, brow furrowing. Was it apple cake or apple pie that the Blakes preferred? Or apple strudel? You knew that there was apple involved—

You jolted as the notebook was yanked out from beneath your hands, tossed to the other side of the table, out of reach. You whirled around, eyes wide.

“Tommy!”

He pushed the plate toward you, turning it in your direction so that the stew was closer to you than it was to him. “Eat.”

“And what’s to stop me from just taking up the notebook up again?”

“I am.” Tommy snapped his fingers, pointing at the plate. “Eat.”

You huffed softly, taking up a piece of bread and reluctantly dipping it into the stew.

“...I made this for you,” You grumbled.

“What was it that the minister said when we were married? About the two being as one? Means we share.”

“How technical,” You grumbled through your mouthful. You glanced up as Tommy nudged a glass of wine closer to you. You took the glass up, taking a deep pull before passing it back. Lord above, you hadn’t even realized how hungry you were. It hit you all at once, your stomach grumbling as you swallowed. You didn’t dare look at Tommy, nervous that he’d heard it.

“How long have you been at this?” He asked, waggling a finger toward the mess on the table.

“I don’t know. A while.”

“Mm. An awful lot of uproar for the Blakes.”

You cast him a sidelong glance, brow raised. “The Blakes are one of the oldest families in our acquaintance. I haven’t seen them since I was a child, since—” Since before your mother had passed. You cleared your throat, lowering your gaze to the plate. “Anyway. I was just going over my mother’s old party notes. I don’t want to miss anything.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Beyond offending them and losing our connections? Gee, Thomas, I can’t think of a thing,” You quipped dryly. He seemed to smile unwittingly.

“Less chatting, more chewing,” He counseled, nudging the bowl closer again.

-- 

“I trust you have everything in hand.”

Pearl’s tone indicated that she did not trust that you did, in fact, have everything in hand. Despite her prickly barb and lack of faith, you’d managed everything quite well. The Blakes would be staying in your guest room, which had been fully kitted out when you’d remodeled the house. You’d ordered in a chef and a sous chef for the next few days, giving you the freedom to deal with the house, and you’d hired on a maid permanently. Ethel was a quick, eager, high-spirited woman, who had practically been your shadow for the last few days.

You cast Pearl a sidelong glance, jaw clenched as she lazily swept her eyes across the neat sitting room. You could just make out the sound of the cook and his sous chef bustling about in the kitchen, Ethel in the living room, setting the table.

“Yes, I have,” You nodded. “And thank you for all of your help this week.”

Pearl snorted at your contemptuous tone, tapping the ashes from her cigarette into a tray on the sideboard.

“You’re the lady of the house. You have to learn how to manage these things for yourself sometime. It may as well be now.”

You sighed, turning to the house and straightening the cushions for what had to be the eightieth time that day.

“Did you see them when they went into the office?” You asked, glancing back toward Polly.

“Mm, briefly. Beulah looked like hell. Poor woman never did have the stomach for the crossing. They booked too late, couldn’t get a cabin close enough to the middle. She must've spent the last five full days chucking her guts up.”

“Pearl,” You scowled, disgusted.

“I”m simply saying, don’t be too offended if she doesn’t eat too much at dinner tonight.”

“Mm. How about the old man?”

“Oh, you know Chester. Strong as an ox. He’ll outlive us all.” Pearl was quiet for a moment before she added, “They brought Hugh.”

The news hit you like a freight train. You groaned loudly, giving your foot one petulant stomp before striding over to the door to the dining room. You drew in a deep breath, steadying yourself before you opened the door.

“Ethel.”

“Ma’am?”

“We’ll be ten for dinner tonight—Unless,” You glared over at your aunt, “You have any more surprises.”

“Not a one. You’re a dear, Ethel,” Pearl gave her a bright smile. You turned your own tight smile toward Ethel, nodding, “Ten.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s better this way,” Pearl insisted as you let the door swing closed. “You were saying that you hated a lopsided table. Hugh evens out numbers.”

“How kind of him,” You grumbled. “How old is he now?”

“Thirty.”

“Married?”

“Divorced.”

“Mm.”

“...Attractive.”

You arched a brow at Pearl’s comment. She watched you for a moment before she lowered her gaze to the smoldering end of her cigarette.

“Is your husband still seeing that woman?” She asked. The mention of Lizzie made your gut pang with bitterness, but you forced your face into an uninterested mask as you shrugged.

