𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐒
❝ They're the French Kissers,
that's what they do.
They will lure you in
and then they'll kill you
with a kiss. ❞
━ in which the leader of the french kissers
...
❝ No lover leaves a rose garden without blood on their hands.❞
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"Miss Salvage, there's someone here to see you." Outside, her housekeeper was calling her but Rose didn't turn around, her attention firmly kept on the bay horse she was feeding. The stables were the closest thing she had to a sacred place; being with horses was the only time where peace became less of a definition and more of a feeling.
Rose looked over to Lucille at the door. "I'm not expecting guests."
"He says his name is Thomas Shelby, miss. And he has a child with him. Should I send them away?"
"Merde." Rose looked at the reddish-brown horse, as if he could decide for her. From her experience, horses often had more common sense than people. "No, Mr. Shelby is not a man one sends away. Bring them here, please."
She waited in silence, the horses' heavy breaths and the persistent smell of hay as her only company. When they stopped by the door, Charles squirmed in his father's embrace, his small arms trying to reach for the animals before he saw Rose and decided to reach for her.
"Rosie!"
"Hi, Charlie." Rose smiled and walked over to them. The stable was poorly lit and Thomas' slender figure stood out against the light like a phantom, a phantom she hadn't seen in a month but still haunted her every day. When their eyes locked, the touch of his fingers against her skin returned to her as if it had been yesterday. "Thomas."
"Hello, Rose." He gave her a short nod, shadows passing through his eyes as he studied her. "I hope you don't mind us coming unannounced, Charlie 'ere had been asking about you. He misses your classes, ya see."
"I've been busy." Rose said, at the same time Thomas let his son into her arms. She took him to a Haflinger pony, chuckling when his mischievous hand tangled on the pony's flaxen mane.
"Ah, yes." Thomas' voice came from behind her. "I heard you're having a big event in your café, something about an art gallery."
"Yes, there's a new movement shaking the art circles, surrealism. It's destroying conventions and contradicting reality and all its logic, so naturally, I took a liking to it."
"Meaning there's going to be a lot of wistful artists drinking absinthe and liquor in your bars."
The way he read her. It never ceased to surprise her, how he could make words out of her silence.
"What can I say? Of all in the world, artists' hearts are the easiest to break."
