Chapter 12

March 20, 1922

Mafalda hummed at her breakfast table, sipping her coffee as she considered what to do for the day. The morning papers were placed a little to her left, the headline "Cheltenham Races, March 1922 - Best Bets". She had finished reading the article, and although the predictions were pretty spot on, they wouldn't work out if she decided to race for this month. Mafalda smirked. Like that wasn't going to happen.

Trevor knocked on the entryway to the dining room, a large bouquet of coral roses and purple orchids in his hands, gathered by a deep red silk ribbon.

"Ah, bello, you have a paramour now?" Mafalda chuckled at her business partner who seemed to be holding it rather awkwardly.

"Hilarious, darling," he replied drily. "No, they're for you." He placed the flowers on top of the paper and sat down around the table, grabbing a piece of toast.

Mafalda's eyebrows rose and she peered at the bouquet. Coral roses for lust and purple orchids for respect or admiration. An odd combination of flowers. She could think of only one person who would have sent her this gift.

"Trevors?" He stopped mid-sip of his tea and glanced at her.

"When you get a chance this morning, can you return this to the sender along with a note?

"Return to sender? There was no address, M."

"Thomas Shelby," she clarified. She grabbed a pen and scribbled a note on her napkin, pressing it to her painted lips to leave an imprint. "Along with this please."

Trevors downed his tea and grabbed the items from the table, pausing to look at Mafalda. "You're playing a dangerous game here M. Do be careful there."

Mafalda held his gaze for a little and broke it off. "You're worrying over nothing, Trevors. It's just a game."

Trevors shook his head at her and headed out. Mafalda, lost in her thoughts, did not see the worried look he threw over his shoulder.

Thomas Shelby was not having a good morning. His secretary, Lizzie Stark, had somehow misplaced a ledger, and another one of Grace's letters had been delivered to him. It remained unopened on his desk as he stared at it, inhaling deeply from his cigarette.

T. Shelby

Watery Lane, Birmingham

G. Burgess Macmillian

Poughkeepsie, NY

Was written in her soft swooping script. It was familiar, but he hated it. It was a false echo of the memories he held of her. What more could she possibly want from him?

"You've a visitor, Thomas." Michael stepped aside to let someone in, his gaze locked onto someone beyond the doorway. A man stepped through, familiar looking flowers in hand.

"Trevors."

"Shelby. M told me to deliver this to you," he plopped the flowers onto his desk. "As well as this." He placed the napkin to the side. "G'day."

"Trevors," Thomas called out. Trevors turned around and raised an eyebrow.

"No flirting with my cousin during work hours." Michael's spine went rigid, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Trevors laughed.

"I'll try not to." He threw a wink at Michael and strode confidently out of the office.

Thomas snorted and glanced down at the napkin. A sharp scrawl littered the center.

You know where I live. If you're going to give me a gift, give it in person. - M

An imprint of dark red lips stained the corner by her initial. He raised an eyebrow. Altogether at once she made him want to chuckle and roll his eyes in exasperation. He could only hope the flowers would survive a drive to her estate.

He sighed and picked up the bouquet, coat in hand as he headed out of the office.

"I'll be back."

John scoffed. "Are you going to stay out overnight again?

No response was given, the only sound of Thomas's polished shoes fading away and a distant start of an engine.

Thomas's car rolled onto the pavement by Mafalda's manor, killing the engine. He leaned against his car, bending his head to light a cigarette. Her estate was quiet, only the occasional songbird chirping at a distance. He strode up to the front door, rapping the knocker twice and letting it drop. No noise was coming from inside, and he raised an eyebrow. Where was she?

A maid opened the door.

"Hello?"

"I'm looking for Miss Therese."

"Oh! My lady is in the meadow around the back of the house. Follow me."

Thomas nodded and stepped to enter the manor. As he walked through the foyer, he could tell that all the furniture had been curated by Mercedes herself. Fresh flowers adorned tables and artworks hung from the walls in simple wooden frames.

He paused at one frame. Was that the fucking Mona Lisa? Didn't it go missing in 1911?

It could be a fake, but somehow Thomas doubted that Mercedes would ever allow such a thing in her home. He made a mental note to ask her later.

He continued his walk through the manor and had to pause once again. A Medal of Honor and Bravery adorned the mantle of a fireplace. A photo of Mercedes and what looked like an injured Trevors glared at the photographer. What was curious was that the medal had a deep slash through it, deep enough that it was definitely placed there intentionally. He gazed at it a little longer and turned away from it grimly, his own memories floating around before his eyes.

He walked through the double doors to her terrace and paused at the bannister.

There she was, a little ways away in the field of wildflowers holding a paintbrush and facing a colorful canvas. Her back was to him, and could see that she was just in a cream silk slip with thin straps, her hair tumbling over one shoulder.

He made his way over to her, stopping a couple of metres away, clearing his throat once. Mafalda slowly turned around, her eyebrows raised as she looked down at the flowers he held.

