CHAPTER 28

C'EST LA VIE

 ❝ Love is a rose. 

Every petal an illusion. 

Every thorn a reality. ❞

"I met your rose." Polly, as always, was the only one brave enough to disturb Thomas' quiet. He was at his office, smoking his thoughts away, trying to wipe the tantalizing image of Rose in her black dress off his mind, but the afterimage persisted, deeply imprinted behind his eyelids. Then Polly barged in, harshly closed the door behind her, and now Thomas wished he'd gone to Rose the second he saw her at his house, because she was better than whiskey, better than cigarettes, and certainly much better than a patronizing lecture from Polly Gray. "Quite a thorny one, that pretty thing is."

"Pretty and thorny, yes." Thomas opened his desk drawer, shoved the cigarette case inside, slammed it shut. "But not mine."

"Oh, she is." The shrilling sound of Polly's heels echoed across the polished floor, banged straight against the carefully constructed walls of Thomas' mind. He felt like something in him had either already exploded or was about to; his nerves were on edge ever since seeing Rose. She had come. She was here, but she was avoiding him, and he was avoiding her, like schoolkids on the playground. Still, he had instantly known when she'd arrived: she had the guests whispering about her as soon as she strode in, all too scandalized at her choice of attire. Had Thomas' body on fire and his mind haywire at the same time. "You both just don't know it yet. She's too much of her own person to ever give herself completely to you, but she is yours. As much as you are hers, that is."

"So you met her." He stubbed out his cigarette on the ashtray, the all-consuming need to smoke suddenly lost, replaced by an addiction much stronger. "So what?"

This was the first time Polly was talking to him after getting out of jail, and it was ironic that even in this Rose had power, that she'd unwillingly made herself the center of conversation, that Polly took one look at her and deemed her important enough to go past her resentment towards Tommy and speak to him. He was well aware Ada and Charlie were the only reason why Polly and his brothers had attended this party, that they were all still angry at him, hated him even. He had no intentions of changing that, of making it up to them. They had to understand why he'd done it, and if they didn't, well, that was their problem, not his.

"I came to warn you, though I know you're always foolish enough to ignore my warnings." Polly stopped right in front of him, eyes squinting, like she saw in him things he himself couldn't. "Remember what France did to you? That woman will do the same. She's war in a different form, Tommy. And you'll call it love."

Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, Thomas rose. He planted his hands on the smooth surface of the mahogany desk, leaned forward. The vivid noise of the party outside crashed against the windows, scraped against his ears. He couldn't think straight lately. Not when it came to Rose.

"Is that all?"

"She's not your salvage, Tommy. She's your doom. Often perdition comes in the form of salvation. You look at her like she's going to save you and not drown you. You can never be sure. She might be as treacherous as—"

Thomas went very still. He needed to make this very clear. "She's not Grace."

"No, I know. But I wouldn't want you to risk your family, risk your all, for a woman who might not be worth it. You already got involved with a Scottish gang that had nothing to do with the Blinders. I would not want to see our business destroyed all because of your idiotic tendency to think with your cock first, your head later."

"You don't have to worry about that." Thomas' fingers were white from how hard he was pressing them against the wood. "Rose doesn't want to sleep with me. She's rejected me offer only about a thousand times."

For the first time in his life, Polly looked at him as if he was truly stupid. "You can't possibly believe that to be right. She wants you as much as you want her, Tommy, she's just better at hiding it."

Thomas pressed his lips into a thin, veiled line. He didn't know what to do with that. All he could see was Rose, and the sparkly black of her dress, and how much better it would look ripped by his hands, falling delicately onto the silk sheets of his bed.

"I won't warn you again, Tommy. Don't destroy yourself and everything we've built for her. And for God's sake, whatever you do with her, don't let Charlie see or hear it. That kid loves her like she's his mother. Don't ruin that for him."

"I won't. Rose won't ruin anything either." Thomas suppressed a grunt when one of his fingers got caught against a splinter on the wood. Rose was like that to him: sudden pain, mixed with the dizzying thought that in the end there would be nothing but overwhelming pleasure. "She doesn't have it in her to ruin things."

