• TOMMY SHELBY IMAGINES •

The Wife (6)

SIX | GO WITH GOD

Once I stepped off the plane, tickled off of mimosas and the pilots senselessly flirting with me, I was greeted by a man. He wore a flat cap and was pale like a no good Englander. He was short and stubby, and as he approached me at the runway, I tried to look the other way, pretended that I didn't know what he wanted from me.

He tapped my arm and I jumped, "Hello, Mrs. Shelby. I'm here to take you back to Birmingham. An instruction from Mr. Shelby."

Damn it. I've been caught. I still, before getting angry. Mr. Shelby doesn't control me. "Listen here you bastard-"

"He said you'd start with that." He sighs.

I grab his tie and yank him in to me. "I said listen, you fucker." I hiss, "I know enough French to get all of these people around us to know that you're a crazy lunatic who is stalking me. I can get you arrested! Do you want that?"

He shakes his head, petrified.

I step back and clear my throat, with my palm out I gesture for his keys. "I need your car."

I find a hotel that is close to the water, so close that I feel like a Hollywood actress or model. Anyways, I found myself sitting at the bar. It was outdoors but also indoors, the guests had the choice to be wined and dined wherever they wanted.

"This place is awfully luxurious." I tell the barmaid, I've decided to sit outside. "I hope to see Chaplin, or–"

She places a drink in front of me. It's pink and pretty, much like the lace set I wear. "What's this?" I ask, examining it.

"A gift." She points behind me to a tall, disturbingly handsome man. He's big, but lean, he's got on a hat and he tilts it down to say hello to me.

"Holy shit." I whisper as I turn around. "I haven't been hit on in so long." My eyes fall on my left hand, my very gorgeous ring scoffs up at me. I ignore the ring and look up at the barmaid. "How do I look?"

She throws her towel over her shoulder. "You look delightful, he's coming." She whispers before walking away.

"Hello." A man says from behind me.

My ears ring and I feel my chest tighten.

He clears his throat and I turn around to face him. "Oh. Hi." I start. "Thanks for the drink."

I turn back around rather quickly. He doesn't move, his shadow blocks the sun from warming my back. "Anytime, sweetheart."

I laugh. If only Thomas heard him call me sweetheart, he'd be instructed to hang. Or worse, blinded and forced to live at a severe disadvantage.

"Not a fan of American accents?"

I hum, "No, that's not quite it."

"Perhaps you can tell me then." He's smooth, and sits down right beside me. I get a whiff of his scent and nearly moan. He smells mighty fine.

I smile, shaking my head. "Well, no one calls me sweetheart. Because, I assure you, I am no sweetheart."

"You look like you're a sweetheart." He frowns and reaches over to tuck a hair behind my ear. "And I'm awfully correct at pointing one out. Wait a second, let me just be sure."

His hand cups my chin and I squeeze my eyes shut, grinning from ear to ear. I'm helpless, and girlish, and excited.

"Yes, you are absolutely a sweetheart." He remarks.

Oh!

I opened my eyes to catch him studying every inch of my face. I get lost too, lost in his soft features. His blue eyes and soft pink lips. He looks innocent, like he was raised right. But he's got stature, and looks like he can really harm anyone who came between him and the thing he loved. I wonder who she is, the person he loves. I noticed the intend on his ring finger the moment he walked by. Cheeky bastard thought he could hide the wedding ring, but it's engraved his skin it seems. Well, perhaps he's lost his wife. Or maybe he's like me, maybe he doesn't know who his spouse is anymore and is being haunted by them.