𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 ; tommy shelby

07 - 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐞

07.

Emma was excited to be alone with Tommy in that big stately home of his. Of course, she had no intention of letting slip anything important about her family, she was only here to play more of her game. She was intrigued by Thomas, by how such a violent man could be so calm and measured when she tried to wind him up.

She supposed that the reason she was doing this was because she'd never met anyone like him. He seemed numb to the world, in a way, like something stopped him from caring enough to get angry when Emma provoked him. Maybe if she could get him to feel something, he might show his true colours.

The girl pulled into the driveway of Thomas' stately home, parking her Rolls Royce right in front of the fountain in the courtyard. She stepped onto the gravel in her black boots. Emma was wearing a long dark brown skirt that hung below her knees, paired with a lighter brown jumper and her black trench coat. Her hair was in a low bun held together with her onyx pin.

She reached out and knocked on the front door, desperately craving a cigarette.

A few moments passed, and Tommy opened the door himself rather than a maid.

"Good evening," Emma said with a smile.

               "Gin?" Tommy offered as they entered the large drawing room. It was decorated lavishly, with a large Persian rug and navy velvet loveseat.

"Yes, please," Emma said, flopping down on the loveseat and swinging her legs around so they hung over the arms. She kicked her black boots off carelessly and pulled the pin out of her hair so it tumbled down out of the tight bun.

Tommy passed her the glass of gin and sat down in an armchair opposite her.

"Right," Tommy lit a cigarette as he spoke.

"Right," Emma repeated with a smile. "Are you going to give me a tour of the house?"

"If you like," Tommy said, getting up. He seemed much more relaxed than usual, he would usually counter her attempts at stalling when he was trying to ask her questions.

Emma swung her legs back around and got up from the loveseat, following as Tommy led her through the house.

They reached the stairwell, and a lump formed in Emma's throat when she saw the large portrait of Tommy and her sister. It was eerie, seeing Grace so lifelike up there. It was as if she was looking down at Emma from heaven, watching her as she walked around Tommy's house.

Tommy carried on walking up the stairs, and Emma followed suit, trying not to meet her sister's burning gaze as she walked up the stairs.

"Look at this," Emma curtsied tipsily for Tommy, who was sat on the beds up against the headboard in one of the spare rooms, watching her little performance. She did a few ballerina like twirls, her skirt fanning out around her knees.

"I like the skirt," Tommy said. "But I prefer your suits."

Emma felt a glowing smile on her face. Nobody ever appreciated her suits. She supposed that had been part of the reason she always wore them, to shock people. But she had grown up always admiring men's fashion more than women's, and was rather put out when her mother would make her wear dresses and put ribbons in her hair. Though she dressed like a man, Emma didn't consider herself a tomboy, nor did she lose an ounce of femininity in a shirt and tie.

"I get them made in Italy," she noted, walking over to the bed and sitting down next to Tommy.

Their eyes met and for a moment, their faces were inches apart like they might kiss, but Tommy turned away hastily.