"So, how long have you been in New York?"
"Since last month," Venetia replies with a big grin.
Nikki raises her eyebrows, looking immediately at Tom and flashing a surprised smile. He turns away - practically blushing. Late February was when her sons stopped touring Europe for the 'Uncharted' press junket and settled into New York.
"Did you two orchestrate this?"
"I'm not smart enough to do anything like that," she scrunches her nose, turning towards the man she's obsessed with and always has been.
Tom shakes his head in agreement, "I had no idea until we got talking at a party. It's been nice having someone else around... Apart from my usual entourage."
"If I'd known you felt that way I would've quit ages ago," Harry chimes in, picking his head upwards from his phone.
He's been surgically attached to it since their entourage touched down in New York, making he doesn't miss a single message from girlfriend, Latisha. Tom throws his eyes to the back of his head - ignoring his brother's melodrama.
Of course, he wouldn't quit. Being Tom's go-to brother has given him a career, of sorts, and exposure.
"You know what I mean," Tom Mumbles as he tiredly rubs the corner of his eye. "Vee being here gives me something to look forward to."
Honoured, Venetia appreciatively pouts her lips together whilst gliding her hand through Tom's growing brunette locks.
She's never been with a man who has long hair before. It's natural and textured. Not too long, not too short. It also has a strange softness about it, but it maintains shape and structure, even after her fingers run through it.
It's nearly as long as hers and that mesmerises her. Before Tom, she never to like long hair on men - yet here she is, twirling his dark locks around her index finger.
"So, it's a coincidence that you're both single and based in New York?"
Tom truthfully nods his head.
Nikki doesn't pry anymore. She'll save that for later, when they're in the middle of dinner and the conversation grows stale.
"Right..." the red-headed woman's voice trails off. "First things first," Nikki points towards Venetia's burgundy suitcase. "I'll show you your room and help you get settled in," Venetia furrows her eyebrows and fakes an intrigued smile.
She'd hoped that Tom would be the one to show her to the bedroom - that they'd familiarise the bed the same way one would by breaking in a pair of shoes.
"That sounds wonderful," Venetia enthusiastically claps her hands together, wanting to seem grateful.
Harry and Tom continue to linger in the living room while Nikki shows Venetia to her new bedroom.
The oldest brother takes their absence as the perfect opportunity to explain to Harry why exactly Venetia needs his room. However, he fumbles immediately and says something down the lines of "don't cock-block me" which came off as vaguely threatening. Harry, somehow, saw the funny side and took a couple of steps away from his brother for emphasis.
Meanwhile, Venetia was shown her new temporary room.
For most of her life her bedrooms have been luxurious - being golden encrusted details or real ivory, which has always disgusted her. Venetia is a woman who chooses furniture for function rather than for style. If she bought a chair, it must be comfy. If she bought a side table, it must be sturdy enough to hold all her electronics and screenplays.
Thankfully, the room is just as functional - and minimalist - as her hotel room.
She wanders into the room and touches things as she goes. Things that do not belong to her, or the production accommodation. She touches: the soft surface of the vanity table, the edge of Harry's laptop screen. Then, her hand locks onto one of the four bed posts, she looks at the unmade bed, then downwards at the spotless white carpet where a pair of - hopefully clean - boxer briefs reside.
Nikki notices them at the same time. To save embarrassment she kicks them underneath the bed while maintaining eye-contact with the girl.
"It is okay if I stay here, right?" She whispers, knowing that Nikki will give her the truth.
Although she isn't too pleased that her eldest son is kicking her other son out for a girl - Nikki cannot deny that it's a sweet gesture. That, of course, Tom would like Venetia to live with him while his working on an emotionally endearing project.
She nods her head without saying anything. Venetia, slowly, but appreciatively, nods her head. She smiles at the bare room that smells oddly like a Lynx Africa factory.
"Make yourself at home," Nikki squeezes her shoulder. "Dinner might be a bit late tonight. I forgot a couple of ingredients and will need the boys to pop to the shops. If you need anything write a list and they'll be happy to get it."
"Actually, I need to get a few bits and bobs for myself. I'll be happy to go with Tom."
"Is that wise?" His mother queries.
Venetia narrows her eyes in confusion, prompting Nikki to explain.
"You know, what with all of the negative comments and death threats?"
Venetia shakes her head, "Probably not."