“I don’t know,” You admitted.

“Does he bring her around?”

“No, but he may go to her. However he handles that business, he doesn’t—...It isn’t in the house, at least.”

“Have you considered asking him?”

“I don’t care what he does.”

“It’s up to you to know. Especially for the course of this visit.”

You sighed softly. “Thomas will do what’s best for the business. He won’t jeopardize it for a roll in the hay.”

“You’re certain?”

“Trust me, aunt. If there is one thing that he cares for in this world, it’s that.”

-- 

Pearl’s assessments of your visitors had been correct—you could see that the second they walked through the door.

With a full head of greyed hair and a neatly trimmed handlebar mustache, standing at 6’2, Chester Blake had the same larger-than-life air that he’d possessed when you were young. He was a little thicker around the middle than he had been the last time you’d seen him, but the sands of time didn’t exactly flow north. He was aging, but he wore it well. Beulah, on the other hand, looked as if she’d spent the entire crossing on the cargo hold of the ship. Her hair and clothing were neatly styled, but her typically pinked fair skin looked sallow, and her expression was drawn. Her bright grey eyes were dull, and her smile seemed just a little wobbly as she took you in.

“My word,” She managed, “How much you’ve grown.”

“And you haven’t changed at all,” You smiled as you embraced her, “Either of you.”

“A lie, and one that your mother would’ve abhorred, rest her soul,” Chester patted your shoulder, “But I’m happy to hear it myself.”

You smiled, shaking your head.

“I think that my mother would’ve scolded me if I hadn’t said as such.”

Tommy skirted around Beulah, resting a hand on your hip and leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. You smiled, despite the fact that the show of affection was likely a show for your guests.

“We mustn’t all crowd in the doorway,” You insisted as Tommy helped Beulah out of her coat, passing it off to Ethel, “Can I get anyone a drink?”

“Have you got whiskey?” Chester asked as they followed you into the sitting room.

“Man after my own heart,” Tommy commented, walking over to the sideboard.

“And you, Beulah? Some tea, perhaps?” You suggested softly. She took your hand, giving it a grateful squeeze.

“I’d love nothing more.”

“Ginger?”

“You’re an angel.”

“Ethel,” You turned to your maid as she headed for the kitchen, “A ginger tea for Mrs. Blake, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

You guided Beulah to a seat before joining Tommy at the sideboard.

“Would you like one?” He murmured.

“Thank you, no. I think it’d be best if I kept my head for the evening. There’ll be wine with dinner, besides.”

“Mm.”

You glanced toward Beulah where she had closed her eyes, then looked toward Chester, where he was eyeing the tintype photographs of your parents, and of Lewis when he was young.

“...Where are the boys?” You asked after a moment.

“With Polly and Pearl, showing Hugh a good time at the Garrison.”

You groaned quietly in annoyance. That was just what you needed—the lot of them spilling in to dinner, absolutely smashed.

“They’ll be on their best behavior,” Tommy added before you could complain further.

“You’re certain?”

“They gave me their word.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line before you gave a short nod, murmuring, “Alright.” You could feel Tommy eyeing you for a moment before you felt his hand slide across your waist. You raised your eyes to his as he shifted just a little closer, his hip pressing to yours.

“The contract was signed this morning—everything from here on out is just pleasantries. Relax.”

You drew in a deep breath, holding it for a few moments before you sighed, lowering your eyes to collar. You closed your eyes as Tommy leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You patted his hand softly before he drew away, taking up one of the glasses and turning back to your guests.

“Here you are, Chester.”

You glanced toward Beulah, grimacing as you saw her raise her hand to her mouth, resting it there, as if she wasn’t sure whether she’d be ill or not. You walked over to her, forgoing propriety as you crouched beside her.

“The tea should be ready in a moment. Would you like to go and lie down for a few minutes before dinner?”

She gave you a small, grateful smile.

“I’ll be alright, dear,” She insisted, patting your hand. “But could I ask you to get the tin of mints from my coat? They’re in the left pocket.”

“Of course.”

You straightened, heading for the coat closet. You’d only just retrieved the tin when the front door was flung open. You heard the clamoring of voices just a moment later, and you watched as Polly, Pearl, Lewis, Arthur, John, and an unfamiliar man piled in. You folded your arms across your chest, unable to help the slight, disapproving raise of your brow. Pearl caught sight of you first, and she cackled, pinching your cheek.

