Bancroft - Peaky Blinders Reverse Harem x Reader

Chapter 5

I wonder if John will be embarrassed by the offer in the morning, or if he'll even remember. But when I'm bathed and dressed and head downstairs, sometime mid-morning, he hands me a mug with a wink.

"Milk and sugar on the table," he says.

I can see him properly now, in the daylight. His face is more carefree than the others. Though I recall Tommy mentioning a younger brother named Finn on the drive over, saying they're still trying to shelter him from many aspects of the business and so he lives with their Aunt Polly, John definitely has the energy of a younger sibling. I can see his brothers have taken on burdens just to spare him.

And along that train of thought, I can see that Tommy has taken on the most.

My mug clatters as I set it against the table, as Tommy himself enters. He fastens a pair of cuff-links to his sleeve. There's something hypnotic in the movement. I realise too late that I'm staring, and gulp back half my drink, scalding my throat. John grins, clearly amused, from where he sits opposite me reading a newspaper.

Tommy says nothing to either of us. "Good morning," I call out pointedly.

He nods in my direction. "Morning, Bancroft." He directs his next question at John. "I take it you've introduced yourself."

"Unceremoniously," I mutter.

John smirks. "You'd better get used to it. We've all stumbled into each other's rooms at some point. Why, even fucking Tom here had Lizzie Stark bent over a—"

"The boxes have been delivered," Tommy interrupts, though he gives not a single sign of embarrassment or annoyance.

I, on the other hand, feel both on his behalf. And a strange, hollow sensation — only a little one. It's the lack of privacy, I think. It would be enough to bother anyone. I also make a mental note to have a lock installed on my door.

My eyes gloss over as they continue to talk business from the night before. I sit quietly, knees tucked to my chest, sipping my drink every now and then. A pair of hands squeeze my shoulders, and the pressure gives me instant relief.

"Morning, Bancroft," Arthur says, drawing away as quickly as he came. But I can still feel the outline of his strong hands on my shoulders.

Tommy flickers a glance across to Arthur, but John's leaning forward and intently describing some packaging error, leaving Arthur and I to talk between ourselves.

"Sleep well?" I ask.

"Can't remember the last time I'd say I slept well," Arthur says, plating up eggs and bacon. "But I've got no complaints from the night, no."

He slides the plate across the table to me, along with a glass of orange juice and silver cutlery.

"Oh, you eat first," I say, trying to push the plate back. I'm not usually a breakfast person.

"You need your strength," Arthur replies, returning with his own food. He smothers his toast in brown sauce. "Come on. Just a few bites."

I try to glare at him, but my expression softens. I can't remember the last time anyone offered me food. Or gave a shit whether I ate or not.

Tentatively, I put a bite of everything into my mouth. The bacon explodes across my tongue, salty and sharp, undercut by the rich egg yolk. When I sip the orange juice, the tartness perfectly eradicates the earlier tastes, like a dance across my tastebuds. I can recall as a young child, my mother lamenting that food always tastes so much better when somebody else has cooked it for you. For the first time, I understand what she means.

"Best butcher in the county," Arthur tells me. "And the eggs are fresh. Some guy that works for us, his wife keeps chickens."

"Perk of the job," I remark drily. "Sell your soul, get free eggs."