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iii. seventeen: ❝ we'll hate what we've lost ❞
𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: featherstone - the paper kites
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Marianna stood alone in the lavatory, the faint hum of chatter from the party outside seeping through the closed door. With trembling hands, she removed the faux fur draped around her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as she leaned against the bathroom counter, her gaze fixed on the reflection staring back at her.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Marianna felt the facade of strength she had meticulously crafted begin to crumble. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, a stark departure from the confident persona she so effortlessly projected to the world.
As she gazed into the mirror, she felt a prickling sensation behind her eyes, the telltale sign of tears threatening to spill over. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, willing herself to regain composure, to push back the tide of emotion threatening to engulf her.
"No," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible above the din of her racing thoughts. "I will not cry. Not here, not now."
Yet even as she fought to suppress the rising tide of tears, Marianna couldn't shake the nagging feeling of inadequacy that gnawed at her insides. Standing beside Tommy and Grace, she felt small, insignificant—a mere shadow of the woman she once was.
Louis's well-intentioned lie only served to exacerbate her feelings of inadequacy. She knew how she appeared next to him—a mismatched pair, a tarnished jewel beside a shining beacon of perfection. And yet, despite his noble intentions, Marianna couldn't help but feel a surge of anger towards him.
Why had he felt the need to claim her as his own? Did he not see the charade for what it was—a desperate attempt to save face in the presence of her former lover and his wife?
And worst of all, why did Marianna feel the overwhelming urge to confess the truth to Tommy—to lay bare the deception that had unfolded before them? It was a question she couldn't answer, a desire she couldn't comprehend.
With a heavy sigh, Marianna pushed herself away from the counter, steeling herself for the inevitable return to the party outside. As she smoothed down the wrinkles in her dress and forced a practiced smile onto her lips, she knew that the facade would hold—for now.
But beneath the veneer of confidence and poise, Marianna couldn't shake the feeling that her carefully constructed world was teetering on the brink of collapse—and that the truth, however painful, was poised to shatter the fragile illusion she had so painstakingly crafted.
Amidst the haze of cigar smoke and the distant hum of jazz melodies drifting through the air, Tommy found himself ensconced in a moment of turmoil, his heart entangled in the grip of conflicting emotions. The grandeur of the ballroom, adorned with opulent chandeliers casting a golden glow upon the assembled guests, seemed a world apart from the storm brewing within him.
Leaning against the intricately patterned wallpaper, Tommy's gaze remained fixed upon Marianna as she emerged from the lavatory, her silhouette cloaked in the luxurious embrace of a black faux fur stole. Its plush folds seemed to envelop her slender frame like a shield against the prying eyes of the world, yet Tommy couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration at the sight of her.
The memory of Louis Dormer, his lips pressing against the ring Tommy had bestowed upon Marianna as if it were his own, swirled within Tommy's mind like a tempestuous vortex. He stood there, a solitary figure amidst the ebb and flow of the soirée, grappling with the bitter truth that Marianna was slipping from his grasp.
"You're seriously marrying that 'Dormer'?" Tommy's voice pierced the air, resonating with a blend of disbelief and barely contained ire.
Marianna's response was as expected, yet no less infuriating. With an air of nonchalance that belied the tumult raging beneath the surface, she met his gaze with a flicker of irritation dancing in her eyes. "Yes."
But Tommy was not one to acquiesce so easily. With a steely resolve burning in his gaze, he stepped forward, his presence commanding attention as he blocked her path with an unwavering determination. Each step she took away from him felt like a dagger twisting in his chest, a palpable fear gripping his heart at the thought of losing her forever.
"Don't marry him." Tommy's voice reverberated with an intensity that brooked no argument, his words laden with a raw vulnerability that lay bare his innermost desires.
Caught off guard by his fervent plea, Marianna's brow furrowed in confusion, her composure momentarily faltering. "What are you talking about?"
The weight of Tommy's gaze bore down upon her, his features etched with an unyielding resolve as he met her eyes with unwavering conviction. "Mar, don't marry him."
