“What a day. I had fourteen requests for space in Cleredon, and three private tours.” Mary sits back and crosses one leg over the other.  I nod, taking a sip of beer as we relax in a pub that’s just a few blocks from my apartment.  It’s barely half past five, but we’ve been here for a good hour.  We ditched the castle a bit early for some happy hour drinks.

 Four weeks together, and Mary and I have become surprisingly close.  She’s the closest thing I have to a friend in the city, and I do enjoy her company.  We’re sort of good for each other.  Two people who would rather stay home but if the mood strikes to be social, we seek out each other.  So, the occasional drink after work has been occurring rather often.

“I know. I had two tours, and then I was on the phone with a museum for almost an hour.  Restoration of the Beale portrait.” I roll my eyes and Mary laughs.  We have a good work relationship, it’s a bit older sister, younger sister.  She’s been pretty great about getting me acquainted to the city, and helping me get settled in.

“They are obsessed with that old slag.” Mary groans, referring to the rather priceless Mary Beale self portrait that resides in the upper royal bedroom of Cleredon House.  It’s a pretty big deal.  I laugh, as Mary—Mary Heath, that is, is already a bit tipsy on white wine.

“It’s a beautiful painting, Mary.  And by the first female English painter.” I say in my best British accent.  Mary laughs and shrugs, waving her hands around as she does.

“It is a great portrait.  And those wankers at the museum are just dying to get their grubby hands on it.” Mary grins and sits back.  She’s not quite as uptight, prim and proper as I’d first thought.  Get a few glasses of wine in her and she’s quite fun.

“You know, I thought Cleredon was going to be terrible. But, I quite like working there. And with you.  Working at Penn, on the other hand.” I roll my eyes.  The Penn Gallery is an insufferable place, to be honest.  Uptight, hoity toity.  I thought working at the gallery would be great—like back at the Hudson Gallery with Vera.  It’s actually quite nerve wrecking. The owners are rude and ridiculous.  The patrons are not much better. I’ve reported back to Vera on quite a few occasions that I don’t know if they are the gallery she wants to partner with. 

“I’m glad you like it at Cleredon.  Bobby was talking about you the other day.” Mary raises an eye brow at me.  Bobby is the director at Cleredon.  He’s also at least 65.  What is it with me and stodgy old men?

“Tempting.” I groan, and Mary flies into a flurry of giggles.  I laugh, taking a gulp of beer.  It’s Friday, so we’ve both let a bit loose.  Maybe a bit more than we should have.

“Are you dating anyone, Gracie? A pretty girl like you.  You could have your pick of the litter.” Mary says, becoming serious all of the sudden.  I scrunch up my nose.

“No. Dating’s never really been my thing.” I shrug.  It hasn’t completely evaded my memory that Richard is getting married this weekend.  This very weekend.  Of course, I have put an entire ocean between us to keep from thinking about it.  But it’s still on my mind.  He’s getting married to the woman that was better than me.  And he’s doing it in the place he once promised me was ours.  I’m sad. I’m sad and pathetic.

“Mine either.  Just a few good shags every now and again, to tide me over.” Mary laughs loudly, her face turning pink.  I gape at her, and then push her jokingly in the arm.

“You harlot!” I laugh.  She shrugs and then we clink our glasses together. 

“Are you free next weekend? They’re playing some fantastic old movies at the Gate Picturehouse.  We could go and do the lot of them.” Mary asks.  It sounds fantastic.  I grab my phone, nodding.

“As long as I don’t have anything with Penn’s.” I say, turning my phone on to check my calendar.  Instead of checking my calendar, I’m distracted by a text message.  I swipe open the notification.

How’s London treating you? Do you need a tour guide? It took him long enough.  I’ve been in the city for four weeks, and this is the first I’ve heard of the bastard.  Maybe it’s the couple of pints I’ve had, but hearing from Tom after such a long period of nothing, it makes me a little angry.

No I don’t need a tour guide. Thanks. I reply. Take that! You silly man.

I can tour guide myself! I text him again. Wait, that came out wrong, though it’s not all that untrue.  I shouldn’t be texting him. I’m a bit too drunk at this point.

“Who are you texting?” Mary asks, raising an eyebrow at me.  I shake my head.

“Just…a friend.” I sigh.