"I'll leave you get to settled in. Harry will be gathering his things soon," Nikki quickly says before Venetia can start a new conversation.
Venetia gratefully nods her head, watching Nikki slightly close the door behind her as she leaves the room.
It took Venetia fifteen minutes to get settled in - 'settled' meaning standing in the middle of the untidy room and texting her assistant, Kaia, her new address. During that time Tom waited in the living room, looking through the blue bird app that he installs now and again. The only reason why he's tempted to go on it these days is because of Venetia. She's always been more active on Twitter than Instagram-apart from her live streams.
When the app loads his burner account is filled to the brim with her content. Mostly hate - but also her fandom fighting back - it's all so childish.
He goes through all of her posts one-by-one, smiling at all of her Venetia-isms. She's just as vibrant as she's always been.
The actor types his name into her Twitter and waits for the results. The last time she posted anything about him on her public feed was when they were teenagers - before today his fans didn't even know those pictures existed. The photo consists of Tom looking slightly taller than Venetia, to which she captioned it "don't let the height difference deceive you, he's teeny!"
"Bitch," Tom softly whispers under his breath with a big grin attached to his lips.
No matter how hard he tries not to give into height jokes... They get him in the end. There's something even more humorous when Venetia, who is shorter than he is, takes the piss. It's quite literally friendly fire.
He shakes his head while scrolling down slightly again. It surprises him to see a photo of them when they were younger. In the photo Venetia, formally known as Lady Venetia Vesper-Victoria Vose, rests her head against his cheek. In the photograph, they both shyly smiled at whoever was behind the camera. Tom figures it must be one of his mother's masterpieces, it's too professional and intimate to be anyone but hers.
Since he has barely any photos of Venetia when she was younger, as they're all deleted or stored in the cloud, the tip of Tom's finger presses down on the picture and saves it. He doesn't know what he'll do with the photo, it'll presumably collect dust like the rest of his photographs, apart from those which will get posted to his finsta account to celebrate milestones.
The actor smiles at her deliberately bad photo choice. Everybody gets nice photos... Apart from him. He'd do the same thing. Not being meticulous or out of spite, nope. They know each other enough to know that those types of unflattering photos humour them, that they like them better than normal photos with 'boring' poses.
He hears laughing in the distance, it sounds like Nikki and Venetia have reunited in the kitchen. He can't see them, but he definitely hears Venetia's voice. He smiles.
When they were kids, she was never the best at Twitter. She'd make really long threads about the littlest of things that bothered her, for it she got called all the names under the sun. 'It's not deep' is the comment which plagued her comment section the most, before she made it so only people she follows can reply. 'You are miserable' or 'let people have fun' are also comments that get under her skin. Her block button is still full of hateful teenagers and mentally unstable adults alike. It seems like she's gotten much better at it... Also, racked up a pretty decent number of followers in the meantime.
The ruckus in the kitchen continues.
"Are you sure you want to go to the corner shop? I don't mind finding substitutes for a couple of ingredients," Tom quickly closes the app, paranoid that Venetia will see him stalking her feed.
He holds his phone close to his chest, with a small gap so he can continue reading the rest of her Tweets. He figured since he scrolled down this far then he might as well read the rest of them. The girls sound preoccupied anyway.
"I need a walk," Venetia laughs while their voice grows closer and closer. Tom doesn't want to look up, knowing they're standing right in front of him.
Nikki scoffs, "Don't take too long. Do you know Jack English? I think it might be a good idea to get him walking behind you guys."
Tom tunes out of their conversation, looking at the remaining Tweets on her page. Venetia stands next to Tom and leans her head against his shoulder. She has no shame in being nosy. Never had. Then again, she knows exactly what his doing.
Tom doesn't realise she has her notifications on - that she can see his likes.
"Are we ready?" She asks, laughing at the way he hugs his phone against his pastel tee.
He nods his head, breaking into a genuine smile while he wraps his arm around her shoulder.
"Yeah," Venetia smiles at him.
"Get me some beef gravy, okay?"
"I will. Tell that delicious join of pork I've got her covered," Venetia gratefully nods her head.
"Thank you. I'll give you the list."
Tom doesn't say anything else while the ladies bicker. Instead of talking, or joining in with their conversation, he looks at Venetia. He never thought that they'd be living together...