“Give up the sourpuss, pet, it’s only us.”

“I can see that, thank you.”

Ethel zipped into the hall, rushing to collect the coats as quickly as they were being shrugged off. You gave Lewis, Arthur, and John a peck on the cheek as they passed you, heading into the sitting room.

“I don’t get one?”

The man’s voice gave you pause, and you turned to get a better look at him.

Hugh Chester Blake had been a menace of a child when you were growing up—stealing your books, dipping the ends of your hair in ink, shoving you down into the dirt as he passed. Your gaze swept him speculatively. He had his mother’s eyes, his father’s thick, dark head of hair. You had remembered a lanky little twit, but he’d grown to be quite tall and quite broad.

“Hello, Hugh,” You greeted.

“That’s not a very warm welcome, is it.” He took a step closer, and you fought the urge to step back, swallowing thickly as he crowded into your space. Christ, where had Polly and Pearl gone? Play nice, just play nice. Pleasantries, you thought. Thomas had done the hard work, you couldn’t undo it by insulting the man—

“About time, Hugh,” You heard.

You could’ve cried with relief as Tommy joined you, curling a territorial arm around your waist.

“Mrs. Blake is looking for those mints, darling,” Tommy added. Darling, that was new—Your mind stalled at the endearment before you squeaked, “Oh, goodness! Excuse me.”

You hurried away from the crowded doorway, just catching on Tommy saying, “You boys took your sweet time.”

You crouched beside Mrs. Blake’s seat again, murmuring your apologies as you passed the tin over.

“It’s quite alright,” She insisted, “I know all about the hosting game—your attention is torn ten different directions.”

You smiled gratefully, giving her hand a squeeze as you straightened, glancing around. Everyone had drinks in hand…And Tommy and Hugh were still in the doorway. You frowned, recognizing the tight, irritated set of Tommy’s jaw. What could they possibly be discussing—?

“Dinner is nearly ready, Mrs. Shelby.” Ethel’s news snapped you out of your contemplation, and you nodded, smiling at her.

“I’ll start herding the cats, then. Thank you, Ethel.”

--

Dinner had gone off without a hitch. Every dish had been prepared perfectly—and the chef had been quick to heat broth for Beulah when she’d been wary of not being able to keep any of the rich meal down. You could feel yourself beginning to truly relax as you watched Pearl and Polly dance with John and Lewis. The sound of the record player, their chatter and laughter began to brighten up the typically drab, quiet calm of the sitting room.

“Room on your card for me?”

Hugh’s question made you clam up again, and your eyes darted to his palm. Pleasantries. You could manage one dance, couldn’t you? You gave him a small smile, resting your hand in his. You knew the moment that you did that it was a mistake. He tugged you far too harshly toward the others, causing you to nearly trip over your own feet. He rested his hand on your lower back, fingers splaying wide, nearly dipping lower than what was appropriate. Your hear ticked up in your chest as you took in the ruddiness in his cheeks.

Hugh was drunk.

You didn’t know how much he’d had at the Garrison, but he’d been pounding the wine back at dinner, nearly drinking an entire bottle alone, and hardly touching his food. Now, he jerkily steered you around the crowded space, his grasp on your hand so tight it was nearly painful. Where was Beulah? Maybe you could excuse yourself to check in on her—

“I’m cutting in.”  

Your eyes darted gratefully to Tommy as he grasped Hugh’s jacket, forcing the man to stop.

“What?” Hugh asked, face reddening in irritation.

“I said,” Tommy stepped closer, “I’m cutting in. I want to dance with my wife, if you don’t mind.”

If you don’t mind. It was tactful, almost genius. It put the ball in Hugh’s court. The polite thing to do would be to acquiesce; if he didn’t, the phrasing and his refusal to let go would seem absolutely ridiculous. You felt Hugh glance between you and Tommy before he reluctantly passed you into Tommy’s hands.

“Thank you for the dance,” You added over your shoulder before Tommy steered you to the other side of the dance floor. You sighed softly, resting your forehead against Tommy’s shoulder. “Your timing was superb.”

Tommy hummed knowingly, swaying you slowly as Arthur switched the record over.

“Are you alright?” He asked, sweeping his thumb over the side of your hand.

