Archive of Our Own

You watched from afar as the jockey stretched in his pale blue and beige colored uniform, readying himself to saddle yours and Tommy’s horse and take it to victory. It's been a long process; making sure everything was perfect for Derby day whilst keeping tabs on a famous Italian everyone knew as Darby Sabini.

And it was perfect - the horse, jockey - but it didn’t equal peace on your part. You were still very much tempted to make a dash toward the trainer's pitch as a mean to divert yourself from the curious eyes of the toffs that breathed down your neck and to further bully your jockey into a winning stance and spirit.

A light grip on your elbow prevented what otherwise would have been a delight of a meeting.

You turned around, half expecting to see your husband’s handsome face behind you with strict safety instructions to follow. Whatever business he had to do today wasn't pleasant, and so it fell on you to be his eye in the public.

Surprise was an ongoing feeling when you came face to face with a pretty blonde. Your sweet smile softly eased until a thin line of your lips colored your face. You were confused.

"Can I help you?" You asked politely, preparing to lead a conversation with a woman interested in your horse’s prediction in the race. 

The woman before you looked uncomfortable, that much was obvious. The look on her face told a story you kept trying to remember. Why did she look so familiar?

"I'm looking for Tommy." She replied breathlessly. 

Your eyes widened for a second, but you regained yourself quickly. "What for?"

Her slender fingers tightened on the clutch she held, "It's private. I was hoping you could tell me where he is."

You arched a brow, crossing your arms over your chest. "Who do I look like to you? His secretary?"

The blonde was taken aback by your attitude, "Do you know who I am?"

You nodded after concocting a pretty well-educated guess in your head. "I can tell you off by your accent alone. Irish, aren't you? Grace Burgess I presume."

Grace shook her head and her golden locks glistened under the sun, "I don’t have time for this. I must talk to Tommy."

"Do you know who I am?" You asked instead, furrowing your brows in a mocking question. "I'm his wife."

She narrowed her eyes at your glittering diamond ring, but you spoke before she could. "Why are you really here Grace? Because I know you aren’t here to watch a horse race."

You could see the wheels in her head turning while your blood boiled at the sight. She spoke quickly and with a voice laced with accent and belief. "Tommy loves me. I came back from New York to see him."

"Don't you have a husband at home?" You asked her dryly, "How dare you think it's okay to do this to him? Doesn't he deserve better?"

"I don't love him." She fought, shifting on her two feet.

"And my husband doesn't love you. Perhaps he once did, but then you betrayed and left him," you told her suddenly, stepping into her personal space with a menacing glare in your eyes. "Get off your high horse, Grace. This is not Ireland, and it's certainly not New York. Chasing my husband will give you more bad than good."

Just as those words left your mouth your attention was diverted to the grand staircase that lead to the terrace you were standing on. Your husband was pushing through the crowd quite harshly, a panicked set of ocean blue eyes searching for you amidst it all.

A part of you felt as though you were supposed to protect the blonde despite her previous affairs with the family you were now a part of. You were aware that bad things were about to happen, and being next to the wife of the man in charge of it all would put an invisible cloak of danger on Grace’s shoulders.

But she was a detective, you remembered, one that was responsible for a lot of bad that struck years ago.

Your wish to help shield her went as quickly as it came. It was non-existent by the time Tommy had reached you.

Grace too turned her head to look the same way and could see her face flip at the sight of him. The slight blush on her flawless face intensified, her grip on her bag tightened too.

"Tommy-" she started as if she was at loss for words, pulling her delicate hand from your elbow to grasp his suit in a halt.

Your husband paid her no mind save for presenting a glittering shine of shock in his eyes, instead opting to close in on your body and gather you in his arms.

The action was deeply affectionate, a husband and a wife embracing each other minutes before the race. It wasn’t suspicious to the surrounding folk.

But you knew better, because before you knew it Tommy began whispering into your ear. "I need you to be safe alright? Go to your seat, John's waiting for you. I'll get you when it's done."

A wave of worry overwhelmed your senses when he pulled away to kiss your temple, and it urged you to grab him by the ends of his suit and pull him to you. Your soft kiss was full of worry, though filled with reassure of the same amount. You spoke silently to him, and he in return heard every word.

Pulling away, you whispered. "Stay safe."

Tommy nodded, looking as if Grace had come to his mind just then. He turned to her, his eyes glazed over with aloofness.

"Leave."

"Tommy please-"

Your husband took a menacing step closer, and she shrank under his pinning gaze. Any sense of softness he carried had disappeared, leaving behind a man still deeply troubled by betrayal. He spoke slowly, "I told you to fucking leave."

"Leave. And never come-fucking-back," He spat lowly. "Come near my wife again and not even the IRA will be able to save you."

Grace turned tail and left, her expensive perfume becoming a lone linger in the air after she disappeared.

You reached for his hands immediately, the encounter long-lost from your mind. She is that unimportant. "Remember: If things get bad, you stop. He's not worth it."

The corners of Tommy's mouth lifted into a brief smile, "None of them are."