THE FRENCH KISSERS ― Thomas Shelby

14. erchomai

Rose snorted. "How convenient. I wouldn't be surprised if it were you ordering this rainfall. Does your monopoly also extend to the weather now?"

He brought the cigarette to his mouth, and the flash of lightning crossed his eyes at the same time as the sky. "I'm not God."

She chuckled. "Not yet."

He leaned away from the stairs, closer to her. Suddenly the smoke between them was not so much a veil as it was a bridge.

"Stay the night, Rose. The storm won't go away anytime soon. And you're not driving in these conditions."

She took a step towards him, striding from one danger to one even greater. Frances was gone. Even if she were there, Rose would not have seen her.

"Says who?"

"Says the insomnia I will have if ya go out that door now."

"Blackmail doesn't work with me, Thomas."

He took a hand out of his pocket, the shadows in the house suddenly pulled into his high cheekbones, to the long curves of his lashes. The rain outside seemed to fall directly on her heart, flooding it with something she didn't want to feel. That she couldn't feel.

"Not blackmail. The truth."

Thunder broke between them, charging the air with electricity.

"I'll stay," she said. "I don't want my business partner sleep deprived. But you should know there's a greater chance you're hit by that lightning than fucked by me."

He gestured with the burnt cigarette towards her, and she felt the burn at the end of his stare.

"I'm a bookmaker, Rose. Don't talk about odds with me."

***

The lamps were lit, but the light was flickering as if it was going to die out at any second. Outside, thunder was getting closer to lightning, and the portrait of Thomas hanging on the wall, next to a majestic white horse with a golden frame around it, looked as sacred and unattainable as the altar in a church.

"Don't you feel like he's watching you?" Rose asked Charles. The smooth skin of his brow was wrinkled as he looked down. The thunderstorm outside was nothing compared to the peas in his plate. "Makes you want to eat all your greens, doesn't it?"

Charles moved his eyes from the peas to the picture, but the frown simply deepened. Thomas had stayed at the table for about five minutes before getting up and returning to his office, the cold food on his plate left untouched. Charlie had more than Rose and all the other kids from her village had had growing up, except for a home. Rose had never had a silent home; her family's laughter was as much a part of the foundation of her house as the roof or the walls.

"No." The toddler pouted, pushing the plate away as if it had a frog on it. "They taste bad."

"Sometimes, the things that are good for you do." Rose brought the plate back to him. Charlie looked at her, sighed and then picked up his fork with a very reluctant hand.

"If I eat this, will me eyes be as green as yours?"

"Even greener." She smiled. "Now what do you say we play a game after dinner, eh? Hide and seek?"

His eyes shimmered like marbles in the sun, and he nodded and took a mouthful of peas. That night the mansion woke up from its silence as Rose chased Charles around the house, spinning him around and tickling him every time she found him. His giggles got carved in the walls and reached the kitchen, where Frances and the other servants stopped to hear him. The opium bottle in Thomas's desk remained unopened and even nature seemed to calm down at the sound of the boy whose house finally became a home.