Roaring /// Peaky Blinders

EIGHT.

( part one, CHAPTER EIGHT )

And, like an ass, Thomas had to go and make her feel again.

He showed up at the flat the following morning, prim and proper as ever, with his hat and hands pocketed deep in his coat. He looked like a downright gentleman, and it was absolutely infuriating.

Thalia quickly looked away when he opened the door, instead focusing her attention on the suddenly-very-interesting cup of tea that she had been nursing for several minutes at the tiny kitchen table. She tried not to think too much about Thomas' stupid smile, or his stupid blue eyes, or his stupid haircut, or his stupid... well, his stupid face in general. Not only did it make her feel bitter, but it also made her feel both happy and a shade guilty, as well.

Thomas must have picked up on the fact that she was in a foul mood, and he immediately stepped closer with a concerned glance up and down Thalia's body, gauging for injury.

"You alright? Your stomach?" He asked, sounding very much like he was wincing at his thought of her in pain. Thalia didn't dare look up at him to determine if she was right about his face or not; if she looked up, she feared she may never be able to look away.

"It is fine."

"Are you hurt?" He pressed, his voice slowly raising as he began to grow more panicked. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and Thalia could no longer control herself. She shook her head as her eyes snapped up to meet his clear blue ones, which suddenly darkened. "Did someone hurt you?"

"Thomas. It is fine."

He pulled his hand away from her. Thalia instantly regretted using his full name because he appeared to take it as harshly as a slap in the face. A sigh escaped her lips, and she rubbed her eyes, turning to the stunned man.

"What did I do?" He knew. Of course, he knew. Like a proper fucking man. He wanted to right whatever wrong had been incurred against her.

There she went, feeling things again.

"It was not you. I did not correctly understand the past few days," she returned evenly, lifting her cup to her lips and sipping on her tea, despite the fact that it had gone cold long ago. Thomas seemed at a loss for words for several moments, and Thalia cursed herself for sharing in his inability to formulate the right thing to say (in her defense, she was perfectly articulate in French).

Thomas pulled out a chair from the table before lowering himself down into it with a clear attempt to keep eye contact with her. He studied her face, his own expression falling back into neutral as he settled into his time worn defense mechanisms.

"Thalia. Please, tell me what's wrong."

Thalia stood abruptly, turning to the cupboard.

"Tea?" She asked, but she didn't wait for a response. She busied herself with readying the mug and putting the kettle on. It was only when she heard a loud sigh behind her that the mess of emotions started making themselves more known—most notably, in the slight tremble to her hands.

Curse her hands. She'd killed more than her fair share of men with those hands, and they chose to fail her now?

"Thalia. What's happened?" Thomas took the kettle from her with his own, much steadier hands. Thalia allowed him to guide her back to the chairs, her eyes skirting around the room like that of a caged animal, looking for an out. There was no escaping this conversation, unfortunately.

"In France, a man acting the way you have would be... I do not know the word," she stumbled, feeling very dumb. Thomas sat back in his chair, seemingly registering what she meant.

"What I've been doing would be considered courtship," he supplied, eyes flicking around her face again, gauging whether or not he was correct. He didn't appear surprised or disgusted by that notion, and Thalia couldn't help but hold on to that fact, no matter how confused it made her.

"I was wrong." She grappled for her mug, needing something to do with her hands.

"Why do you think that?"

"You took that girl to the... the... oh, for fucks sake. The place with the horses going very fast for money." Thalia nearly slammed her head into the table. She could not for the life of her remember her English with those stupid blue eyes staring her down.

"The races? Are you talking about Grace?"  Thomas didn't laugh at her, instead working with her sudden inability to form words thanks to her frustration.

"Yes."

"Oh, you silly woman. I took her to the races because she was helping with business. I'm not courting her." Tommy stood up, moving closer to Thalia. He knelt beside her, effectively trapping her between him and the table. "I've had my eyes on another for a bit now."

"Oh," Thalia said, like an idiot.

"In fact, I was thinking about inviting this other woman to a wedding tomorrow, my brother's wedding." He still hadn't moved away. Thalia did not feel threatened by the way he kept her trapped. All things considered, she didn't feel trapped at all. The only thing she registered was his cologne mixing with the gentle aroma of her tea. It was a good smell.

"What if this other woman has nothing to wear?" Her voice had dropped to barely above a whisper at that point. Tommy chuckled, and Thalia could suddenly see very clearly the smile lines around his eyes. He looked like a much happier man when he smiled.

"Then, I suppose that this other woman and I should visit a store downtown," he also spoke lowly, his eyes  now focusing upon her lips. They snapped up to her eyes abruptly. "Sound alright?"

"Yes."

She was happy, truly. But that little hint of guilt kept shoving its way to the front of her mind. Her brother's words had resonated with her.

How long would this last?