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You carefully placed the flowers at the centre of the table, moving a few to an optimal place, making the bouquet stand out even more.
You looked at it, feeling proud of your choice, having bought it this morning at the market after seeing the various choices, this standing out among the rest.
The door swung open and closed, your husband’s figure coming into sight as he stepped behind you, resting his chin against your shoulder, the scent of fresh flowers filling the room, making him focus on them, the new addition of the morning.
“What are these?”
“Flowers?”
“Right, I’m not fucking blind, eh, but who gave you these?” he picked the vase up, shaking it lightly to further his point, making some of the petals flutter at the movement.
“Someone. Does it matter?”
You put on a brave expression, wondering were you were actually going with this. Pretending that you hadn’t been the one to buy the flowers, you kept looking at him straight in the eyes, enticed by his jealousy.
“Well, someone should be careful gifting you things.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re me fucking wife.”
“And so what, you’re jealous now? It’s not like you ever gift me flowers anyway.”
“No, I give you pretty dresses. Diamonds. A fucking nice house to live in.”
“Oh right, well, thank you dear,” You replied, scoffing at his words. “but maybe sometimes some simple flowers would do the trick. I’m not that materialistic.”
“You never seemed to mind. Well, clearly someone’s been giving you flowers, so you must be happy with that now.”
He picked his coat up, sliding it on again.
“Where are you going?”
“The Garrison. Just remembered there’s business to discuss.”
“Tommy, it’s almost midnight-“
“Yeah.”
You felt guilty now, almost tempted to tell him the truth about the flowers, but it wouldn’t change much, you suspected. You didn’t care about the necklaces, the diamonds, the dresses, they didn’t show love, just… possession. You were Thomas Shelby’s wife, you dressed like Thomas Shelby’s wife. Always by his side or gossiping with the ladies of the other men, gaining knowledge about their weaknesses, always looking pretty and kind, always entertaining at parties, always being there for him.
And at night you weren’t only Thomas Shelby’s wife, you were also his lover, his companion, his one true love, as he once revealed after too little sleep and too much alcohol.
But you were sick of being the one that put all of the effort in this relationship. You wanted flowers, for god’s sake, it wasn’t much!
“Don’t wait up, I’m heading to London tonight, I won’t be back for a few days.”
“Have a good trip, then.”
If your lack of reaction hurt him, he didn’t show it, walking out with a quick nod, closing the door behind him and disappearing into the night, but deep down you knew it had. You were used to him being distant at times, when the business wasn’t going too well, but he wasn’t used to you being distant.
You walked up the stairs, hugging your own figure as you found your way to your bed, lying on his side so that you could smell his scent and pretend that he was here next to you. Yes, he’d been stressed recently, and distant, yet all you could think about was the roughness of his hands when he touched you, craving you, or the way his jealousy drew him away from you. A simple bunch of flowers caused such a reaction from him, and he didn’t even know that the person that gifted them to you was yourself. You chuckled at the thought, burying yourself deeper in the mattress, sinking into dreams of your lover, hoping to have him home soon enough.
London had been left behind them just hours after they arrived, a meeting scheduled for a conversation that could have easily been done by phone, but he had decided to get away from you, if only for some time, the feeling he felt in his chest preventing him from being around you for long. He’d find whoever gave you those flowers and have him hanged, if needed.
“Oy, Tommy, what’s the matter? You look like you could need a good drink, eh?”
“I’ve got to get home.”
“Ah, the missus’s been missing you?”
“No, the missus’s been getting flowers from someone.”
Arthur laughed, nudging him with his arm as they walked towards the car.
“I mean, she is a pretty woman, Tommy, so-”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“I just mean that I see why someone might give her flowers. She’s pretty, ‘s all.”
“Have you been giving me wife flowers, Arthur?”
“Wouldn’t even know where to buy them, brother.”
“But if you knew you would?”
“Ah. No. Didn’t- no. Wouldn’t.” He cleared his throat, looking over at John and nodding his head towards the closest pub, eager to get away from the awkwardness he had created. “We’re going… gonna go. See ya tomorrow, Tom.”
The drive home was long, but he didn’t mind. It was a good moment to think, or to try not to. His mind was always plagued by thoughts, about the business, the war, his family, but tonight all he could think about were those flowers, jealousy still flowing in his veins.
He wasn’t far now, and he could feel the tension lift from his shoulders.