"You really believe that? You're the brain. You're everyone's brain. But don't forget she's your heart. And hearts are the easiest part of the body to break. Ironic, isn't it?" Polly hissed, a snake about to bite. "That you blind people, yet are blinded by love."

The moment Polly left, Thomas flopped down onto his armchair, knuckles rubbing against his forehead. Polly was right about many things, but she was wrong about this. She didn't know Rose like Thomas did, hadn't been there to see everything they'd gone through together. If Polly knew Rose was the only one who deemed him worthy enough to save during the war, if she'd seen the way Rose threw herself in between Thomas and that fatal bullet at the church, she'd understand. Even knowing she could lose her life, Rose had jumped in, and in turn lost her ability to ever play violin again. She risked her future for him. That was the most selfless thing anyone had ever done for him, and Thomas didn't exactly know how to deal with that.

And maybe it was selfish of him to still want to be in her future, but Thomas Shelby was nothing if not a selfish man.

He knew his feelings were a problem, that she was a weakness his enemies could easily explore, but he couldn't stay away from her, because he could never stay away from things that both killed him and made him feel alive.

The mere thought Rose could leave at any second, without a word, not even a glance back... it kept him wide awake at night, kept his bottles empty and his ashtrays full. There was so much on the line here. If he did not find a good enough reason to make her stay, she'd vanish just like that, as if she was but a dream he'd conjured once and never again. The dark tunnels would crash down on him again, squashing the light she'd managed to pour into his life.

The only reason he'd even thrown this damn party and subjected himself to the scorn and wrath of his family was because he needed an excuse to make Rose stay a bit longer. In the panic of the moment, a party was the only thing he could think of, and now he was here, alone in his office while she was out there somewhere, maybe thinking of leaving him behind for good.

What could he possibly give her that she didn't already have? A manor? But she had one. Cars, horses, alliances? She had those. Should he propose, give her the concrete promise of a future? As tempting as the idea sounded, knowing Rose it might backfire on him. It could make her feel trapped, and that was the last thing he wanted. He wanted her to stay out of her own free will, because yes, he spent his days ordering people around, but he could never do that to Rose. If anything, he followed her lead. She was the only one he would willingly follow. He did not dare to bring Charlie into this either, to try and entice her to stay through his tears. He was not so cruel as to break both their hearts like that, and his in the process.

As twisted as it was, the only reason he could think of was sex. He'd risked his life for her, freed her right-hand man, made his feelings and intentions clear, and none of that had been enough. So maybe if the sex was good enough, she'd stay. But he was terrified not even that would suffice, so as much as he wanted to go see her, to have her in every sense of the word, he was avoiding it.

A blur of movement caught his eye on the other side of the window. It was that maddening dress of hers, shimmering as if holding all the stars of the night. Even through the foggy glass Thomas could see each curve of hers with clarity, and then he saw a man leaning over her, and Rose throwing her head back in laughter, and his fists clenched until his nails carved deep into his flesh. Mine, the thought raked through him violently. No one else's.

Jaw tensing and shoulders squared, he stood up and finally strode into the party. Unfortunately for him, the first person to get in his way was Kaya, hair tousled and lips too glossy, a fact he attributed to the wandering Jew currently gobbling as much food as he could from Thomas' table. Alfie waved at him and said something with his mouth full of crumbs that Thomas entirely dismissed.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he let out a weary sigh. "Yes, Kaya?"

"What's with the stinky-smell face? I'm not here to scold you. For once, I have something nice to say, so why don't you sit back and listen?"

Thomas didn't have time for this. He didn't care. All he could think about was Rose, Rose, Rose, and how her bloodred lipstick would taste on his tongue. How that man couldn't touch her, especially not in his house. Still, because Kaya was her friend, and because Alfie was watching them like a hawk, he forced himself to still and listen.

"I'm all ears."

"I just wanted to say..." In a gesture very unlike her, Kaya let her shoulders slump, as if her courage was deflating. "I guess I wanted to thank you. Back in London, you... you saved Rose when I couldn't. Just like you stood by Greta's side when I wouldn't. Rose is right, you know. There's goodness in you somewhere, goodness not even war managed to kill. It's at the surface for her. The rest of us have to dig a bit deeper to find it. But it's there."