“Oh? Someone you’ve met since you’ve moved here? Do tell.” Mary turns to the bartender, and orders us another round.

“No. Well, he lives here but I’ve known him since before—when I lived in New York.” I say.  It’s far too complicated to rehash our entire exhausting history.  “He’s the brother of a friend from college.” I add quickly.  Mary nods.

“But he’s English?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. So is he more Hugh Grant or Daniel Craig?” Mary grins and waits.  This question stumps me a bit because I can’t say that Tom is really either. 

“He’s…he’s…” I think of Tom as I first met him, with the curly blond hair and the tan skin.  Then I think of him with his dark hair and his slight facial hair.  I feel an involuntary clench between my thighs.

“Oh, he’s that sort.” Mary winks at me.  I feel my phone vibrate next to me.

Well. Stop by some time.  What are you doing tonight? Come see me. His reply.  Apparently he didn’t get the snarky tone I was trying to send in my last flippant message.  I stare at his message for a moment.

“What’s he say?” Mary tries to see over my shoulder.

“He wants me to come over tonight.” I look at her, feeling my mouth get a bit dry.

“Oh! He wants you to come by, eh? Sexy times!” Mary giggles.  “You need to go next door to that slutty little shop, and pick out something ridiculously see through and scandalous.” She is referring to the store a block away.  It’s actually a quite nice lingerie store, but they do have a rather steamy collection.  I’ve walked by many times, but haven’t stopped in yet.

“I can’t.” I shake my head.

“Do it, Gracie! Do it for the good of the people.  I haven’t had sex in nearly eight months.  DO IT.” Her eyes go wide, and I have to laugh. 

“OK. But what do I do? Just show up at his door, naked?” I ask, looking down at my phone.  Tom’s just sent me his address. 

“I mean you could, but…no. Let’s think this through.  How about wear something scandalous, underneath a trench coat.  Like the high class prostitutes do in the movies!” Mary exclaims loudly, and I shush her quickly.  I laugh, but the idea is sort of interesting.

“What if he’s not…looking for…that.” It suddenly dawns on me. Maybe Tom just wants a chat and a cuppa. Mary raises an eyebrow at me, and we both laugh.

“Silly girl. Get out of here, and give me all the details when I see you next.” Mary says, suddenly standing up.  I stare at her for half a second, before I nod quickly, grab my things and then practically run out of the door.

****

I will find her.  My inner Jamie.  She’s been dormant for quite some time, but she’s still in there somewhere.  After leaving the pub, I ran into the lingerie shop and bought the most ridiculous thing I could find.  Ridiculous and expensive and if we’re going to be honest, rather sexy.

The girl at the shop that helped me, told me it was called the “Mercy” corset.  I now know why.  Because you can hardly breathe once you’re in it.  It’s all black lace and boning on panels.  The padded cups and the tight fit have my normally modest boobs pushed nearly up to my throat.  I’ve paired it with this teeny tiny lace thong, and a garter belt with stockings that have that awesome seam in the back.  I feel like this super slutty superhero.  Super slutty superhero who can’t take a deep breath.  I won’t be wearing it long, hopefully. 

I rush back to my apartment, and it takes me about twenty minutes to get it all on.  I’m sort of sweating and swearing by the time I’ve managed to get everything in place.  A pair of black stilettos and my thigh length black trench coat, and it’s a good look.

I know I shouldn’t care. But it’s been nearly five months since I’ve had any sort of physical interaction with another human being.  I’m not totally embarrassed to say the idea of being held, and touched and kissed, and especially by someone as adept at it as Tom, makes my heart race and my whole body alive with anticipation.  I’m not perfect.  I know it’s probably a dumb idea.  But sometimes dumb ideas just need to be carried out.  Right?

I spent a half a week’s check on this ridiculous get up, now I will put it to use.  Jamie is out, and ready to play.

I call a cab to take me to Tom’s, which is on the other side of town and in a very nice area. Of course.  It’s made up of mostly nice looking townhouses and apartments.  When the cab stops outside an end unit, I stare at the front of it for a minute.  It looks pretty unassuming.  Gray brick. Old. Well kept.  Nothing all that fantastic.  It doesn’t scream “TOM LIVES HERE” on the front.  I don’t know what I expected.  I pay the cabbie quickly, and then shuffle out of the cab, trying my best not to flash anyone on the way out.

