Choking On Sapphires

9 Play With Fire

You put clothes on for breakfast in your own home for the first time in a long while. He's back in his loose white shirt, you see his braces hanging over his dark trousers, his wide shoulders set squared with his elbows on the table as you see him from behind as you descend the stairs and trot into the dining room. You sit down straight across from him. You greet him through the hands that move around you, handing you a much bigger than usual breakfast.

"Were you able to get some sleep?" you break the silence with, he doesn't look like he's gotten much.

"That bed is a fuckin' dream, mate." he says with an enthusiastic inflection.

"Good." you chirp, popping a piece of fruit into your mouth. You tap on your hard-boiled egg as you wonder where to begin. He breaks the thought with the solution to your problem.

"So what have you being lying to me about?" he says with a smirk, working his utensils on his plate, not looking up at you.

"Not as many things as you're assuming." you let out a chuckle at his lack of subtly. "Mainly from a lack of telling you anything distinctly personal about myself." You sip your tea. "Well then," you say taking a deep breath.
"I'll start with the biggest lie."

"Please, do." he interjects. You can't help but be entertained by the look on his tired face, the excitement of learning secrets in his eyes.

"My last name isn't Durand." you say with a sigh."I'm The Lady Genevieve Greene." you say with a hint of reluctance, your face set for whatever reaction came your way. He stops chewing, sets his fork down and calmly pushes his plate away from him. His elbows rest on the table and he looks directly into your eyes like you were the only thing in the world at that moment.

"A Lady?" he says quietly, his tone was suppressing his interest. His hand over his mouth, picking his beard. You nod and take another drink.

"My father is a British nobleman, my mother, born French." you pause and chew the inside of your cheek.

"That explains that funny little accent." he says with the realization in his voice, his head nodding slowly.

"Excuse you?" you say, a hesitant smile on your face.

"You have that littl' french twist to ya words." he's rubbing his chin, piecing together everything he's learned about you, you can tell.

"Always the observant one." you taunt back in a low voice, not knowing if you felt insulted or not.

"How do you know Tommy Shelby?" he asks, fingers fully dug into his beard as his mind frolics in new information.

"I went to the same school as his wife, Grace. Our fathers knew each other, we were friends." You decide to continue when he doesn't interrupt you further. "I spent my summers in France, I attended a girls school in the south here where I met Grace and spent the holidays up north with father's family." you stop and consider his expression.

"Well that answer was far less climactic than I imagined it to be, yeah?" he huffs out a laugh. "How'd you get into theivin' if it weren't Tommy who done it?" he narrows his eyes at you.

"That's a personal question, not something I may or may not have lied about." you frown at him just slightly. He holds up his hands up in surrender for a moment. Since he doesn't press you further, you give the information freely. "I got into small crime for the thrill as a teenager and it built from there." you offer as an answer. "Then I decided to move to London from Paris and try to start my own legitimate business and build my own wealth, apart from my family's so I could support myself and the lifestyle I prefer without their money's involvement in my more frivolous expenses." you stop to take a drink.