Thomas's lips twitched against his will, like a bird who wants to fly but doesn't dare take the leap. "It costed you a lot to say that, didn't it?"

"Gosh, you have no idea. I'm not drunk enough to compliment you and feel good about it."

"Still, it's appreciated. And I would also appreciate you keeping Alfie from snooping into me business, eh? I only invited him here for you."

Kaya's eyes widened, mouth falling agape. "What? Why?"

"I just thought you could use some alone time, which obviously you have." He gestured towards her unruly hair, not missing the way Alfie snorted and Kaya blushed. "I know I ruined your first love, I didn't want to do the same with this one."

Kaya clicked her tongue, a sound more of approval than reproach. "Look at you, having a heart. Who knows, we might even get acquainted in the future. Not friends but... maybe drinking partners? I'd love to see if you can hold your liquor as well as me. And if you ever need advice on Rose, come to me. Of course, if you ever hurt her, I don't need to remind you I'll break all your bones."

"Of course." Thomas nodded. For a split second he thought of asking her if Rose would stay if he begged her, but then he thought he wouldn't humiliate himself that much, not in front of Alfie Solomons. So instead he strode past her and into the chill of the night. The party was in full swing at the garden, but he had no clue what time it was, if they were in the new year already.

None of that mattered; not when the moonlight painted Rose's face blue, made her dress sparkle silver. She was in front of him like a vision, and for a hazy moment he wondered if he was passed out at his desk, having dreams he shouldn't be having, dreams he couldn't bring himself to wake up from.

Even after all this time, she still took his breath away, more than his cigarettes ever did. Reason why he didn't need them as much. He had her. But until when?

There was no sight of the man anymore.

"I saw you talking with Kaya," she said, voice velvety but careful. They were tiptoeing around each other, which made no fucking sense to Thomas, not after what they'd gone through, not after they'd kissed each other like that at the church. All he wanted was to have that minute back. The only important minute in his soldier's life. "I apologize if she admonished you or something. Kaya and Nicolas... you have to forgive them, they're incredibly protective. They loved Steaphan as well, and his betrayal hurt them a lot. So they hated you because they saw you as a repetition of him. They don't have anything against you, really. They have something against my poor judgement and my past decisions."

"She wasn't admonishing me, actually. I know, I was surprised myself." Thomas raked his gaze over her. She had no drink in hand, no cigarette, nothing to get addicted to. For a brief, head-spinning moment, he wondered if he was that for her. Because she was definitely that for him, and here, at nightfall, under the silvery moonlight, so close to her and her maddening sequin dress, he craved her like never before. "I haven't talked to Nicolas yet. He seemed busy with Lizzie anyway."

He said this to test her, to see if she'd flinch. But Rose smiled, the kind of smile that put the stars back in the sky, even for someone who saw the world as bleak and grey as he did.

"Yeah, I've noticed. It has some sort of poetic irony to it, doesn't it? We made them miserable as they pined over us. And now they're happy together, and we're the miserable ones."

"I'm not miserable." I could never be miserable, not when you're in front of me like that. But he couldn't tell her these things. He always had a harder time telling the rawest truths. "Are you?"

"Not in this moment, I'm not. Tommy, I..." Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, trapping his gaze there. She took a step forward, tilted the edge of the world for him. It shouldn't be possible for someone to have this much power over him, and to be so completely unaware of it. He should have never allowed it. "I need to thank you for what you did for Nicolas. I never expected you to get him out. That you'd want him out."

"And I was surprised you didn't ask."

"I wanted to find a way on my own. I'm tired of asking you for favors. How many do I owe you already?"

"You owe me a dance." Thomas stepped towards her, fought the urge to hold her hand, to grab her waist. The distance between them was miles too many. She was so real, this close to him. He would never be able to stand seeing her walk away from him. "Nothing more."

"I still can't move my arm right."

"I'll lead you."

