• TOMMY SHELBY IMAGINES •

The Wife (2)

TWO | DROP DEAD GORGEOUS

"You have a dog." I stare down at the morbidly obese mutt that stares curiously at me. "You hate dogs."

"Hated." Thomas replied and got down on his knees to play with the dog. Once he parked his car, the grand doors to our mansion widen and a large loaf with legs and fur waddles towards Thomas and I. I step back as the dog begins to dribble. I almost throw up.

"That makes one of us." I mutter, looking down at the dog in disgust.

"Since you're here, Cyril," He says to the dog, "I want you to meet a witch. I mean a true witch, eh? She's got black magic—eh?"

I jab my finger into his shoulder, "Fuck off."

I can hear him laugh as I walk away. Heading into the mansion that I once called home. I stop in the foyer where the great floor to ceiling mirror glistens. I look at the rustic mirror and find my eyes in the middle of a tanned face. I smile at the woman who smiles back at me and kick off my heels. I've tanned, lost a few stones, but also gained a few. Rightfully so. I look drop dead gorgeous, I look like Thomas fucking Shelby's wife. Stepping out of my heels, I drop half a foot, being only five foot four, I had to put on heels to feel superior. I wore a long black dress, tight around my waist and gave my breasts the illusion that they were bigger than it seemed. It was my first time coming back to Small Heath, I had to dress the part.

Everything about me was different. My French hairstylist gave me bangs that hung low. My hair was in its natural state, unruly ringlets that were a soft brown colour. She said it looked better than me pressing what it to, and it dawned on me that I look much nicer natural.

I walked past the living room and went straight upstairs. Leaving my bag at the foyer, I grabbed the railing like I usually did as I ran. Feeling a bit excited as I pushed open the door to reveal what used to be my fucking bedroom.

I'm baffled to see the master bedroom turned into a fucking office. With a large oak table and master chair, I look around trying to place my belongings but fail to. He's changed this entire room, the sick fuck.

"Thomas!" I shout but he's entered the room now.

"You like what I did with the place?" He asked, letting out a stiff cough as he pulled out yet again another cigarette. He rolls it over his lip, lighting it with a match.

I turned around and shook my head. "You bastard. What did you do with the bed?"

"Well–" He walked towards the window and cracked it open.

I walked around him and turned on the walk-in closet light, but the closet wasn't overflowed with my clothes. No. There was nothing there. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." I mutter.

"Once you left so abruptly, Arthur came 'round first. And we decided to burn all of it. The clothes, the shoes, the fucking lingerie." He scoffs.

"That bed costed a damn fortune you–"

"We didn't burn the bed." He murmured, looking out the window. "I had Lizzie Starke over, alongside other women I met along the way." He let out a chuckle, and smoke oozed out of his mouth. "No. We didn't burn the bed."

There's a soft silence that sits between he and I. He doesn't pretend that what he says isn't painful. No, Thomas doesn't pretend.

"You're pathetic." I try to combat what he said to me.

"I was a husband without his wife." He corrects me and turns to meet my eyes. "I guess we both fucked other people, didn't we Joanna?"

I felt like he was pulling a dagger out of my heart.

"So you want to work on things." I cross my arms over my chest. "You want to try and mend our marriage, do you?"

"Francis saw me in a state the day I wrote that letter to you. She said I was so drunk she feared for her life." He was lost in the sight outside. The foggy haze that sits in the courtyard. I look outside too, and wonder if Thomas sees all of the people he's murdered staring up at him. A chill rolls up my spine. "She threatened to phone you if I didn't write you that letter."

"You were drunk then." I stiffen. Turning my gaze I don't tell him about my truths and all that I've been up to in France. No, I decide against it. Thomas might act mighty, but he's got a broken heart that is so weak and unstable. Even though I so desperately want to push him over the edge, I'm afraid I'll lose all of him.

"Jo?"

I look up and meet his eyes, I hold my breath when he approaches me. "What?" I asked, taking a step back.

"I did miss you." He tells me, taking a step closer. "I wrote to you, not only because we should work on our marriage but because I did miss you."

"Thomas-" I say, turning my face.

Hemade me tremendously sad. The thought of Thomas being alone did break my heart. He was the man I fell in love with so many years ago– I have a right to feel upset knowing he isn't well. I always tell myself I've married a God and a Devil. Thomas before the war was a saint, an absolute angel who simply enlisted to service England. But the man who came back didn't know his past. It's like a wall came right up and a new man came back to me. He had the same body, the same eyes, hair, lips, same voice and same height. But the man that came back from France was a monster.

There is a part of me that regrets what I've done to him. A part of me feels like I've done him a disservice, because I did leave him. I left when he got lost in the money, and the gang. I left when Luca Changretta tried to murder me. And it wasn't because I was scared of that Italian bigger, no, it was because instead of having Thomas console me, he asked if I was working with the bastards. It broke me. Oh it broke me.

"I know you inside and out." He says, before running a hand through my hair. "And I know you've missed me."

I shiver, as his hand caresses my cheek. Looking up into his eyes, I beg him to hold me and kiss me. I lick my lips and pour my heart into his eyes. I haven't seen Thomas in months, five months to be exact.

I decide in that moment to keep my mouth shut, he doesn't deserve to know that I am still madly in love with him.

His thumb rolls over my bottom lip. And he watches as my lips part, he wants me as bad as I want him, and that makes me heat. He puts his other hand on the other side of my face and and pulls me in, holding my face up to his, I stare into his eyes and wonder what he's thinking about, and why he hasn't kissed me.

"You left me." He notes.

I feel a sense of anger creep up, I want to slap him now and he seems to not care. "Have you ever wondered why?" I ask. "Have you ever thought about why I decided to leave you?"

He doesn't speak, but instead his hands drop and I feel hallow again. He walks away, throwing his hands up.

"Joanna-"

"No!" I cry, "I left because you changed and I didn't even know the man I was sleeping with! I felt, I-"

"Fucking enough!" He snaps.

I freeze now. Petrified by his yelling. "Thomas–" I put my hand over my mouth, my fingers tremble.

"You should have fucking told me!" He snapped. "Not fucking left!"

Yes my execution was poor, and I should have told Tommy but, no! "You should have known something was wrong, you bastard. Don't pin this on me. Don't even dare!"

"So what now?" He throws his hand up, turning around. "If you don't recognize your husband, what no? Eh! What do you want to do, Jo?"

I lick my lips and bite my bottom lip. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. I feel sick to my stomach, I exhale through my mouth and open my eyes.

"I don't know." I reveal.