Yellow Roses // Thomas Shelby

Twenty One

The house was worn out. It was broken in so many places. All that mattered was how clean it was, and my father made sure it was spotless.

The stars here were the most breathtaking thing I've ever seen. My mother would have loved these. My mother probably did love these. She used to live here.

I was sitting in bed, braiding my hair so it wouldn't be a mess in the morning. I always did it. It's become a nightly routine of mine.

Thomas had just gotten out of the shower, his hair wet and his body dripping. He had gotten tattoo's in France. He also got my birthday tattooed on his forearm. 7/4/1890.

I could see the glint in his eyes that thing was going to be a long night.

"Thomas, it's late." I told him as he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of bed with a smile.

"Cmon." He grabbed my hand, leading me out of the house and running out onto the beach. He stripped himself of his shirt and got in the water with his shorts, waiting for me to follow him.

I on the other hand watched as he walked back towards me, giving me an ungrateful look.

He picked me up and swung me over his shoulders until he was waist deep in the water, then put me down. I shrieked as the water his my body, drenching the silk short and bra I was wearing.

"Nobody is here," he murmured against my lips, kissing them softly. I giggled as he brought me closer to him, grasping my hips and pulling us together so we would feel every part of each other.

His eyes sparkled in the moonlight as we looked at eachother. He still had the same boyish smile he had when we were younger. He still had the same laugh he did before France.

Every bad memory we had went away when we were with each other. It was like only him and I understood one another better than anyone.

I pulled him in by his waistband and pressed our lips together for the second time. He chuckled against me, his hands going to my hips.

"You don't know what you do to me, sweetheart," he spoke against me, smiling as he looked into my eyes. His hands never left my waist as he looked around, making sure nobody was there to watch us.

His hands moved upwards to my tits as he kissed me, a thousand volts of electricity going through me. He removed the remaining clothing we had on and fucking me in the water. The water was fucking freezing.

-

Laying in bed beside the man I love was hard. It was hard not to talk to him every second of every minute we had together. I wanted to ask him about France a thousand times. I wanted to ask him about how he ever felt about me.

"Something on your mind," Thomas rolled over so he was on his side, peering into my eyes. I smiled, moving his hair out of his face.

"Just you." I told him. He brought me closer to him, wrapping his arms around me.

"You know everything about me, sweetheart." He kissed me, then pulled back to look me in my eyes. "Why am I on your mind, Natalia?"

I smiled. "Why do you always call me Natalia? Why not Nat or Natty like your family does?" I asked him. He chuckled a bit.

"Why do you always call me Thomas? Or Tom for that matter?" He retorted against me.

"Because. You're just Thomas. Calling you Tommy would remind me of my uncle." I told him. His eyebrows rose.

"You're always going to be my Miss Natalia. No point in using any other name." He ran his hand against my side, attempting to get me in the mood. It's happened four times today. No fucking way.

I moved his hand so it was in front of us, making sure the conversation wouldn't go physical.

"Why don't you dance very much anymore?" He asked, adjusting his position.

"I had Calongero, couldn't really get my body how I wanted it. It gave me more hips than I wanted." I told him, my eyes starting to get droopy. "Plus I like the feminism part of the job better."

"I liked going to your shows. I liked bringing you flowers, seeing your face light up every time you saw me." He said with a smile.

I furrowed my eyebrows, smiling as he brought up the flowers.

"Why did you always get me yellow roses?" I asked him.

"I always thought they meant happiness. Red roses seemed a little much to get you, may have given me away." He said. My heart jumped at that. He didn't just get them because they were my favorite, they actually meant something.

I looked around for a clock in the room. There wasn't one anywhere. It was an old beach house my father used to live in when he was a kid.

My father had the money to get this house because he had inside deals all over Italy. He had been keeping tabs on the trap houses in Italy when he was working for Doc, and even when he was in prison.

"What time is it?" I asked, looking back to Thomas. He sat up in bed, groaning as he checked his time piece.

My mouth widened slightly when I saw the initials carved on the back of it. It was the same pocket watch I had given him 15 years ago.

"It's 3:15." Thoma said, flopping back down on the bed, looking at me. His face had confusion written all over it.

"You still use it?" I smiled, looking at him.

"Of course I still use it. My favorite girl got it for me."