The car sputtered in annoyance, coming to a halt. He could’ve walked, it would’ve taken him over an hour to reach you, but it was an option, however he still had some hope that there wasn’t much of an issue with it, twisting the key a few more times before stepping out of the car. He could fix it, he was sure of it.
His eyes were carefully scanning for any issues, trying a couple of things before walking back to the car in another attempt, occasionally falling on the red blur that grew close to the edge of the forest, lit up by the car’s headlights and the first rays of sunshine making their way around the country.
Droplets of rain started falling, wetting the grass as well as Thomas, an annoyed sigh escaping from his lips as he made a final try, running back into the car and twisting the key, finally earning a sound from the engine.
He smiled triumphantly, placing his hands on the wheel but glancing once again to the forest, looking at the bush that grew happily on the edge of that forgotten road.
“It’s not like you ever gift me flowers anyway.”
Your words made their way into his mind again.
“Ah, fuck.” he exhaled, exiting from the car and running under the rain, cursing when he noticed how his shoes were now covered in mud.
“This better be worth it.”
He stepped in front of the roses, studying them for a second, his fingers dancing along the stem as he chose the left where he’d break it, earning a small bouquet for you. He pushed down, cracking the stem, however it wouldn’t come apart, the outer part still connecting the two parts with a fair amount of strength. He pulled, feeling the thorns digging in his skin, but he wouldn’t stop, tugging at the plant until it snapped.
He looked at the small branch, the free roses that adorned it, paling in comparison to the memory he had of the other bouquet.
Each branch came with different roses, and after ten more minutes spent under the rain, hat in hand, razor slicing through the limbs of the flower with more effort that it did through skin, thorns still grasping onto his hands, he finally walked back to his car, drenched, annoyed, bleeding, yet with an odd sense of proudness in his chest.
As he looked at the flowers on the seat as he drove, he saw them in a new light.
They seemed to be a metaphor for you. Their stem was unbelievably strong, just like you.
Their thorns were sharp, just like you.
The roses were beautiful, just like you.
And although he was wounded, he knew that the softness of the petals matched your softness too, the one you saved for him after a long day, the same one you had when you took care of his wounds, or when you caressed his nightmares away.
He reached you in no time, once he got back in the car, glancing at the flowers on the passenger seat as he drove.
It was still early, too early to be considered morning, but too late to be still called night, so he slipped in quietly, not wanting to wake you, or anyone for that matter, and held the roses tightly, trying to avoid the thorns this time. He walked to the table, looking at the original bouquet, comparing the differences, when he heard a noise come from behind him.
“Tommy?”
“It’s early love, go to bed.”
“You’re home.” You smiled happily, moving towards him when you spotted the roses, your smile growing bigger.
“Oh. Oh, Tommy.”
“They’re just-“
“Roses. I love roses.”
Your hands grew closer, but he pulled the flowers away from your grasp.
“They have thorns.” He explained when you looked at him questioningly. And that’s when you noticed the cuts and blood that his beneath the stems, his hands cut up from the roses’s thorns.
“Your hands.”
“Yeah, I’ve killed men with less effort. These thought back.” he joked, looking at the roses.
Your gaze softened, laughing at what he had just said, the mention of killing men just slipping as if it was a common thing. Well, it was for him, after all.
You took him to the kitchen, abandoning the roses on the table so that you could wash his cuts under some fresh water, making sure they were clean.
“You just abandoned the roses, do you prefer your lover’s flowers that much more?”
He could see in your eyes that his implication annoyed you, but whoever this someone was annoyed him, so it only seemed fair.
“I love your flowers, but I don’t love seeing you all cut up. So before I care for them, I want to care for you.” You explained, drying his hands, now cleaned, content to know that the scratches of his war with the roses would probably heal in just a few days.
“Also,” you started, deciding to come clean, “I’m my lover.”
“What?”
“You know how I went to the market yesterday morning, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I saw some flowers, so I got them. They were pretty. Yours however, come from your heart. And they mean so much more than mine ever could.”
You took a step closer to him, sliding your arms around his waist, feeling the few drops of cold rain that still lingered on him fall onto your arms, making you shiver. He had spent way too long in the rain, his body now cold.
“Come to bed. You’re cold, and you need to rest.”
You chose a vase and filled it with some water, grabbing the roses and sliding them in, carefully avoiding each thorn that you’d be sure to cut when you’d both wake.
For now, you just wanted to fall against his chest, under the warm covers and rest some more, tangling your body with his, the fresh scent of the roses filling the room.