It’s half past eight now.  Between my foray at the lingerie store, and my bumbling attempts to get into this get up (along with a shower in between all of that), it’s quite a bit later.  Tom’s street is quiet, and I’m glad no one else is walking down the street.  I don’t look all that obvious, but I do look a bit odd. 

I take a deep breath, and climb up the stairs to his front door.  There’s a light on in the front windows, but I can’t see in.  I hesitate for a second before knocking quickly on his door.  Jamie is ready to go.

Tom opens the door after a moment, and dear lord.  Why do I always forget how handsome he is?

He smiles at me instantly, and I feel it in my gut.  His hair is short, light brown and normal colored and sort of parted at the side like someone straight out of a vintage photograph.  He’s got a bit of scruff on his face, and I instantly think about how that will feel against my skin.  He’s wearing a button up dress shirt that perfectly matches his blue eyes. Handsome. Oooph, this was a good idea.  This was a very good idea.

“Gracie.” He says, and opens his door wider.  I want to make him moan my name.  Oh! Hello! Jamie is coming through loud and clear.  I smile at him and then walk into his house, trying my best to seem casual and completely at ease.  Thought apparently I’m finding it hard to talk. 

From what I can see at the entrance, it’s a nice house.  Open, spacious.  Sort of sparsely furnished, but not all that surprising for a guy that’s constantly working. 

“It’s good to see you. Can I take your coat?” Tom asks, and I feel him walk up behind me.  This is it.  The big reveal.  I jut out my hip, feeling my heels bite into the backs of my feet. I turn to face Tom, and we lock eyes.  He’s looking at me strangely—a bit amused, perhaps a bit confused.  I still haven’t said a word.  My heart is pounding in my chest, and I am breathing a bit shallowly because of this damn corset. 

I reach up and tug gently at my coat, opening it up and letting it slide down my bare shoulders.

Hello.

The girl at the shop called this their “cheeky little number.” And it is.  Rather cheeky. Literally. I’m very glad I did extra squats the other day.

Tom freezes and his eyes go wide (good), his expression unreadable for a second(not as good), then he opens his mouth (still not great) and his eyes slowly move from my face, down lower, longer on my legs and then back up to my face (not bad!).

“Grace—“ He sort of stutters, which makes both me and slutty Jamie excited but then concerned.  He takes a step forward, reaching down for my coat which I’ve tossed onto the floor.  It’s a bit drafty in here.

“Tommy, are you ready?” The voice that comes from the other room totally shocks me.  It’s honestly like a slap in the face.  The figure that follows it shocks me even more. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way.  Like I’ve had the air knocked out of me. Oh yes, of course.  The last time I felt this way was when I walked in on Richard fucking Carmen on my bed. Ah. Priceless.

She’s tall, rather curvaceous and dark haired.  The woman is gorgeous, really.  And of course, appropriately dressed in jeans and a white peasant top (a rather jarring juxtaposition to my lacy, rather see through, skimpy little desperation outfit for one.  She stops when she sees me and we all sort of freeze, not knowing what to do.

Tom has a girlfriend. And she’s here. And I’m here. And I’m wearing a thong.

“Oh. Shit,” I manage. “I’m sorry. Oh god, I’m so sorry.” I mumble quickly, and I catch Tom’s expression which…is painful really.   Then, before I can burst into embarrassed, totally mortified tears, I grab my coat from Tom’s hands, throw it over my shoulders and run out as fast as I my stilettos can carry me.  Which isn’t very fast. It’s really not fast at all. It’s more of a slightly wobbly quick walk.  Jamie has abandoned me, and all that’s left is Gracie.  Sad, lonely little Gracie wearing sad, lonely lingerie.  Bollocks. 

London night air is surprisingly cold against my skin and I don’t have the adrenaline anymore to keep me warm.  Now I just have embarrassment. 

I also don’t have a car, so I am walking.  But dear god, am I walking. 