"I'm a leader myself, Tommy, I was never one to follow." Still, she let him take her hand, let him lead her towards the music. Her skin was warm under his, and much softer.

"Well, how does that work then? In a bedroom? Someone must be willing to submit."

"That's not really something we need to concern ourselves with, is it?" She tilted her head, tongue darting out to trace her lower lip. His stare stayed there, then tumbled from one of her curves to the other. "I guess we'll never find out."

Well, there went his last chance.

It shouldn't hurt as much as it did, given how many times he'd been rejected already. This was more than ego to him, and it was time he admitted it. When Rose pushed him away, she was pushing away something very vulnerable and raw inside him, something he thought long gone.

"If I can't have you in any other way, then dance with me. Please, just tonight." Thomas Shelby didn't beg, and yet here he was, almost on his knees for a woman who resembled too much of a god. Someone he'd worship faster than any deity, if given the chance. Rose never gave him the chance.

Rose was very still, the soft breeze billowing her dress and the lovely curls of her golden hair. She looked out of this world, too unreal for Tommy's mind to grasp.

"The last time we danced together, you spilled my biggest secret into the night."

"Yes," he said, voice husky and low, body aching for her, "and tonight I might just spill mine."

With a frustrated huff, she grabbed him by the lapel of his tweed suit, brought him as close as space would let. Her honeyed breath fell on his lips as she clutched his neck. His hands fell naturally over her waist, one of them sliding down to her hip, two fingers slipping under the slit of her dress, slowly stroking her thigh. She gasped when his cold fingers met her heated skin but he gave her no time to recover as he twirled her around, always careful not to hurt her weak arm.

The song changed, something faster and then slower but they kept dancing in a rhythm of their own, eyes never leaving each other. She didn't smell of flowers tonight, but of something citrusy, spicier. It didn't help him at all.

When they finally stopped, the stars kept spinning above them. Thomas felt dizzy with power, with the saccharine taste of it. Now that he had a taste of it he could not let it go.

"Stay with me tonight, Rose." Which was to say, stay with me always.

He dragged his thumb across her bottom lip, then traced his fingers down her arm, feathery-like. His fingertips trailed the veins on her skin like they were worth drawing, like they should be worshipped. He wanted her. God, he wanted her. He wanted her like he'd wanted the end of the war: desperately, painfully and with absolutely no hope of achieving it.

"And why should I?" She asked, voice sharp as a jagged blade but emerald eyes impossibly soft. He could barely stand to look at them, too afraid to get lost and never return. Rose was a walking contradiction – a hurricane trapped inside a flower, wild and delicate, tough yet vulnerable, veiled but so open. "So you can dispose of me in the morning?"

Thomas swallowed around the heavy lump in his throat. He deserved this, he had a reputation. Still, it pained him Rose thought of him that way, that the only reason she could find for him wanting her was this – to satisfy a carnal need, when he wanted her for so much more.

"Is it such a sin that I want you?" He rasped, a calloused thumb drawing indistinct patterns in the softness of her skin. "I will still want you in the morning. Hell, I'll probably want you more still. But if there's no way I can have you then, can't I have you at least tonight?"

It was the wrong thing to say. He saw it in the way her jaw clenched, even if she didn't pull away.

"That's still the reason, isn't it?" She looked sad. Tommy hated the mere thought of it, let alone see it in her face like that. "I told you, Thomas. You can't have me. And that's the sole reason why you want me."

The sky darkened inside his mind. He felt something tear within him, and then, in a breath, it was out.

"I want you because I love you. Because you're the only one who still makes me feel like I have a heart."

This time she stopped, a gasp tumbling from her petal-like lips. There, he spilled it, his secret. Out in the open, bare and crude, all for Rose to take and use as she wished. He knew she'd crush it even before she did.

Except she didn't. Instead she grasped his neck and finally gave him his minute back. She kissed him with a hunger unfamiliar even to him, greedier than he was. Her tongue traced the seam of his mouth, slow and tormenting. She didn't even have to ask; he parted his lips instantly, letting her in, letting her take until he could no longer breathe. The kiss was a messy clash of teeth and tongue, nothing tender or soft about it. Her hand slid from his neck to his chest, ravenous, almost violent. She fisted his shirt, brought him even closer to deepen the kiss. His heart pounded beneath her palm, a bloodied grenade in safe hands.

