Bancroft - Peaky Blinders Reverse Harem x Reader

Chapter 68

I wake up the next morning to buttercups on my bedside.

A small smile spreads across my face. I sip back my water, perfectly lightly iced. There's no trojan condoms. He must trust me by now.

I slip out of bed and get dressed quickly, packing the boot of the car full of supplies. It takes me most of the morning to arrange everything in place. When I finally arrive back at the house, it's early afternoon. I want so badly to go inside, to find Tommy and embrace him, but I restrain myself.

Instead, I head to the stables and tack up the horses myself. Arthur's already been given strict instructions that Tommy's not to make any plans tonight.

I ride back to the house, the sun already beginning to lower in the sky.

And when I arrive, Tommy's stood on the front doorstep. My breath catches in my throat. He has a lit cigarette between his lips, a lightly amused expression across his face that changes when he sees me. Ripples of nerves spread through my stomach. There's so much I want to say to him.

"You coming?" I ask.

He mounts the horse beside me, and we begin to ride.

***

"So, this is where you've been all day," he says softly.

I dismount, tying the horse to a tree beside the stream. We're on the hill where he brought me, to give me my first proper camping experience with the sausages. I spent the day nailing every peg of the tent myself, built the campfire with foraged wood, had the butcher make the sausages exactly the same way. It was so long ago last time. Everything's the same, and yet everything has changed. I've changed. And I want to prove it to him.

Tommy ties his horse beside mine and looks at me expectantly. The last rays of sun shine on him through the trees, casting him in a glow I've only seen before in depictions of angels. I walk to him slowly, and I hold his face in my hands.

"I missed you," I tell him quietly.

"And I missed you," he gently replies. "I hope my brothers treated you well while I was gone."

I nod. "They did."

"Good." And he means it. He takes my hand in his own and links our fingers together. "We should light that fire, eh?"

"You're hungry already?" I ask.

"I've had a day of John's cooking," he says, lighting a cigarette as we head back. "I'm fucking famished."

I laugh as he uses his lighter to get the fire going, and we both find twigs to keep it burning until it's ready for the bigger wood. There's something so comforting as he wraps an arm around my waist, and we toast our sausages, and drink from his whiskey flask as we talk. We talk a little about his work, about Michael's planes, about horses and the upcoming races.

But despite the comfort, and the ease that comes in his presence, my stomach clenches with butterflies once more as dusk arrives and we're left with the last few minutes of daylight.

"What is it?" He asks me softly, throwing his twig onto the fire.

I do the same, taking a breath. "Show me your hand," I say.

He raises his eyebrows. "Your hand," I repeat.

He hesitates, realising the intimacy of what's about to occur. And then, his palm stretched open, he places his hand in both of mine.

"You're curious," I tell him, examining his palm and turning it in my fingers at first. "And analytical. You need your own space. And you're often deep in thought, distracted. Your heart line..." I trace it with my index finger. "You're passionate. You know what you want, and expect others to know it too." I risk a glance at him. His face is impossible to read, but he's completely captivated, watching me intently as I focus. "You're considerate and traditional. The head line..." I laugh softly. "Clear and unmistakeable. Mental concentration. Your life line... a part of you wishes to travel." My voice drops slightly. "But you are grounded here by choice. Fate and money... clear and creased. Many businesses." I take a small breath as I press against different parts of his palm. "I'm afraid I don't have much wisdom for you, Tommy. You've already achieved the great success your palm shows." I smile nervously. "I hope you're not too disappointed."

"Come here." His voice is low and clear.

I inch closer towards him on the blanket. He takes me in his arms and pulls me to him, until I'm sat on his lap with my head buried into his neck. He holds me close, and kisses the top of my head. As he traces patterns into my back, I feel his touch is so caring, so tender.

"Where did you learn to do all that, eh?" He asks, his voice thick.

"I had Polly teach me," I whisper. "I can do tarot cards, too."

"Fucking hell," he mutters softly. "We'll have to get you a crystal ball next."

I laugh gently into him, and tears rise to my eyes. As I pull my head back, I see his own are glossy, visible now only by the light of the campfire.

"I know all the stars," I tell him quietly. "I've been studying them every night. Perseus and Andromeda." I point to them. "They're my favourites. Andromeda's parents tried to sacrifice her. Her mother was vain, and her father was cruel. But Perseus came and saved her. He killed anyone who tried to come between them, he loved her so much. And now they're in the sky together, for eternity."

Tommy holds me even closer. "Do you think when we die, we'll be up there?" He asks. "Thomas and Bancroft? And John, and Arthur, and Michael, and Ada—"

I stick my tongue out at him, and he laughs softly. And then he turns serious, holding me still as he closes what little distance remains between us, and he presses his lips to mine.

"I spoke at your funeral," he murmurs against me.

"Words I never thought I'd hear," I whisper.

"I said that without you in this world, there is no sin I would not commit." His fingers trace my jaw.

"What about with me?" I ask.

"With you," he replies softly. "With you, I have gaps between the nightmares."

I squeeze my eyes shut as we hold each other. "I hope one day there'll only be gaps," I tell him.

He presses his lips to mine again. "So do I, Bancroft," he says. "So do I."

We watch the sky a little longer, arguing over the names of stars within constellations and mapping them in the ground once more. There's only firelight and moonlight, laughter and frowning, Tommy and Bancroft. And when we finally get cold in the early hours of the morning, and the whiskey flask has run dry, he carries me into the tent.

"Wait," I tell him. "I need to get your cigarettes and buttercups."

"You're my cigarettes and buttercups," he tells me simply. "And I've already got the Trojan right here in my pocket."

"Lucky," I tell him. "I only packed the one sleeping bag."

"Must have forgotten the other one yet again."

"That was you, Thomas Shelby, and you know it."

"I know," he finally relents, smiling as he begins to undress me. He kisses my shoulder. "It must have been the Bancroft effect."