"So you decided to come after all."

"As you wished."

Mafalda laughed lightly, her dress rippling slightly in the breeze. She turned around to a stool that balanced a cup of tea and bent down to reach for a bottle.

Thomas read the label as she poured into teacups. Jack Daniels, Finest Whiskey in America.

He snorted and smirked at her.

Mafalda looked up, deadpanned. "It's tea."

"I thought the States had a prohibition."

"As if that ever stopped them. I have a friend in America, he drove my ambulance in the war. He likes to send me samples of what he likes there."

Thomas simply gazed at her and took another inhale of his cigarette. His curiosity peaked at her mention of another man. Until now, he had only ever seen Mercedes interact with Trevors or himself.

"And all I get are letters," he shook his head.

"From Signora Grace. What of it?" Mercedes passed a cup to him as she sipped from hers.

Thomas said nothing for a few moments, silently watching the flowers bend to the wind and savored the flavor of the alcohol.

"A choice," was all that left his lips.

Mafalda understood little, but could tell that he was struggling with himself. What choice could possibly bother this stoic man?

"Who was the friend?"

His question broke her out of her reverie. He turned his head and watched a small smile tinge the sides of her mouth as her eyes clouded over in fondness.

"Edwin Hubble. The last time he wrote to me, he was still working in a lab observing stars." Her eyes flicked over to Thomas. "A very different letter from the one Signora Grace sent you, I assume. One could wonder why someone would ever willingly leave a man who has seemingly everything."

Thomas simply gazed at her. "She got tired of her circumstances," was his short reply.

Mafalda sipped her tea, strands of her hair fluttering around her face. She held his gaze, staring into his ice blue irises. His jaw was clenched ever so slightly.

She set her tea down and stepped closer to him to set his cup aside as well. His eyes followed her movements. Mafalda gently held his jaw in her hands and paused for a second before reaching up to kiss him.

Thomas stood still as her lips softly caressed his, his mouth parting slightly. His hands gripped her hips as he savored her taste.

Her hands glided down his chest, feeling the panes of his lean figure and the expansion of his breaths. Her hands drifted farther down and raked over his hard length, feeling the head of his member through his pants.

He groaned against her mouth and harshly pressed their mouths together. He could feel her undo his belt and slowly drag the zipper to his pants down steadily. Her lips left his and left a streak of lipstick over his shirt as she slowly kneeled into the flowers.

His grip tightened.

"Mercedes, what—" His rough voice broke as her lips enveloped his cock.

Mafalda hummed, the vibrations making it twitch and swell. Thomas panted, looking to make sure no one else was around. She released his member with a pop and grinned mischievously.

"My servants know better than to disturb me when I have guests. And look at all these flowers and grass. Who can see me?"

Thomas exhaled a laugh before it quickly became a grunt as Mafalda slid his cock into her mouth again. She could only fit half of it before his tip nudged the back of her throat. His precum leaked onto her tongue as she moved her head back, hollowing her cheeks against his member.

Thomas lost himself in her touches, his hips jerking as her hands wandered to his balls. His hands gripped her hair and he thrust into her mouth, nudging her lips wide open. Mafalda loosened her jaw and slid his cock farther down her throat until his hair brushed her nose.

She hummed and moved her mouth up and down his manhood vigorously, breathing through her nose. Thomas gave a particularly hard thrust into her mouth, his eyes closed, head tilted slightly back. From afar he looked as though at peace, appreciating the air around him. The reality couldn't be farther from that image.

Mafalda could tell he was close. His member was straining in her mouth and his balls had tightened in her hand.

"Mercedes—"

His words were cut off as he gripped her head in place, his cum streaking down her throat as his head tilted towards the sky as though in prayer.

Mafalda swallowed his essence, her nose wrinkling a little at the slight bitter and salty taste. She was still on her knees and watched him tuck his semi-hard member back into his pants. She reached up and pulled at his hand, forcing him to come down to her level in the swaying grass.

"What now?" His voice was a little raspy from his groaning earlier.

Mafalda held his eyes for a second longer, her hands caressing his sharp jawline. She tilted her head upwards and gently kissed his mouth, a mere brush between their lips.

"I could never be tired of you," she said softly.

A/N: I know, it's been a longggg time since I updated. Sorry! I've been busy with applying to internships and jobs, and this chapter just took a lot longer than usual. It was tough to write this scene, just because I personally don't have any experiences so I had to let my imagination run a little wild. If yg have any advice, please lmk! As always, please R&R!

Kiki - Yes, of course! I do plan on finishing this story, and I have plans to make a spinoff about Ava and Alfie as well. Much more to come, I promise. It's just hard to juggle writing and life sometimes, but never fear! Even if it might take me 4 months to update, oops.

Cassie - I can't wait, too! It's all about the timing, I think, since that will be a climax point of this story. Gotta marinate all those feelings and tensions yk what I mean?