“I am now,” You murmured, lifting your head to look at Tommy. He nodded, gaze sweeping your face. His nose brushed gently against yours, his eyes flitting to your lips, and lingering. You swiped your tongue along your lower lip, stomach fluttering as Tommy pressed his lips to yours. You felt the swaying slow, then stop as Tommy’s arm curled around your waist, drawing you into his chest. You gently lifted your hand from his shoulder, resting on his nape. You had barely kissed him on your wedding day. This was sweet in a way that you’d never known from Tommy—a way that you wanted to become more familiar with.

The hoots and whoops from Lewis, Arthur, and John snapped you from the tender embrace, and you turned your head from Tommy, embarrassedly pressing your face into his neck.

“Alright, pipe down,” Tommy grumbled. When you managed to draw yourself from your nervous hiding place, you found Polly and Pearl sharing a smile.

--

“…What are you doing in here?”

The question flew out of your mouth, coated in your surprise, and you could see the swell of Tommy’s amusement as he closed your bedroom door behind himself.

“Hugh is in my room,” He informed you. Oh—Lord above. You nodded a little. Of course. How hadn’t you thought of that?

“I see,” You muttered. Tommy hummed, pushing off from the door and walking deeper inside. You watched him take in the furnishings, his gaze sweeping the armchair and bookshelf, the small reading table, the nightstand…And the bed. You raised your hand, scrubbing at the back of your neck.

It was going to be alright, you told yourself. You’d slept with Tommy—you’d been asleep with Tommy—before, just a few weeks ago. That had been a comfortable enough experience, so…So this would be more than alright. You were certain of it.

“I’ll just,” You gestured toward the divider in the corner of the room, “I’ll go change.” You skirted around it before Tommy could argue, or offer to be the one to change behind it. You plucked up your pajamas and stepped behind the divider, scrubbing your hands over your heated face once you were out of his line of vision. How did this man still make you so nervous?

“...It was a lovely evening.” Tommy’s insistence floated over the divider to you, prompting you to snap into action.

“Yes, it was,” You answered, words slightly muffled as you drew your dress up and over your head. You hung it over the silk folding screen, reaching for the fastenings on your brassiere and corset. “I’ll have to give the cook an excellent recommendation. Dinner was superb.”

“Yes.”

You drew off your thigh-highs, hanging them on the screen by your dress. You pulled on your nightdress, smoothing your hands over the cool, sky-blue fabric before putting on the matching robe.

“…May I come out?” You asked, damning your nerves.

“Of course.”

You stepped around the screen, surprised to find Tommy in bed already. He had the manuscript that had been on your bedside table in hand.

“You’re making progress,” He commented, flipping through a few pages, skimming a few of your corrections and notes.

“I was. Things got a little…Held up with the Blake’s visit,” You admitted. You’d hardly touched the manuscript in the last couple of weeks. You walked over to the basin, trying to ignore the feeling of Tommy’s gaze following you.

“…Is that new?” He asked.

“Hm?” You looked at them, finding his gaze lingering on your exposed legs. The interest in his gaze warmed you, and you hurriedly looked away again as his eyes swept upward. “Oh, the—This? No.”

“Had it long?”

“A few months.” It was another outfit that you’d gotten for your honeymoon months ago—one that Tommy would never had had a reason to see before.

“Will you be reading before bed?” Tommy asked.

“I think not. It’s been a long day.”

The stress was beginning to drain from your system, making you feel the full weight of your fatigue. You were almost certain that you’d fall asleep the second your head hit the pillow. You washed your face quickly, listening to Tommy turn the pages of the manuscript every few moments. When you finished, you dried your hands and turned back to the bed.

“Would you like to leave that light on?” You asked, nodding toward the lamp on the bedside table as you shrugged your robe off, hanging it up on the bed post.

“I can do without it, unless you’d like it on.”

“No! I’m alright,” You chirped as you climbed into bed, tugging the covers up. Tommy set the manuscript aside, shutting the light off before he settled down in bed beside you. You could feel his legs brush against yours as you the two of you laid on your sides facing one another.

“…Hugh’s a live one, isn’t he,” Tommy commented.

“He hasn’t been told no much before.”

“That became quite clear.”

You shivered at the thread of steel in Tommy’s tone. You reached out, tracing a finger gently along the back of his hand.

“Thank you again,” You added, “For stepping in when you did.”

“I told you,” Tommy turned his hand over beneath yours. “If I ever find out another man touched you, I’ll give you his hands.”