Yet Marianna remained steadfast in her defiance, her resolve unshaken despite the tumultuous emotions swirling around her. "Why? Why shouldn't I marry him?"
The words hung heavy in the air, charged with the weight of unspoken truths and lingering regrets. Tommy's jaw clenched, his resolve hardening with each passing moment as he met Marianna's gaze head-on.
"You know why." His voice was a mere whisper, heavy with the weight of unspoken longing and unresolved emotions.
But Marianna's defiance remained unyielding, her gaze as steely as his own as she met his intense stare with a scoff of disdain. "Ah, no. No, Thomas."
Yet Tommy refused to be deterred, his voice a low growl tinged with a fierce determination that echoed through the grandeur of the ballroom, each word a testament to the depth of his love for her. "Yes, Marianna."
Marianna's eyes narrowed, a flicker of uncertainty betraying the facade of confidence she wore like armor. She searched Tommy's face, seeking answers within the depths of his piercing blue eyes, yet finding only the echo of her own doubts reflected back at her.
With each passing moment, the distance between them seemed to diminish, until they stood locked in a silent battle of wills, the air charged with the unspoken tension of their shared history.
"Tommy," Marianna's voice wavered, a tremor of vulnerability seeping into her tone as she reached out to touch his arm, her fingers trembling with apprehension. "I can't... I can't do this anymore."
But Tommy refused to let despair claim victory. With a tenderness born of desperation, he reached out to cup Marianna's face in his hands, his touch a lifeline amidst the chaos that threatened to consume them.
"Mar, listen to me," Tommy's voice was a whisper, barely audible above the din of the crowd, yet resonating with a clarity that cut through the tumult like a beacon in the night. "We've been through hell and back together, you and I. Don't take that away from us."
"Don't— Don't you fucking dare. You... you betrayed me," Marianna's words came out as a hiss, her fists clenched back at her sides as she struggled to contain the storm of emotions raging within her. "All my life, I've only been betrayed by those people I trusted. And this man? Louis. He never once, he helped me, he saved me."
"You don't love him." Tommy's voice was firm, unwavering in its conviction.
"How do you fucking know that?" Marianna's voice cracked with frustration, her eyes blazing with a fiery defiance.
"Because I fucking know." Tommy's reply was simple, yet filled with a depth of understanding that cut through the tension like a knife.
"Then you should know that you have no say at all since you married Grace. You're nothing to me but a business partner." Marianna's words were sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.
"We're both aware that that's not true." Tommy countered; his voice soft yet resolute.
"And we both know that what's true cannot happen. And that I deserved this. I deserve Louis." Marianna's voice wavered with a hint of vulnerability, her facade crumbling beneath the weight of her conflicting emotions. "You should be able to accept that."
"Let me make one thing very clear. I want you; I will always fucking want you." Tommy pulled her into his space. His breath was warm against her skin as he whispered, his words laced with a raw intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "I've wanted you every single goddamn day since you walked out of my life, and even more since the day you walked back in it. All roads lead to you, even those I took to forget you."
"Fuck off, Tommy Shelby." Marianna's voice was scarcely a murmur, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to push him away.
"Twice I've laid myself bare for you and all it's gotten me was a bullet wound and a broken heart. Don't torture me. It's a cruel thing to do, even to someone like me." Tommy breathed, his eyes searching hers for a glimmer of understanding amidst the chaos.
Marianna's breath caught in her throat, her resolve crumbling like sand between her fingers as she stared into Tommy's eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability hidden beneath his steely exterior. "Tommy...I can't..."
His grip on her arm tightened ever so slightly, his gaze piercing through her defenses. "Can't or won't, Mar?"
A torrent of conflicting emotions surged through Marianna's veins, her heart torn between the past she couldn't forget and the future she longed to embrace.
"I..." She faltered, unable to find the words to articulate the chaos raging within her.
Tommy's thumb brushed against her cheek in a tender caress, his touch igniting a spark of longing that she struggled to suppress. "Tell me, Mar. Tell me what's in your heart."
