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CHAPTER EIGHT: TO BE ALONE
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TOMMY HAD BEEN WATCHING Helen dance since the party started. She knew it, too; she was not above admitting that she moved with more of a swing to her hips, her eyes occasionally catching his through the bright orange flames of the firepit. Tommy's face didn't betray much. Helen did swear, though, that every time she danced with the company of another man — whether that be one of Tommy's boys or even some of the Lees — that his expression darkened just a tad. She noticed it in the clench of his jaw, in the way he turned away for just a moment — then, unable to resist, he would look back just a second later, and something like defeat seemed to settle on his face.
After three dances with the same ending, Helen couldn't stomach it anymore.
She danced alone for the rest of the night, or when she was bored, with the Lee girls or even Ada. The only Shelby sister seemed to be having the night of her life. She spun around in dizzying circles, her cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the fire. She laughed and pulled Helen in for a hug several times, leaning her head against the blonde girl's shoulder and drunkenly humming along to the boisterous tunes the Lees had picked to celebrate John and Esme's union.
Speaking of the new couple, once Helen managed to detach herself away from Ada, she emerged from the crowd to find John smirking as Esme whispered something in his ear. She pulled back when Helen approached, and offered a hesitant — albeit, rather confused — smile as John laughed and, in a manner that reminded Helen of his sister, all but threw his arms around her shoulders.
"Thanks for bein' here, Nel," he stumbled over his words, the whiskey in his cup sloshing and spilling down the front of his shirt. John laughed again as Helen grimaced, and Esme disappeared over to a nearby table to grab something to dry the stain. "Wasn't sure you'd show up, but if I'm bein' honest, I didn't even bloody know I was getting married..."
"That's Tommy for you," Helen mused, having long since realised that Tommy was the mastermind behind the union with the Lees; like a puppeteer, John and Esme moved how he wanted them to, maybe without even realising it yet. "Rumour has it, though, that your bride was meant to be Lizzie Stark."
Helen had heard all about Lizzie Stark and her connection to Tommy. Helen wanted to resent her for it, but that would make her a hypocrite. Besides, Lizzie was a lovely woman. She never did anything to spite Helen personally, it was just business. Helen knew that better than anything.
"I would've asked you," John said, and Helen barely had a chance to comprehend what he'd just admitted before he rambled on, "But I couldn't do that to Tom. I've said it to ya before, Nel. Tommy still loves you. He may be infatuated with that barmaid, but she's nothin' serious. I couldn't do that to him. Not that he'd let me anyways. He'd kill me just for tellin' you this—"
"Okay, John," Helen cut him off quickly as Esme appeared with a cloth in hand. As she got closer, Helen raised her voice so they didn't look suspicious, "It's good to meet you, Esme. I'm Helen."