You huffed a soft laugh through your nose.

“May put a bit of a damper on your contract with his father.”

“Though they’d make an excellent trophy above the mantle.”

“That’s vile,” You giggled, smile widening as Tommy’s hand wrapped around yours. You were quiet for a few moments, reveling in the heat of his palm against yours. “…I don’t suppose I’m afforded the same opportunity?” You added.

“What do you mean?”

“Whose hands would I get to take as a trophy?”

Tommy met the statement with silence, and it made you want to sink into the bed. You’d been joking—

“There’s been no one,” He finally said. The admission made your heart stutter in your chest.

“Excuse me?”

“There’s been no one,” He repeated.

“But…Lizzie—”

“Not for months.”

Months. When had it stopped? And—

“Why?” You asked, shaking your head in disbelief. Tommy raised your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. He pressed another to your forearm, then shifted closer, lips brushing against your shoulder. He turned his head, and your eyes fluttered closed as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Tommy—” You breathed, but you were unable to get another word out as his lips covered yours. You sighed against his lips, raising your other hand to smooth over the close crop of his undercut. He let go of your hand just long enough to grasp your nightdress, using his hold on the fabric to draw you closer, then steer himself up over you. You let your thighs splay as he slotted between them, pressing his bare chest against you, hips flush and grinding against yours. His kisses trailed lower, hands grasping covetously at the fabric covering your chest. He gave the lace a yank, and you hissed softly as you heard it rip.

“Tommy—Oh,” Your mouth fell open as he drew one of your nipples into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, “Damnit—I liked this nightdress.”

Tommy lifted his head, lips brushing your chin. “I’ll get you others,” He grumbled against you, “I’ll buy you a hundred more tomorrow.” His hand slipped between your legs, and you gasped as his fingers brushed against your pussy. You tipped your hips up into his touch pleadingly, lowering your chin and finding his lips with yours.

“I want you bare,” He murmured against your lips.

“Are you going to fuck me?”

“No.”

The answer made you go still, embarrassment and nerves flipping your stomach. Tommy took your face in his hands, holding your gaze steadily with his.

“I’m going to make love to my wife.”

--

His palm pressed heavily over your mouth, muffling your moans as his cock stretched your needy core. You pressed your head back into the pillows, curling your arms around his shoulders, and your legs around the backs of his.

“Sssh,” He murmured, the push of the hush brushing against your ear. “We don’t want the Blakes hearing, do we?”

You managed to shake your head a little, blinking up at Tommy as you panted broadly against his palm. Your cunt throbbed around his cock as he fully sheathed himself in you. You reached up, tugging Tommy’s hand away and catching his lips in a kiss. His fingers intertwined with yours, raising your joined hands to rest on the pillow beside you. He rolled his hips gently, then again as you whimpered, swirling his tongue with yours. Tommy fucked you with slow, even strokes, trading slow kisses as you moaned and panted into one another’s mouths.

Tommy broke your kiss, pressing his face into your neck as his thrusts became harder. You gasped, sinking your nails into his shoulders as you let your eyes slide closed. The bed was beginning to creak with his movements, the slapping of your hips slightly muffled beneath the sheets. You felt the familiar curling sensation beneath your waist, and you slid a hand down, grasping Tommy’s behind and using the grip to urge him on. He drew back just enough to get a good look at you, his eyes bright in the dim room. You sucked in a stunned breath as he reached between your legs, fingers teasing your clit as his hips pounded yours more roughly.

Your eyes widened as the headboard whacked against the wall behind you.

“Tommy,” You chastised, “Hugh will hear—”

“Let him,” Tommy spat, “Let him hear how I take care of my wife.”

You bit your lip to quiet your moans, grasping his wrist and stilling it as his touch tipped you over the edge. Your hips bounded up against his, chased by the harsh slamming of his hips, and the heat of him spilling into you. The scrape and squeak of the bed quieted as Tommy braced himself over you, looking down at your sweat-sheened body. He leaned down, brushing his lips over your breasts, then up, over your neck. You closed your eyes, curling your arm around his shoulder and resting your hand on the nape of his neck. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the pounding of his heart against yours. You turned your head, nuzzling his hair and pressing a kiss to his head.

“…Think that dresser has enough room for my things, too?” He mumbled. You grinned, tightening your grip on him as his hand tenderly smoothed along your thigh.

“It certainly does.”