nothing we desired. peaky blinders

𝑇𝐻𝑅𝐸𝐸

ꨄ

𝑁𝑂𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑊𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑆𝐼𝑅𝐸𝐷

𝑁𝑂𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑊𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑆𝐼𝑅𝐸𝐷
ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀ

From the moment I'd met the man, I'd known that Thomas Shelby was not one to do things in halves. His wedding was no exception to this rule.

The party was held in the late evening in the large manor house that sat on the edge of the English countryside. The mix of attendants was as outstanding as the home itself, with two sides of society seeming to mix all in one go, the new and old. Even the music seemed to be the best of both, with swinging jazz becoming more frequent as the night grew colder, making bodies reach closer.

But amongst the glitz and glamour, I could not help but feel the awful sense of foreboding -like a damp cloth- that sat on the heavy atmosphere of each room I walked into. After only a single dance, Amir left me to speak with someone unnamed and had not returned. His face had betrayed nothing.

It was somewhat freeing, walking through the dance hall, glancing at the newly-painted images that decorated the halls, earning the decadence of fresh wealth. It reminded me faintly of my aunt's home in Italy, as most things did then. Of her gold-rimmed frames and silver-sewn books. But unlike that beautiful villa, at this ceremonious table, sat more strangers than I'd ever had to witness, and there too it was not Amir beside me.

At the evening meal, it was my luck to be placed between Tommy Shelby's aunt and a woman by the name of Lizzie Stark, directly across from Ada who, in between her tirades of politics, would glance at me as if wary of my presence. The two were as prickly as could be expected, being related in some manner to the Shelby family. It was the matriarch that captured my attention, however, with her brooding glimpses and sensual movements, eyes scanning the opposite seats, always landing lastly on a man who reciprocated those glances.

"You're gathering quite the attention tonight, Ms Gray," I said, and my first attempt at conversation was welcomed readily by the two.

Lizzie nodded, dark eyes skimming seamlessly toward him. "He's looking right over."

For the first time since observing the woman, she startled, her lowered lashes widening slightly. "What?"

"He's coming. He bloody is."

Polly followed her glance, finding a tall, slender man at the end of it, his hair reaching a silvery tone of blond and his skin pallid. In other words, it was not the man with the beautiful brown skin and thick hair advancing her way, and Polly Gray was annoyed.

"Fuck, it's the wrong one."

"What do you mean 'the wrong one'? How many are there?" Lizzie exclaimed, her head twisting to scan the table for a second time, making no effort to hide the fact. That seemed to be a quality of the family and their companions- a lack of discretion.

"There are two giving me the eye. I prefer the other one. He looks harmless," Polly said and I had to agree. A nudge of my head directed Lizzie to the second man who'd turned away from us, looking rather disappointed.

"It must be the bloody lipstick Tommy brought you back from New York."

The older woman nodded as if it was the only thing that made sense, rolled her crimson lips together, and then turned to face the man as he stopped beside her, towering over like a ghost with his paper-pale face.

"I couldn't help noticing you are unaccompanied. I also am alone. May I join you?"

Without saying anything, Lizzie upped and moved, sending one glare to a man of the bride's family so she could plant herself on the other side of me. She seemed the friendly type, but the more I learned of her that night, I could not help but wonder if that quality was more of a fault. With her involvement with the Italians that were so against the Shelbys, it seemed more like desperation for something more.