Arabella || Peaky Blinders [Michael Gray]

seventeen

Chapter Seventeen
"Felt the sexual tension as soon as I stepped foot in here."

"What the fuck happened to you?" Michael asked, raising his eyebrows as Arabella traipsed through the office door late that night, slamming a bottle of whiskey down on his desk.

"Nick cheated on me," she responded, not a hint of emotion in her eyes as she began to pour them both a drink.

"He what?!" Michael asked, almost standing up. Nick had the nerve to come to their office threatening him, and asking if Arabella was cheating, when that was exactly what he had doing the whole time.

Arabella waved him off, noticing the anger glazing over Michael's eyes. He was fully ready to storm out that door, find Nick and knock him out. "Don't waste your time. John's already hunting him down," she told him, tilting her head as she knocked back her glass of whisky. "Think he might bloody kill him."

"Yeah, well," Michael paused to swallow his own drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That bastard deserves it." Arabella could only nod in agreement, pouring them both another drink. Michael eyed her for a moment, wondering if he should actually check that she was ok. He wasn't exactly sure what to do in that type of situation, let alone what to say. "You deserve better, you know."

Arabella glanced up at him. "Bloody well right I do," she mumbled, bringing the glass to her lips again. She swallowed thickly, the alcohol continuing to burn down her throat, but she couldn't care less about it, she just wanted to drink, and drink, and forget.

"You should go steady on that," Michael warned her, slight smile curling at the corners of his lips. "Don't want to have to carry you home."

Arabella rolled her eyes, though she was biting back a small smile. She was glad she came back to the office, she couldn't bear to sit alone in her house wallowing – and even if her and Michael weren't always each other's favourite person, he was still company.

Michael silently watched Arabella, long overdue paperwork now at the back of his mind. He couldn't care less about Tommy, his mother, or the numbers, or Nick, or even Charlotte. Not when he looked at her, the way her skin basked underneath the warm glow of the light, the way her green eyes shone when she looked up at him with that half-smile, the one that hid so much pain, but covered it with so much strength. She was well and truly, something else. And Michael was glad that she was sat there with him at that very moment. That, after the arguments, the disagreements, the amount of time they'd spent apart, he was the one she trusted enough to turn to.

"I'm sorry for the way I've been acting."

Arabella glanced up at Michael, eyebrows pulling together in a frown. Then, she considered what he said for a moment, realising that, yes, he was right, he had in fact been a dick to her lately and he should be apologising. "Why?" She found herself asking him, genuinely curious to know. "What changed?"

He shook his head, tilting the glass in his hands, attention falling on that as the whisky swirled around at the bottom. "Nothing." He hesitated for a moment. "I guess I just thought you had."

Arabella's frown deepened. "Me?"

"You came back from America rich and with a man you wanted to marry," he said, placing his glass down on the table. He reached for the bottle of whisky. "I thought you– I don't know what I thought."

"Well, I'm still the same old, Arabella," she told him, pushing her empty glass over to him. Michael took the hint, pouring her another drink. "The same old fucked up Arabella," she muttered to herself, picking up the glass. "You could have just talked to me, you know. Rather than having all these arguments at work."