Marianna's breath hitched in her throat, her pulse racing with a tumultuous mix of desire and frustration. The heat of Tommy's proximity ignited a fire within her, stirring dormant emotions that she had long tried to bury.
Their bodies were inches apart, the air thick with unresolved tension that crackled like electricity between them. Despite her best efforts to resist, Marianna found herself drawn to him like a moth to a flame, unable to deny the magnetic pull of their shared history.
"Tommy..." Her voice was a mere whisper, barely audible above the pounding of her heart as she struggled to maintain her composure.
Tommy's gaze burned into hers with an intensity that weakened her knees, his hand lingering on her arm as if unwilling to let her slip away. The unbridled desire in his eyes mirrored her own, a silent confession of the longing that had plagued them both for far too long.
In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still as they teetered on the brink of something forbidden yet undeniably irresistible. The world around them faded into insignificance, leaving only the echo of their ragged breaths and the electric hum of their shared desire.
But as swiftly as the tension had ignited, reality crashed back with a jolt. Marianna tore herself away from Tommy's grasp, her chest heaving with the effort to regain her composure.
"We cannot," she whispered hoarsely, regret and longing lacing her voice. "Not here, not like this."
Tommy's expression softened with a hint of resignation, his gaze lingering on her with a silent plea for understanding. Despite the ache in his heart, he knew she spoke the truth.
"We cannot, perhaps, in this moment or this place," he murmured, his voice a mere whisper against the cacophony of jazz and whispered conversations that enveloped them, "but that does not mean I am willing to concede defeat, Mar."
"What do you mean?" She gambled to ask, her voice barely a breath amidst the swirling chaos of their clandestine rendezvous.
"I mean," Tommy began, his words measured and resolute, "that I will not give up on us. Not now, not ever. Despite the barriers that stand in our path, I refuse to believe that our story ends here."
A fleeting spark of hope ignited within Marianna's chest, a fragile ember amidst the shadows that threatened to engulf them. "But Tommy, we cannot deny the choices we've made, the lives we've chosen to lead."
With a gentle touch, Tommy reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from Marianna's face, his fingers tracing a path of tenderness against her skin. "I am not asking you to forsake your life, Mar," he whispered, his touch a balm against the ache of their affections. "Nor am I suggesting that we turn a blind eye to the consequences of our actions. But I refuse to believe that our love is bound by the shackles of circumstance."
"And what of Grace?" She dared to inquire, her voice but a mere echo amidst the swell of emotions that threatened to consume them whole.
A shadow passed fleetingly over Tommy's features, a ghost of pain flickering in the depths of his eyes before he composed himself once more. "Grace is my wife, and I will honor my commitment to her. But that does not negate the truth of what exists between us, Mari. Our connection transcends the confines of mere obligation or matrimonial vows."
In the midst of Tommy's poetic declarations, she felt a swell of frustration rising within her like a tempest on the horizon.
"Tommy," Marianna interjected, her voice tinged with exasperation, "your words paint a picture of a reality that exists only in dreams. This... this reckless pursuit of passion, it's not you. It's not the man I loved."
Tommy's expression faltered, a flicker of doubt betraying the unwavering facade he had maintained. "But Mar, can you not, see? This fire that burns within me, it is born of love. A love that knows no bounds, no fucking limits."
She shook her head, her resolve hardening with each passing moment. "Love does not bloody blind us to the consequences of our actions, Tommy. It does not give us license to go 'fuck it' and abandon all sense of responsibility."
A pang of guilt pierced Tommy's heart, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I know, Mar. I know that what I ask of you is not easy. But can you honestly say that you feel nothing? That the mere thought of us together does not stir something deep within your soul?"
With a heavy heart, Marianna took a step back, her gaze clouded with sorrow. "I cannot deny that there is a part of me that yearns for what could have been. But I refuse to sacrifice everything we've built, everything we hold dear, on the altar of passion."