I hobble a few yards, hastily buttoning up my coat as I do and praying I can find a phone to call a cab. My outfit didn’t have the necessary pockets for my cell phone.  I’m an idiot.  The absolute biggest idiot in the world. No wonder he hasn’t been in touch with me lately. No wonder he didn’t care that I moved thousands of miles to his fucking city. He’s been too busy shagging his girlfriend.  And then I show up at his house, throwing myself at him.  I cringe as I hurry along. Embarrassment is quite possibly the hardest emotion to get rid of.  It sticks to you for days, weeks, months, your entire life, refusing to let go.

“Gracie.” The voice is strong and a bit worried behind me.  I don’t turn around, I don’t need to.  I also feel very close to tears and I need to pull myself together, quickly.

“Grace, stop.” He demands, his voice closer.  I shake my head and keep going, looking like some sort of strange lost call girl on a posh London street.  This outfit wasn’t cheap though.  At least I look an expensive hooker.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” I shout back, as if he’ll just stop and go away.

“For fucks sake, Gracie.” He’s right behind me now, and I wobble on the uneven sidewalk. Tom grabs my arm and turns me around.

His eyes are kind and maybe worried.  He looks at me for a moment before looking away, shifting on his feet.  He looks so down to earth and lovely and I…am wearing stilettos and a trench coat. And now I’m crying.

“I’m so sorry. I’m really fucking embarrassed.  Unbelievably so.” I manage, looking away as I brush tears off my cheeks.  Tom shifts and takes a deep breath.

“You’re bloody sexy as hell, Gracie.” He leans down, bringing himself to eye level with me.  That is not what I expected.  I blink and then cross my arms over my chest.  I make eye contact, and he gives me this small, apologetic smile.  It shoots straight through my chest, and makes it hard for me to breathe.  Or maybe that’s the corset. 

“I don’t know that your girlfriend would appreciate you saying that to me.”

“She probably wouldn’t if I had a girlfriend.  But I don’t.  That was my cousin, Darla.  And while it was a rather awkward scene and I’d rather not experience it again, you still didn’t have to run off.”

“Oh believe me. I did.” I manage.  I have a brief, lovely moment of relief, but it’s still quickly replaced by the embarrassment.  Even if it’s not his girlfriend, I still can’t imagine much worse.

“Come back.  Hang out for a bit.  My mum is over too.  She’ll want to see you.”  He says gently.  “Clothed, of course.” He adds with a laugh and I shoot him a look.

Ah, it does get worse. His mum is there. Mrs. Hiddleston, the saint.

“Come say ‘Hi’.  Please. I feel partially responsible for…this.” He gestures to my get up.  “I should have been clear that I wasn’t alone.” He offers.  I swallow, and take a deep breath, looking away. 

“You should have, yes.  And no, I can’t come back.” I manage.

“Gracie. My mum loves you. She didn’t even see. It’s cold and you can’t walk home like that.” He reaches forward, taking my hand in his, which is clenched at my side. 

“I was going to get a cab.” I grind out.  Tom pulls my arm into his side, and then yanks me toward him.  I stumble forward, and sway into his chest.  He’s warm and solid.

“I’ll get you a cab.  Come back, say hi, change into something…comfortable. And then you can go home.  I can’t have you leave like this.  You’re too upset.” He tugs me into a hug, and I stand completely still and tense for a moment.  Tom presses his hands across my lower back, and he reaches up, tugging gently on a strand of my hair that’s falling down my back in curly waves.

“You’re something else, Gracie girl.  Come on, please.” He asks again.  I nod slowly into his shoulder.  I feel him let out a slow breath.  Tom leans down, slowly, bringing a hand up under my chin.  It’s my turn to hold my breath.  He lifts my chin, bringing my face toward his.  He leans down, and brushes his lips against mine.  Just quickly, back and forth, his nose brushing against mine as well.  He leans in, kissing me firmly, his mouth opening slightly.  I respond, and as soon as I feel his tongue move out, brushing against my lips and then sweeping inside my mouth, I lean forward, sliding my hands up his chest.  It’s a good kiss.  It’s a great kiss.  Fucking great.

He kisses me again, swiftly, then we break apart.  We both wait, our foreheads pressed together.  Tom reaches forward, tugging gently at the neckline of my coat, as if trying to sneak a peek.  I laugh, shaking my head and swatting him away.

“That is quite an outfit.” He breathes out, looking at me like he wants to take a bite.

“Hands off, Hiddleston.” I warn softly.  He smiles, and then takes my hand, tugging me back toward his house.