With his arm casually wrapped around her shoulder.
*
Venetia and Tom make their way around the little shop without Jack's guidance. They know that they're putting themselves in danger - but then again, this neighbourhood is a lot safer than the knife-wielding crazies back home in England.
The shop is no bigger, or wider, than a Tesco Express. They sell the same types of things, just more fruit and vegetables than processed crap. Gated community things.
The strangest part about their late-night adventure is that they don't recall seeing a name for the shop.
They wander through the aisles, trying not to bump into anything. The layout is rather compact and claustrophobic. Venetia is a clumsy person by nature, so being in this shop is nerve-wracking. Tom follows her lead, prepare to pick up anything that she might accidentally knock off the shelf.
He knows her all too well.
"Did I tell you that someone presumed that I'm married yesterday?" Venetia asks the second she stands next to Tom. "She didn't even look at my hand. She just presumed."
Tom, for a second, looks surprised. Venetia's still twenty-five, hardly nobody that young - at least in the better parts of England - gets married at that age.
Venetia, who's been trying to tie her hair up in little space buns for the past ten minutes, decides to leave the wild 'fluff ball' how it is.
Wanting to know why she's 'waving her arms about like a loony' at the corner of his eye, Tom peels his eyes away from the gossip magazines and watches her attempt to free her face from her little brunette locks. They stick to her sweaty, rosy cheeks.
"Come here," he warmly says while Venetia, like a child, shuffles towards him with her head bent downwards.
Facing each other, only centimetres apart, he cups the palm of his hand against her cheek and slightly strokes the feathery strands free. Caught in a moment of lust - Venetia turns her head slightly so that her lips touch the skin of his hand.
Tom shakes his head...
"Not here, baby."
She nods her head in agreement, slowly lowering his hand downwards and pats him on the shoulder. Grateful, but ridden in guilt, Tom appreciatively nods his head.
They begin to stroll to the flour, sugar and eggs aisle.
Although there's hardly anyone else in here, Venetia grabs Tom's tee and yanks him out of the way (again) for an elderly woman who must've gone down every aisle at least three times already.
The woman has not much to show for it in her basket - just a couple of fresh tomatoes and some milk. Tom notices that she's only buying the cheapest products, which depresses him. He thought elderly people are supposed to buy the good stuff for themselves, go crazy on retirement and pension, but then again, he's from a posh area where everyone can afford to do their weekly shopping in Waitrose. If she goes around the shop once more, he'll pluck up the courage to ask if he can buy the groceries.
"What would you do if someone presumed you're married?"
Intrigued by her own question, Venetia turns her body towards Tom. He shrugs while swinging their full basket backwards and forwards.
"I would correct them obviously. I don't need my fans accusing me of keeping my wife from them."
Venetia pulls an impressed face, which humours Tom. For the next couple of seconds, they say nothing else, instead Venetia sorts through a shelf of different cake batters. Tom said to make herself feel at home. Home is where Venetia bakes.
She's thinking about cooking something in the middle of the night for Tom. Nothing too over the top, just a cute 'thank you for letting us stay' gift. She knows Tom has a sweet tooth and he's Spider-Man. Well, he is or was Spider-Man. She can combine both of those things together and create cupcakes with edible Spider-Man pictures. It's not much, but it's the thought that counts.
"I don't blame whoever thought you were married. You do look like you're pushing thirty on a bad day," Venetia's head turns so fast that she gives herself whiplash.
Tom breaks into a loud laugh, disrupting the peace. The young woman at the till shakes her head.
Venetia childishly puts the palm of her hand on top of his face and pushes it away from her. Tom, doesn't retaliate, he just goes with it until she pulls him back to his original position.
"I'm going to forgive you because I know you're fucking around. My skin is in good condition aside from the whiteheads, so up yours."
"Sorry," Tom scoffs at his attempt at an apology. Their bodies deliberately bump into each other with every second step they take. "You look adorable. You're adorable. Fuck whoever presumed that. We're still kids," Venetia wearily looks at Tom, not knowing what he's rambling about, and puts the cupcake batter in the other basket.
"Says the grown man," Tom chuckles at the remark.
There's something about growing older that makes him feel uneasy, and restless. There's a lot of things that they still haven't done, that they'll never do again, but then again, those things are sacrifices they had to make to become decent people. It's not like they can do teenager shit and get away with it.
