A Certain Romance

Chapter 8: A Proposal

I did not tell Michael about my conversation with Thomas. It would only serve to incense him, which was a bad idea when the person he would be incensed with was someone as dangerous as Tommy. Better not to stir that pot.

Things were surprisingly calm for a couple of weeks after my encounter with the devil of Birmingham. Michael kept wanting to see me, leaving me notes and asking for me after performances. Flowers filled my vanity and he had the broken bulbs dimming my mirror replaced. He wanted to buy me a new vanity altogether but had thankfully expressed this to me before acting on it. I forcefully refused-- I was already getting enough shite from Stella and everyone else about the nature of our relationship. My refusals, however, only lead him to claim that he could fuck me well enough that I'd change my mind. Obviously, I told him to prove it. And then I laughed at him when he asked me again afterwards and I gave him the same response: Fuck no.

While he claimed to understand why I didn't want gifts from him, he was a stubborn one so the flowers kept coming, as did some lingerie which I accepted because a), it was the most beautiful lingerie I'd ever seen, and b) it was really more of a gift for him since he was the only one seeing me in my knickers these days.

Then he showed up after rehearsal one rainy Thursday afternoon, announcing it was time everyone got new costumes. The girls squealed and gasped in excitement. I narrowed my eyes at him, filled with suspicion as he winked at me. I was certain he was going to find some way to make a gift out of it for me-- which, while appreciated, was something I'd explicitly asked him not to do. The only person who seemed unaffected was Stella, glancing venomously between me and our assistant manager.

"Well, it's about time," She drawled, inspecting her nails. "You really couldn't expect us to go on much longer in these rags..."

I rolled my eyes.

"Isn't it lucky, then, that Thomas has set aside a budget for all you lovely ladies to be fitted with new uniforms?" He smiled charmingly, waving seamstresses into our dressing room. He sidled up to me casually and we looked on as the seamstresses busied themselves lining us up and taking our measurements.

"You're up to something..." I muttered to him. He smirked down at me.

"Just tryin'a class up the joint... or are you telling me you don't want new uniforms?" He asked me. One of the seamstresses flitted to me, but he waved her away. "No, no. She's last."

I frowned. "I'm last?"

"Thomas's orders, said he'll be swinging by and had some things to discuss with you," He shrugged and then got close to me, leaning down to murmur in my ear. "Hopefully, it's about a raise, eh? Be back in a bit, love, got some business to attend to."

"I... of course," I assured him as he went on his way, suddenly feeling queasy. Thomas was coming to see me? My imagination supplied all kinds of possible motivations that kept me feeling on edge until it was finally my turn to be fitted.

I climbed onto the little stool just as the man of the hour walked back in with Michael. The other girls were already gone, even Daria who had errands to run before heading back to our flat. Thus, it was just me, the seamstress, Phyllis, Michael and... Thomas Shelby. He looked as sharp as ever in a three piece suit, unaffectedly puffing away on a cigarette.

I threw Michael a quizzical glance hoping for some kind of clue about his visit, but he seemed not to notice, leaning lazily against my vanity as he worried at his own cigarette. Thomas stepped forward to look me up and down. I could see him in the reflection, expressionless, as he called over the head seamstress.

"Right, fit her for one of the regular uniforms, but then I also want her to try on that dress you showed me..." He instructed her. In the mirror in front of me, I could see Michael's eyes snap to Tommy.