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"You're not alright, Irene. Just admit it, you have a gash on your forehead, you've got lots of bruises, and for God's sake, they've cut a fringe on those beautiful locks,"
Have you ever clung to your father like there was no tomorrow?
Savouring the signature smell of him that reminds you of fulfilled and joyous childhood. The memory of how he would spin you around in the middle of the meadows while your mother cautions him to be careful as she tends to your rowdy siblings.
The first thing Irene did after the metamorphic incident was run to Papa's arms and sob.
Isabelle followed suit, her eyes already red, wrapping her arms around Papa and her older sister's back. It baffles Irene that, after all these years, a father's embrace was the most gentle affection she could ever have.
Papa squeezed in his daughters, afraid that if he let go even a little bit, his little girls would disappear. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry, my darlings,"
Papa's baritone voice trembled, "Y-you have no idea how sorry I am."
Irene's stomach sank. She could never recall the time her Papa cried. As in, he never did. Not when she had to get her appendix removed all those years ago, not when Imogen had to get her arm fixed after falling down from her horse. Not when Mama passed. Her father has always been stone-faced, showing barely to no emotion. "It's alright, Papa. Please, we know. We know."
Papa cleared his throat as he let go, caressing the scar on his eldest daughter's forehead, "Look what that prick did to you... Let's get you all settled in, hm?"
Isabelle whispered, "Yes, please."
"Mr Shelby." Papa's blue eyes moved behind Irene as he ushered both of them in. There was something amok in Papa's tone that made her wonder what had happened while she and Isabelle were instead occupied by being shackled up somewhere.
When she turned her head toward him, Thomas ducked his head low. Suddenly interested in the same old shoes she would see him wear every day. He was avoiding the brown-eyed heiress, she could tell. By his body language, the blue-eyed devil was definitely evading Irene's gaze.
How dare he? I was fucking kidnapped. Because of him. And he has no balls to look at me in the face?
"Are you coming, Mr Shelby?" was what came out of Isabelle's mouth. Her older sister cleared her throat.
With one short glance at Irene, Thomas answered, "No."
"Oh, well. Thank you, Mr Shelby, for bringing my girls home. I am fully indebted to you." Papa approached the gang leader and gave him a fiddly hug. It was a pretty unpleasant sight. With Papa's cigar on the back of Thomas' head, you can see how annoyed he looked.
With a simple nod to the socialites and their father, he walked back.
Irene wants to call out to him, yell out his name for once, not out of frustration however out of her yearning for him. But alas, the double doors closed with a bang. Once again, something was separating her from Thomas Shelby.
Though she could swear on her Mama's grave, with that one last sliver of light between those doors, she could catch Tommy turning his head.
Eyes fixed on hers, cigarette lifted towards his lips, he climbed to his car.
Face a stone, guise as cold as his devilish heart.
And that's when Irene Grosvenor's heart indeed sank. For about the hundredth time, by the same fucking man.
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It was one thing being squished together in a crying group hug as soon as you set foot inside your house. It was also being watched and guarded as you change from your icky dress to a more comfortable satin lounging wear.
"You know, I am excellent." Irene sighed from behind the screen, separating her from the gawking young ladies waiting on her bed. "I am home now. Safe and sound."
"You're not alright, Irene. Just admit it, you have a gash on your forehead, you've got lots of bruises, and for God's sake, they've cut a fringe on those beautiful locks," Exclaimed Tabitha dramatically. The rest of the girls feigned crying faces.
Irene chuckled, "Such a travesty."
It was true. Irene was far from alright, physically. The colossal mirror in front of her was telling her the truth. The red gash on her forehead, though treated, was far from healing. Her face was sunken, even though it had more colour than it did just a few days ago, just from her sitting on the cold floor for more than twenty-four hours. It was also challenging not to be fed caviar three times a day.
"Right, Izzy. Your turn," Giving her hairbrush to Daphne, Irene sat on the edge of the bed, "Though I really see no point in us changing in my room, together."
"You know, you don't have to be so stoic all the time. It's alright to be vulnerable once in a while, darling." Daphne's hand moved slowly on her hair, untangling every stubborn hair. The voice was so smooth and silky; it was calming her already.