And with that, Marianna turned away, her footsteps echoing like a solemn requiem in the silent expanse of the room. For in that moment, she realized that sometimes, love alone is not enough to bridge the chasm between desire and duty. And as she disappeared into the night, she left behind a shattered dream and a heart heavy with regret.
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The grandeur of the affair reached its pinnacle as Grace, Louis, and the notorious Duchess Tatiana Petrovna engaged in an exchange midst the whirlwind of chatter and clinking glasses. Their voices, like harmonious melodies, danced through the expanse of the opulent hall, weaving tales of intrigue and subtle manipulation. Yet, midst this orchestrated spectacle, the two figures Tatiana sought were notably absent from the scene.
Tatiana, ensnared by the allure of mischief, had graced the dinner party with her presence for a singular purpose: to disrupt the veneer of civility surrounding Tommy Shelby. Upon discovering his tangled history with her hired protector, a rush of satisfaction coursed through her veins, for she relished the prospect of unsettling both Shelby and the enigmatic Marianna James.
From the moment she had perused Marianna's dossier, Tatiana had been captivated by the oracular fig of the gypsy-turned-artist-turned-mercantile. The opportunity to witness Marianna's vexation firsthand sent a thrill coursing through Tatiana's being, akin to the exhilaration of a well-executed gambit.
The same sentiment extended to Tommy Shelby, leader of the notorious Peaky Blinders. Tatiana found a perverse delight in goading both him and Marianna, reveling in the tumultuous emotions she could incite with a mere flick of her tongue.
Thus, the question lingered: how could she provoke these two volatile souls to the point of fury within the confines of a single soirée?
Tatiana, ever the master of manipulation, devised a plan to ensnare them within her web of intrigue. Alas, instead of the intended targets, she found their respective companions. Nevertheless, Tatiana reasoned, they would serve her purpose just as well.
With a knowing smirk, Tatiana watched Marianna and Tommy's partners, the unwitting pawns in her elaborate game. For in the theater of her blueprint, every interaction was but a carefully choreographed act, each gesture a step towards the climax of her twisted entertainment.
"You've journeyed to Russia, Mr. Dormer?" She inquired, her eyes alight with intrigue as she leaned in towards Louis.
"Aye, my roots trace back there, Duchess. My father hailed from those lands." Louis replied, his tone tinged with a hint of pride.
Tatiana's countenance softened with genuine interest and she remarked in her native tongue, a smile gracing her lips. "How marvelous it is to find someone here with ties to my homeland."
"It is an honor to be in your esteemed presence, Your Grace." Louis returned the sentiment with a graceful bow of his head as responded in flawless Russian, his words carrying the weight of reverence.
Simply midst the exchange, Grace interjected with a playful tone, seeking to draw their attention back to her. "Come now, you two. Don't leave me out in the cold."
Tatiana offered a warm smile of apology before her gaze shifted, alighting upon the figure of Tommy Shelby as he emerged from the shadowed hallway. His demeanor was stoic, his countenance unreadable save for the tension etched upon his features.
"Oh, here comes your husband, Mrs. Shelby." She remarked casually, though a flicker of curiosity danced in her eyes as she observed Tommy's rigid stance and impassive expression.
"Tommy, this is Duchess Tatiana Petrovna." Grace announced, her voice carrying an undertone of anticipation as she presented the enigmatic figure before Tommy. "Come on, Tommy, aren't you impressed to meet a real duchess?"
Tommy's response was measured, his gaze assessing Tatiana with a discerning eye. "Well, I understand they charge a fee."
"Mr. Shelby, you are very direct." Tatiana remarked, a playful lilt dancing in her voice.
"Too direct." Grace interjected with a hint of disapproval and suspicion.
"But it's true." Tatiana continued, unruffled. "I attend these things for the champagne. And for the chance to be treated like a duchess again. You should have kissed my hand, Mr. Shelby."
"Forgive me." Tommy conceded gracefully, reaching for Tatiana's hand and bestowing upon it a respectful kiss.