They continue to dump random items in the basket, hoping that they've bought the right 'shit' for Nikki.
"We still have five-almost-four-years to accomplish twenties shit," Tom reassures while Venetia scoffs.
"Like what? I can't go clubbing without getting noticed, I can't kiss my man's hand in public... I can't even finish my midwifery degree course."
"What's the one thing that has been on your mind... But you haven't done?" Venetia shrugs her shoulders backwards.
"Like a regret?"
"I guess it could be classed as a regret. I just want to help you achieve whatever it is that you've always wanted to do. Apart from finishing off your degree - I don't think I can help you with that if I'm being entirely honest..." Tom's voice quietly trails off while she smiles.
Venetia has always found it sweet that Tom wholeheartedly tries to make every dream of her's possible, she's a lucky lady and she knows it.
"I got a whole fucking list, man. Are you sure, it's kinda kinky?" He laughs at her answer, pulling his body closer to hers because he can tell there's got to be something sex-related. It's Venetia.
"Tell me everything."
"I've always wanted to have sex on a beach. Not the drink, like literal sex on the beach. I want to know how it feels like. It's supposed to be euphoric. The sand is a turn-off, right?"
"Big turn-off," he whispers.
Venetia chuckles.
"Then I want to fuck you in a public place. Nowhere near kids or anything. I don't want to be put on any registers. Like, maybe a quickie under the willow tree in Richmond? You know the big one by the lake with our initials on? I also want to skydive, get skinny, learn a rap song off by heart, have really kinky sex, do heroin and pole dance."
"What the actual fuck?" Tom breaks into a very nervous sounding laugh. The elderly woman walks past them again, but this time neither Venetia or Tom notice. He's too wrapped up in disbelief of what she just said.
More than anything, Tom wants to know whether she's being serious, or not, about what she just said.
"Don't judge me," Venetia holds the palm of her hand against her head. They both spontaneously burst out laughing, but turning away to shelf so they don't seem conspicuous.
"I think that's too late for that. I mean, what's your definition of-" he cuts himself off and leans closer to her. "Kinky?" She laughs, dismissively. "Like... You gotta help me out understanding here. Are you going on about that blindfold shit that we used to do... Or are you going on about dildos and shit? Because my arse ain't accustomed to that," Venetia groans while shaking her head.
She leans against the side of his body, pressing her plump lips against his ear. Tom smiles.
"I want to try BDSM..."
"As your partner, and someone who stupidly tried that with another girl, that shit is dark. Also, you're a very scary woman. I love ya, I really do, but you'd accidentally kill me," Venetia breaks down laughing. She picks up a tortilla packet and covers her face with it in shame. She's never told anyone that fantasy before.
Tom's the only person she can trust.
He rests his head against her shoulder, "Now I'm imagining you with a whip... That sounds like hell. Oh, babe."
Venetia finds it funny that Tom considers her the more dominant one in her relationship. She never thought of herself as a dominatrix. Not once. When she said she wanted to try BDSM... She wanted to be on the receiving end. Obviously, it's just a fantasy. It's not even that deep. She would probably chicken out anyway - she reads too many steamy books which glorifies the blurred lines between lust and abuse.
"I'm kidding," Venetia shakes her head. "Maybe kinky sex isn't actually my thing. That list is just... Me fucking around. The thing I want to achieve is happiness, you know? A healthy environment for me and my loved ones. Maybe a baby or two down the line," Tom nods his head. He feels the same way about life at the moment, happiness cannot be something bought, it has to be obtained.
Tom puts the first basket down on the counter.
"Ah fuck!" She exclaims. Tom and the server look at her in confusion. "I forgot the pissing gravy. I'll be right back," Tom chuckles while she makes a B-line towards the spice and stock section.
*
After their outing to the nameless shop, Venetia and Tom returned to the production accommodation bearing the goodies.
"Here they are!" Nikki exclaims the second she wanders into the kitchen. She thought she heard their distant voices from the kitchen, but she wasn't too sure.
"This smells delicious," Venetia laughs whilst helping the youngest staff member unpack the groceries from the tote bags.
Tom helps out too. He's in the mood to do something 'remotely' productive other than lazing about in the living room with Harry. Plus, this way he and Venetia can hang out longer. It's easier to spend time with each other if they're doing something.