It was quiet for a while. As the girls were all looking at each other, seeing the truth in Daphne's words.
The eldest daughter of the Grosvenor household has always masked her true sentiments. Always opting to hide everything from everyone except her closest ones. "I'm not stoic."
Irene could feel all the eye rolls even when she wasn't looking. Even Izzy's from behind the screen. "Alright, maybe a tad, " She mumbled.
"You mean a tad bit too much." Ana continued.
"Hey, I am not-"
The sound of the telephone ringing cut Irene off.
Tabitha sighed before picking it up with much force, "Hello?"
"Oh, hello, handsome."
Every inhabitant of the bedroom either rolled their eyes or gagged. Or both. Arthur, again. Don't get her wrong, Irene is quite fond of Arthur and John. Especially after they made that grand entrance at the brewery. It was as if they were her saviours. But the idea of them hasn't quite gotten to her yet.
"Uh-huh. Right,"
"She talks haughtily to him; it's sickening," Daphne whispered to the rest of them. They all nodded in unison.
"Well, alright. I'll tell the girls. Right, love you too, darling."
They all looked at each other.
"Love?" Imogen choked out once Tabitha place the phone back. "Oh, hush. It was due anyway."
"Was it?" Izzy stared at Tabitha with one eyebrow raised.
The one asked looked quite pissed before clapping her hands together excitedly, "Anyway, there seems to be a little soiree going to happen soon. As in tomorrow evening, and everyone, "
"When I say everyone, I mean everyone," Tabitha eyed Irene, who was already dreading the idea of meeting Thomas again. She told her girls what had happened earlier and how Thomas Shelby hadn't muttered a single word to her after the incident. Not a one.
Not even a thank you for being kidnapped and being a bargaining offer.
"Is coming." Tabitha finished, falling back to the bed.
Her forefinger was getting red from all the fidgeting, "I really don't think I can come, my loves."
"Irene, please. This soiree is to celebrate you and Isabelle alone. For getting you ugly arses back." Tabitha clutched on Irene's knee. Eyes brightening up, looking to beg her way into this. "I swear if you feel in the slightest bit uncomfortable, we will zoom our way back home."
Right, because apparently, every kidnapped victim needs to have a party thrown for them. Irene rolled her eyes internally. "Are you sure that it's just not to celebrate the killing of Luca Changretta?"
"Well, that and you two."
Irene scanned the room, all of them looking as hopeful as they can be. Already past the fact that she and Izzy were just chained up about twenty-four hours ago. She wasn't ready and judging by her sister's expression, she wasn't prepared as well. Izzy was still raw from the fact that her fiancé had left her to the hands of the Changrettas and to let her suffer the way she did.
But then, it wasn't like they could say no. It was Tommy's party anyway. He's the one hosting it, and she and Izzy are just the guests of honour. They could always sneak away from the party when it becomes too uncomfortable for either of them. "Alright."
Everybody clapped excitedly. Everyone except Irene and Isabelle jumped up and down, squealing and shaking the two girls' bodies happily.
How I wish I can take a break from the blue-eyed devil.
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It was about one AM when Irene jumped up from her bed.
Sweat running down her back, fingers twitching, her breath quickening. She whipped her head around her room, feeling someone was watching her. Ready to take her whenever she isn't, to shackle her again and bring her to that God awful place. The memory of how the reek of excrements, sweat, booze, and cigarettes was still buried in her head.
When the laboured breathing didn't seem to help her calm down, Irene considered calling upon one of her sisters or one of the girls. But then, she would ruin their chances of getting a good night's sleep after busying themselves with the search for her and Isabelle a few days ago.
Then she considered calling Thomas Shelby.
But after remembering the way he looked at her, the way his eyes cut deep within her psyche. She crawled into her shell again. She honestly didn't understand what she did wrong, as he was very attentive when they were at the brewery. The concern seemed to fill out his eyes, very different compared to the coldness he showed yesterday.
Irene sighed; it looks like she won't be getting much sleep tonight.