Their tongues slid against each other in a mortal dance, and finally Thomas Shelby understood the true meaning of a French Kiss, the lurking danger of it. He felt like he could maybe die from this, that heaven was closer than ever, even if he only deserved hell. Rose laced her tongue around his with a mastery that made his insides burn with jealousy, going mad over who she'd practiced it with. Then she sucked at his tongue and all thoughts vanished entirely, the only thing in the world the wet warmth of her mouth against his, the suppleness of her skin under his fingers, the herbal taste of absinthe on their tangled lips.

She broke away for just a moment, both of their chests rising and falling too fast. There was not enough oxygen in the world, not enough minutes. Only then did Thomas realize people were chanting, counting down the last seconds of the year. Rose smiled, the most dangerous smile he'd ever seen, and then she leaned into him again.

The fireworks started in their mouths. Chills coursed through him like high voltage, electrifying and earth-shattering, and he was alive once again.

Gently, Rose nibbled on his lower lip, teeth tugging at the soft flesh until Thomas could do nothing but let out a low, constricted moan. He parted his lips for her, pliant in her hands. She was breaking him down, ruining everyone else for him, and he was letting her, craving it even more. She kissed him until their lips were glossy and bruised, until everyone around them was hollering and whistling, until the world was made anew in front of him. Here with her – he had never felt quite as powerful.

Then she stepped back, smile gone, all while above them the night turned kaleidoscopic, all the colors in the world exploding in the midnight sky.

"Two devils don't work together, Thomas. Not even for one night."

She turned her back on him then, dumping his body in cold water, stripping him off his armor, stomping on his heart and bruising it in all shades of purple the more steps she took away from him.

"Goodness me, did I just watch the great Tommy Shelby being dumped?" It was Ada's voice, jolly and wholly unwanted.

"C'est la vie, Tommy!" Arthur laughed, a beer in his hand as he swayed from side to side. He looked entirely too happy about Thomas' public rejection. They all did. He could only imagine how he looked like: tousled hair, spit-coated lips, a humiliated look smudging his usually stoic, composed face. "C'est la vie!"

A disappointed look on her face, Polly shook her head at him and strode away. Johnny, for once, was the kinder one. He patted him on the back, tapped his face until Thomas snapped out of it, sight blurred, still looking at her silhouette fading in the distance. She was a dream, leaving him in a permanent nightmare, with no chance of ever waking up. This can't be happening. She can't be leaving. Not like this, not here, not now. Not after...

Thomas felt the beginning of anxiety crawl its way up his stomach, wrapping around his throat and prickling his eyes. The world was rain and thunder with no lightning to give it meaning, to give him purpose. He'd always thought he could handle her thorns, and now he was left bleeding by them.

Just like in that hospital bed when he'd first caught a glimpse of her. He was seeing her again for the first time: concerned absinthe-green eyes and dressed all in white, the first angel to greet him in heaven, both holy and worth committing sins for. And then she'd left, and he'd plunged into hell once more. And then years later, she left that hotel room as well, the soft-sweet perfume of roses lingering in the air, leaving him lonelier than he'd been and agonizing over if she was just a figment of his desperate imagination, the best dream he's ever had.

And then he had her. For a while he had her – but never truly.

He was seeing her again now, watching her walk away like she always did, each step she took away from him a thorn piercing his skin. Only this time it might be the last time.

"She's got you more whipped than a horse there, aye, brother?" Johnny asked, his voice a faint mumble in the distance.

But Thomas Shelby wasn't whipped. He was in love, deeper than he'd ever been, heart broken in a way it had never been before, with shards he was afraid when pieced back together would not fit the same way.

author's note.

soo... will Rose really leave? Will Thomas go after her? You'll find out in the next chapter ;)

until then, please let me know your thoughts on this chapter, I always love hearing from you and your comments really keep me motivated to write more <3