Tatiana withdrew her hand with a swift, almost secretive motion, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes as she espied her supposed clandestine guardian emerging from the same corridor as Tommy. "Ah, who do we have here?"
"Who?" Louis inquired innocently, though there was a hint of mischief in his tone.
"The woman cloaked in gold." Tatiana remarked, her gaze ablaze with faux curiosity.
Following her gaze, they beheld Marianna's silhouette, her fiery locks cascading around her face like a halo as she surveyed the room with a quiet intensity.
"That's Marianna James, the artist," Grace interjected with a forced veneer of politeness, thinly masking her disdain. "And Louis's fiancee."
"Is that so?" Tatiana's eyebrows rose with intrigue. Turning to Louis, she requested, "Would you be so kind as to introduce me?"
"Of course, Duchess." Louis acquiesced with a nod.
Tatiana's smirk widened as she noted Tommy's subtle tension, his fists clenching at his sides as he shot her a sharp glance. She couldn't fathom the depths of the bond between Marianna and Tommy, but his reaction only confirmed her suspicions.
Meanwhile, Marianna scanned the room, seeking Diego, Arthur, or John. Her heart ached for the solace of home, not her impersonal hotel room, but her true sanctuary. Amidst her quest, she heard her name being called.
"Mar, this way!" Louis beckoned.
Reluctantly, she plastered on a smile and made her way towards him. Yet, her countenance darkened upon seeing Louis in the company of Grace and Tommy. Not only was he still entangled with Grace despite his assurances, but now he stood in the presence of Tatiana Petrovna, the discerning Russian Duchess who had sought her out for protection—the very reason she had dared to return to Birmingham.
Her golden gaze met Tatiana's for a fleeting moment, a silent exchange laden with unspoken tension. The Duchess' lips curled into a sly smile, a silent challenge that the gypsy artist accepted with a cool nod.
"Hello." Marianna greeted tersely, her tone polite but distant.
"How are you feeling?" Louis inquired, genuine concern etched across his features as he approached Marianna's side, his hand instantly finding the small of her back.
"I'm alright." She replied curtly, though her gaze remained fixed on the Duchess with a faux curiosity that thinly veiled her true sentiments.
As she finally settled within the group's circle, Tatiana's voice rang out like a bell, sweet and dripping with honeyed charm. "Louis, darling, do introduce me to your captivating betrothed."
Louis obliged, though Marianna could sense his excitement. "Duchess Tatiana Petrovna, allow me to present Marianna James."
The Duchess extended her hand, a gesture that Marianna reluctantly reciprocated.
"An honor to meet you, Duchess." She greeted with practiced civility, though her eyes betrayed her caustic observance.
"The pleasure is mine, Miss James," Tatiana replied, her voice smooth as silk. "I've heard much about you."
Marianna's jaw tightened imperceptibly, her response measured. "Likewise, I'm sure."
The atmosphere crackled with an undercurrent of tension, subtle yet palpable, like a storm brewing on the horizon. To the untrained eye, it masqueraded as nothing more than polite banter among guests, but beneath the surface, there were currents of suspicion and intrigue swirling.
Grace, ever the astute observer, felt the weight of attention bearing down upon her and the two women engaged in conversation. Unwilling to succumb to the scrutiny, she injected a forced cheerfulness into the exchange.
"She was asking about my sapphire." She announced, her tone masking the unease that simmered beneath the facade.
"I thought I recognised it." Tatiana's eyes sparkled with mischief as she responded, her gaze momentarily flickering towards Tommy, a silent acknowledgment passing between them regarding the origin of the prized gem.
Unaware of the tension mounting around her, Grace continued, oblivious to the subtle shifts in demeanor that betrayed deeper undercurrents. "She said it was Russian."
Her words hanging in the air, oblivious to the scrutiny directed towards her husband and the questioning gaze of the gypsy woman, her own brain turning at the subtle insinuation of the duchess.
Turning her attention to Tommy, Grace's words dripped with thinly veiled curiosity as she continued probed, "My husband has business in Russia. Perhaps you know about it, Tatiana?"
