It's the roaring twenties in Birmingham, the Peaky Blinders exist alongside God but they were much, much closer at hand than Him. Mercedes de Silva, thornless withered rose, petals filled with sorrow. Thomas Shelby, ruthlessly ambitious, conflicted...
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1913
AS THE FILIPINO SAYING GOES, marriage is not a hot rice that you can simply spit out if you get scorched. For them, marriages are sacred covenants, and they should be taken seriously for God has bound them together. Mercedes despised the idea of marrying at such a young age—she didn't want to be tied down to someone she hadn't even met yet.
The day for their engagement ceremony had finally arrived, all of the workers of Hacienda de Silva have been busy since the sun came up. Alejandra had made certain that everything was perfect by meticulously planning the gathering down to the last detail.
Mercedes, on the other hand, was sulking in her the bathroom as Marisol drew her a warm bath. She entered the wooden tub, submerging her body in the water. "I've heard that Don Zacarias' son is handsome and a gentleman at that," Marisol gossiped as scrubbed her lady's back gently.
"Is that so?" Mercy replied, clearly uninterested with her supposed to be betrothed. "But... rumors were he fancies men," the maidservant whispered making Mercy snap her head towards Marisol, she squinted her eyes, "Where did you hear that baseless rumor?"
Marisol stopped scrubbing and scratched her chin, trying to remember who told her that hearsay, "Ah! It was the servants from Zacarias family, I heard them when we were at the wet market," Marisol nodded at herself before returning her attention to cleaning her lady's body.
From her room's window, Mercedes stared at the yellow full moon that glowed like a silvery claw in the darkness of space. She can see the constant flow of caritelas carrying guests into their hacienda's gates from afar. Mercy clenched her lower lip nervously as she thinks of the possible things that she could do to stop her engagement ceremony.
Should I feign illness to postpone this? No, I can't, the Zacarias are already on their way and the last thing I wanted is Papa getting angry at me for embarrassing him. What should I do? I don't want to do this, I don't want to get married. I want to run away.
I should have listened to Iago.
In a blink of an eye, Miguel Zacarias was standing in front of her. He was indeed handsome as the rumor says—his hazel hair danced as the wind blew across the room, "Buenas noches, señorita Mercedes," he bowed his head down, asking for Mercy's hand.
As his soft, warm lips touched her hand, thousands of bolts shot through her body. She curtsied at the young man while covering her mouth with her red hand fan. "Buenas noches, señor Miguel," she said.
A raven-haired man leaned against the window beside Mercy before Miguel could say anything "Buenas noches, señor Miguel. Cómo está?" Iago spoke up, a smug grin on his face. Miguel was taken aback at first, but eventually returned the smile, "Buenas noches, señor Iago. I have heard a lot of things about you," the brunet responded.
