Twelve Red Roses (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

Chapter 36- The Ritz-Carlton

"Where do you want to live?" I ask.

"What?" Tom seems confused by my sudden question. It came out of nowhere, really, as we ate breakfast at our hotel. This morning we had driven another hour just to get a little closer to New York. 

"When you settle down with your future wife," I explain. "Where do you want to live?"

"London, I hope," he says with a shrug. "I know that's sort of boring, since I've lived there my whole life, but I really love it there. What about you?"

I push the eggs on my plate around with my fork, not actually eating them. "Anywhere but my hometown... Is it bad that I don't like where I grew up?"

"I don't think so," Tom answers. "You just want to spread your wings, am I right? You want to escape, and find your own life. Do your own thing. Make your own path."

I nod slowly. "Yeah. That pretty much sums up how I feel."

Tom continues eating for a moment before glancing at my plate, raising an eyebrow.

"Why aren't you eating, love?" He asks, sounding concerned.

"Oh, I am," I quickly say, smiling at him. "I'm eating. I'm just thinking at the same time, that's all."

I look down at my plate and realize I haven't eaten much, after all. But how am I supposed to when I'm so eager about tonight? About New York? It's just five hours away, if we left right now. It seems so close, yet so far away. 

He nods lightly, sipping at his drink. "Okay... So we don't have to leave for New York until noon, at least. We should go back to our room and rest a bit until then."

"Okay," I agree. I feel his eyes on me, and I look up at him. He gives me a small smile, and winks. Oh. That kind of rest. "Oh," I say. "Sure. In fact, let's just go now."

I push back my plate of un-eaten food and stand up, collecting my purse. I drop some money on the table, and we leave for our room.

~

All I can do for a good five minutes is lie on my back, working on steadying my beating heart. I have no clue how a man like Tom fell for me. He is amazing.

While Tom slips on a pair of boxers, I get out of bed and take out a new pair of underwear and a new bra. Then I slide back under the covers with him, ready to just sleep for another hour. We both lie on our sides, facing each other. His finger trace long my arm, down my back, and over my waist. He stops over my rib-cage, slowly tracing across one bone at a time.

I take my hand and trace it along his sharp jaw, smiling at him.

"Tell me, are you happy?" He asks softly, smiling.

"How could I not be, Tom? You give me everything." I sigh lightly, looking away for just a moment, then back to him. "I'm not good at this. Talking with passion. Whispering sweet things. But I love you. You know I love you. Isn't that enough?"

"It's more than enough, love. Don't you worry. More than enough."

His lips find mine for a tender kiss, and his hand carefully combs through my hair. Every single day I seem to unintentionally crave his gentle touch. I wonder if he knows just how thankful I am to have someone as sweet as him. I can remember when Alice, Mary, and I were a bit younger, and we'd all read books in our rooms. Usually young teenage romance novels that focused on a good girl, and a not-so-good boy. They would always fall head-over-heels in love with the fictional bad boy, saying how they would kill to have a man like that. I agreed at the time, thinking it'd be nice to have someone different. Someone other than the annoying jocks or the nerdy mathletes who didn't even want a girlfriend. But I soon got over that stage and realized the only way I'd be happy is if I had a nice guy. And, boy, is Tom nice.