The Duchess brushed off Grace's insinuations with practiced ease, redirecting the conversation with a fleeting glance towards Tommy and then Louis, her inquiry fishing for truths hidden beneath layers of polite pretense. "And is Marianna's ring also of Russian origin?"
The weight of Tatiana's question hung heavily in the air, casting a shadow over the gathering. The awkward tension enveloped everyone present, each one privy to their own truths and secrets.
Tommy and Marianna exchanged knowing glances, while Louis remained oblivious to the origins of the ring he flaunted as a symbol of betrothal. Grace, her piercing blue eyes trailing over her husband and the gypsy artist, caught the subtle nuances in the Duchess's tone, sensing the unspoken implications lurking beneath the surface.
Breaking the suffocating muteness that lingered, Tommy interjected, his voice calmly remarked, attempting to diffuse the mounting unease. "Well, tonight is not a night for business, eh?"
But Grace, her annoyance now on full display, countered her husband's attempt at diversion with a faux smile that failed to mask her ire. "Is that why you were in the concert hall for about an hour now?"
"I think people are ready for dinner now, Grace." Tommy sighed, weary of the verbal sparring and attempting to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory.
"No, no. I'm not done pumping people for money." His wife persisted, her uncovering evident in her refusal to let the matter drop.
Amusement danced in Marianna and Louis's eyes as they exchanged a knowing glance, silently acknowledging Grace's challenge to her husband's authority.
"What is "pump for money"?" Tatiana, ever the outsider, sought clarification.
"It's what I do every day." Grace replied tersely, her eyes flitting in annoyance.
"We'll be pumping donations at the art auction, my dear." Marianna interjected smoothly, her words a subtle reminder of her shared partnership in business and social endeavors.
Grace's gaze hardened as she turned her scrutiny towards the woman and the one in front of her, suspicion simmering beneath the surface. Suspicion towards her husband, the Gypsy artist, and the Russian duchess.
"You know each other, do you?" She observed, her tone tinged with mistrust. "You see, I am in charge of compiling the list of guests, but it's my husband and his business partner who seems to know all of them."
"I hear he is very well connected." Tatiana's response flowed effortlessly, her demeanor untouched by Grace's insinuations, her gaze steady, hinting at a realm of intrigue beyond Grace's grasp.
"And where does a duchess hear that?" Grace prodded, her eyes darting around for clues.
"In certain circles." Tatiana replied cryptically.
"Which circles?" Grace pressed further.
"Perhaps ones beyond your concern, Grace." Marianna interjected with a sly grin dancing upon her lips.
Grace's retort dripped with disdain. "And you expect me to allow my husband to frolic within them alongside you?"
"All right, enough." Tommy interjected firmly, turning to summon his sister, who was keenly aware of the escalating discord. "Ada."
"Grace, there's a Lady Dowager who wants to speak to you about coffee mornings. She mentioned a £2,000 cash donation." Ada interposed, gently leading Grace away. Marianna caught Ada's eye and discreetly gestured towards Louis and Tommy. Without hesitation, Ada turned her attention to the two men. "Louis, your charm and good looks could prove useful. Tommy, you come along as well."
"Tatiana, you and I will speak later." Grace declared, yielding to being whisked away, trailed by Louis, who offered Marianna a smug nod.
"I would like that." Tatiana replied, a coy smile gracing her lips.
Tommy hesitated, torn between his desire to stay by Marianna's side and his obligation to follow Grace's lead. He knew all too well the unpredictable nature of the Russian woman, yet Grace's possessiveness tugged at him, refusing to grant him the solace of camaraderie with other women.
Reluctantly, Tommy yielded to Grace's insistent pull, his gaze lingering on Marianna with a silent promise of solidarity. As he was led away, a flicker of concern clouded his features, a silent acknowledgment of the precariousness of the situation.
Leaving the two women alone, Marianna slinked forward, her movements cautious, her steps echoing softly against the worn floorboards like whispers of secrets long buried.