"Anyway," the youngest woman turns back to the kitchen counter where everything is spread nicely on top. Tom doesn't know where Nikki likes to keep the food, so he lets her do it. He still passes her stuff, breaking into more of a smile while the items he and Venetia bought get more random.
He didn't remember buying what looks to be a packet of marshmallows, but alas they have it now.
"I got you that beef gravy you wanted-" she cuts herself off while rummaging through the bag, being mindful of the rattling bottles.
"And I also come sparring some wine for the three of us," she laughs, holding the tote bag out towards Tom's mother in anticipation.
"Let's have a look then... Oh wow. Venetia, you shouldn't have. This must've cost a fortune! Thank you..." Nikki holds the bag away from Tom.
Tom, who doesn't have a clue about wine, other than it tastes wicked, takes the bag off of his mother and looks into it. He doesn't want his family to act differently around drink because of his sobriety.
Then he glanced down. Just as he expected: average-looking bottles with average-looking labels. He figures that his mother knows more about wine, so he'll take her word.
"Why don't we let Mum do her thing? Vee, I want to show you this... Thing... I've been working on. I think it's right up your alley," Harry says through a wide smile. The only person who remains glum-faced is Tom, who carefully passes the rattling tote back to Venetia.
He wants to spend more time with her.
"Dude, are you seriously going to ambush me into reading your script?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
She playfully gasps, holding her chest with her mouth dropped wide open.
"It's payback for you nicking my room," with that Venetia winks. Of course, she'll read Harry Holland's script. Since nobody pays for production accommodation - she owes Tom.
"Actually, I was wondering if it's okay that I stay in the kitchen and help your Mum? I'm kind of a chef in the making and I would very much like to learn from the best," Venetia gestures towards the 'head chef'.
Nikki smiles, feeling somewhat humbled by the short brunette. Since Sam has made his name in the culinary world, Nikki feels underappreciated in the cooking department.
Tom flops his body into Venetia's arms, "No! You're coming to the dining room with us."
Venetia playfully frowns, but instead of letting her guest do as she pleases, Nikki shakes her head vigorously.
"Tom, you and Harry can go and put on some music. Venetia and I need to do some catching up."
The boys puff their cheeks outwards and do as they're told. It humours Venetia to see Tom reluctantly walking out of the door - to which she responds with a wave.
The girls laugh.
"Alexa, play our dinner playlist."
Tom hopes that his guests will enjoy his playlist. There's nothing more nerve-wracking than someone requesting a different song in the middle of dinner... Which has happened a couple of times.
Zendaya was very picky about which songs they listened to, but it's understandable as she's a singer, as much as she'll always deny it. Her friends were even more picky. Oasis started playing in the middle of a celebration dinner for a new role and everyone around the table broke into a collective groan. As an Englishman it was heartbreaking - but he learned to 'ease off' British musicians.
The invasive device sitting inside of a wall nook glows blue, but nothing happens.
"Alexa," he says louder. The rim of the device glows blue again, he scoffs. Technology can go and fuck itself for all he cares. Fuck what Harry says about it. "Play dinner playlist..."
Tom stares at it in anticipation, wondering whether he should go inside where it can hear him. He doesn't want to ask the 'thing' again, paranoid that someone will overhear his one-sided argument.
'Praise You' by Fatboy Slim comes on surround sound. There are various speakers scattered around the garden area.
Harry grins the second the song starts to play, shaking his head at his brother's inability to like any new songs from the past two decades. He looks back at his phone.
Through a sigh, Tom gets out a packet of cigarettes from his back pocket and takes one. He plucks the cheap lighter off the patio's table in the process, lighting up the stress-reliever.
The young man nods his head in rhythm to the music, clinging to his lit cigarette.
We've come a long, long way together
Through the hard times and the good
I have to celebrate you, baby
I have to praise you like I should
"Fatboy Slim is hardly dinner music," Tom turns around only to see Harry nodding his head towards the Alexa in the rounded nook inside.
Tom shrugs, "Careful mate. I saw it on one of your playlists while I was scouting for bangers."
"It's a good song," Tom nods his head in agreement, as there isn't much else he can say or do. "Overplayed as fuck because of that Lloyd's advert, innit. Nothing compares to the original."
"True, that."
"Mh-mmm," Tom taps the excess ash of his cigarette.