Crimson peak re-telling (Reader x Tomas Sharpe)

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Fiction and Food

If you were writing the narrative of the hours before Sir Thomas Sharpe arrived at your house for dinner, you could only explain them as frantic and nervous. You would not admit that you cared what this man thought of you and your dinner preparations. It was not as though you had any need or want to impress the stranger. Indeed, you began to wonder why it was you were even having him over in the first place. You cursed your vanity for letting him influence you with mild flattery. Well, you would simply have to get through this evening and wait until he had gone back to England.

You knew in your heart that you would wish to see him again after dinner. If nothing else, he was an interesting character study that you could pull from for your next story.

Margaret kept giving you knowing smiles and sidelong glances as she helped you prepare a simple meal. You had baked a turkey to near perfection and compiled a list of side dishes that complemented it nicely. You set the table with the nicest place settings and glanced at the clock. There was still a half an hour before he arrived. You started fidgeting in your seat. Was your dress okay, or too fancy for such an intimate setting? Was your hair still in place since you had checked it moments ago?

"You look fine, love," you glanced up and saw Margaret leaning against the door frame of the dining room, grinning at you.

"Thank you, Margaret, but I was hardly concerned," you brushed it off.

"Sure," she answered sarcastically. You threw her a warning glance. "Sir Thomas is a lucky man," she said with that glint of superiority in her voice.

"I don't know what you mean," you lied. "I am simply entertaining a new friend who happens to enjoy my writing."

"Okay," she replied simply. She dusted a glass and left you to your thoughts.

You felt a need to defend yourself more than you had. Surely you were not acting like a young girl with a crush? Surely you could not have been so affected by your one interaction with this mysterious man as to warrant such feelings? No, you told yourself. I do not have time or desire to woo or be wooed by this man.

You were lost in your thoughts, debating your feelings over this man as well as trying to distract yourself from those thoughts that you almost missed the knock at the door. You stood straight up and heard Margaret chuckled softly to herself as she answered the door for you. Suddenly you did not know how to stand. Should you go and greet him or would he prefer if you stayed where you were? Who cares what he prefers, you reminded yourself, and went to greet him in the foyer.

You were loathe to find your memory had not done you justice. The man you had pegged as handsome in your memory should have been labeled ethereal. Thomas was glancing around, admiring the high arches and carved doorways of your household. You took one more step towards him that, although silent, caught his attention as though you had called to him.

"My lady," Thomas bowed slightly.

"Oh please," you scoffed. "There's no need for that. This is America, a handshake will do."

He smiled slightly and nodded, reaching for your hand. You turned away slightly as he kissed your hand with his tender lips. Your glance caught Margaret's and you thought of hitting her for that know-it-all look on her face. You simply scowled at her and returned your attention to Thomas who was now awaiting your lead.

"I have prepared dinner, right through there," you pointed to the dining room's entryway. "If you'll just--"

Thomas took your arm in his as though it were the most natural thing in the world. You had planned on simply leading him into the room, having him follow you at a respectable distance. You did not expect to feel the warmth of his arm, feel surprised at strong hold, or feel the tingling sensations you did at his touch.