"Going to the factory tomorrow is a bloody mistake." She breathed, her words a reverent murmur tinged with certainty, like a prophet foreseeing doom.
"Nevertheless, I shall go," Tatiana countered, a sly grin curling upon her lips, her demeanor daring and defiant. "And you, my dear, shall also be there."
"Do I have a choice?" Marianna sighed, her resignation palpable, weighing heavy in the air like the impending storm.
"No," The Duchess replied icily. "Ah, but there's more. My uncle has ordered me to seduce Tommy Shelby to gain an advantage. But with a beauty of a lover like you by his side, it won't be an easy task, will it?"
The gypsy woman remained silent, her jaw locked in defiance despite the veiled threat. "Tomorrow spells trouble, Tatiana."
"Have you not heard? We Russians have no morals," Tatiana retorted sharply. "I won't judge if you're still fucking Tommy Shelby. Seems he's rather taken with you, not his wif--"
"And no bloody sense." Marianna interjected with a shake of her head, chafe simmering beneath her cool exterior.
"And no options," The Russian woman continued, undeterred. "I'd fuck Tommy, or you, or even your Louis if it serves our cause. What say you to that?"
"I say you should stick to vodka and shut your fucking mouth." Marianna snapped, her patience wearing thin.
And yet, she her mouth she didn't. Tatiana's tone darkened, her gaze fixed on the ring adorning Marianna's finger. "Does Tommy's wife know the sapphire she wears is cursed by a Gypsy?"
Marianna's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat, a sense of foreboding creeping over her like a shroud. "What the fuck did you just say?"
"Tommy Shelby accepted a cursed sapphire from my uncle. Bad fucking luck, Marianna." Tatiana revealed, a smirk playing on her lips like a demon reveling in chaos. "As a gypsy, I'm sure you felt it."
"Don't you dare toy with us, Duchess." Marianna growled, her grip tightening on Tatiana's arm in a sudden panic, her world tilting on its axis.
"I'm not. In fact, I'm here to fucking warn you," Tatiana continued, her gaze lingering on the cursed ring. "That ring of yours bears the same cursed gem as Grace's. You'd do well to remove it."
"What in God's name have you done?" The Gypsy artist's voice trembled with a mixture of fear and anger, her eyes darting around the room frantically, her mind a whirlwind of superstition and dread.
"It's not me, Marianna. It's the man who gave it to you," Tatiana chuckled darkly, her amusement bordering on madness. "Remove it before something truly disastrous occurs."
"What do you mean?" Marianna demanded, her heart pounding with a sense of impending doom, the whispers of the spirits in her head growing louder, an ominous symphony of warning.
"The bad luck these gems bring strikes swiftly and without mercy. And tonight, I fear, will be no exception." Tatiana enjoin, her words dripping with a sinister edge, like the hiss of a serpent in the darkness, venomous and chilling.
Marianna's mind spun with a maelstrom of dread, her senses overwhelmed by the weight of Tatiana's revelation. She could feel the tendrils of fate tightening around her, threatening to suffocate her very soul. Each whispered syllable from the spirits felt like a dagger piercing her heart, leaving her trembling in the shadow of impending catastrophe. Every breath she drew seemed laden with the heavy scent of impending doom, as if the air itself conspired to choke her with its malevolence.
Marianna swiftly departed, leaving Tatiana behind with a mad smile painted on her face, she felt as though the very air crackled with foreboding.
Her steps quickened, urgency propelling her forward as if pursued by unseen specters. The weight of the cursed ring on her finger now felt like searing flames licking at her skin, each moment it remained a torment.
Frantically, Marianna searched for Grace or Tommy, her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum. She darted through the brilliantly lit lobby, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her mind consumed by a singular purpose: to rid the cursed relic around Tommy's wife before it unleashed its full wrath upon the mother of an innocent child.
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5181 words.
author's note:
I've sprinkled a bit more spice into this chapter. Things were feeling a tad... undercooked before, so I've beefed it up a bit.