"Amelia, don't you like the dress Grace picked out for you?" Tommy asked, plucking a cigarette from his container. He looked over at his fiance, showing her the smoke. "Hm?" She nodded, taking it. The young girl was hardly in the talking mood, but forced herself to squeeze out a meek yes. The dress was nice; a light blue with long sleeves. The neckline and cinched waist were embroidered with white flowers. Tommy specifically asked for nothing closely resembling a flapper style and he hated the straight look on the girl. To Ada, it was boring and old, and perhaps it was. But! She looked like a good girl in it; innocent, elegant, and sweet. Most of all, she looked pretty.

Finn certainly thought so when he had to go "check" on his room.

Grace leaned in for Tommy to light her cigarette. "I found it at a small shop on Catherine's," she said, in a blow of smoke. "I thought the blue would match her eyes, and it did. You have really pretty eyes, Amelia." Gently, she pinched Amelia's chin, smiling. "Pretty girl."

Amelia didn't feel pretty, not really. Especially not with the pound of powder covering the redness from Tommy's hands. Grace gave him a slight talking, and asked for him to apologize. Thomas Shelby was not one to apologize, but to please his future wife, he said he would. Said he would. Unfortunately for Amelia, that kind gesture of accountability would never make it to her ears.

Tommy nodded in agreement. "When she tries to be, yes-"

"We better not have a girl," Grace teased, turning to her future husband, tapping his freshly shaven cheek. "You should be kinder-"

"Grace." Grace was the only one able to give Tommy Shelby a certain look without any repercussions. Simply, whacked his forearm before sitting straight. "You do look very nice, Amelia. I don't quite like the red on her lips, though. I told Ada…a girl, I want her to look like a girl. The red is a fuckin' whore color-"

"I'm wearing red, Thomas," Grace said, narrowing her eyes.

"Yes, but you're a woman," he agreed. "Looks fine on you, but her! It's too much…Finn nearly broke the clasp on his trousers. And the man at the counter, the ticket counter, I mean! You see the way he looked at her? Don't like it. Not a bit…." Amelia sighed and grabbed a tissue from her purse and went to wipe it, but Grace slid to the opposite side of the table, helping her.

"I have a rose tinted lip rouge in my purse," she said. "A lighter pink." With some of Tommy's rum, she carefully removed most of the red leaving behind puffy lips and a light stain. "Here. Better?" After neatly dabbing on some pinkish tint, she handed Amelia the mirror. Red, pink, fucking blue…all the same to the angsty girl who'd just soiled herself a few hours before. Thomas nodded in approval.

"We're going to the drink cart," Thomas said, standing. "I'll get you sparkling water. Maybe some chocolate." He opened the sliding door, allowing Grace to slip out first. Amelia nodded and resumed sulking, looking out the train window. They still had a good ninety minutes left, and she was getting restless.

The train had a viewing car at the end with benches and 360 degree windows. Instead of waiting, she slipped out herself and skipped to the opposite end of the train. She promised herself she'd be good, stay out of trouble. Simply walk to the viewing car and sit. But this was Amelia, trouble found her whether she was looking for it or not. The train corridor was tight, and she squeezed by people, walking sideways mumbling about a dozen 'sorries' and 'pardons'. Nearing the end car, however, there was a peculiar sound coming from a cabin. It sounded as if two people were running a marathon and couldn't catch their breaths, and they were injured, 'oh'ing and 'ah'ing. Curious and wanting to be helpful, Amelia cracked open the cabin and peaked in, her eyes going wide.

Mind yourself, reader. Modernity is a lot kinder to sex than the 1920's. Even with the emerging sexual liberation, young people still didn't always comprehend intimacy. Especially sloppy, wet, and disgusting intimacy. Amelia knew sex as one thing…two married lovers lying in bed. The mechanics were lost on her. And a whore? Simply a woman who stood naked for a man to fondle. Through the crack, she watched. Erotically, the woman was hoisted and pressed up against the wooden cabin wall, legs up with her tights and knickers hanging off one leg. Squinting harder, one breast was exposed. She looked in pain and Amelia wanted to barge in, but between her cries she'd been laughing and kissing at the gentleman's face. Her fingers dragged along his neck and played in his hair. Curiously, Amelia grabbed her right breast through her dress, and squished it like the gentleman did the woman's. His hips were repeatedly banging into hers, and with each hit, they both moaned together.

The woman's eyes fluttered open and met Amelia's, but neither redirected their gaze. The young girl was simply in a trance, unable to move…to comprehend or understand the feeling that started to pool in her lower stomach. The woman on the other hand, knew what was happening, and she let Amelia watch, grinning at the girl. Even removing her lover's hand from her breasts for the curious Amelia could watch it bounce with each movement.

"Amelia!" Tommy called, walking down the corridor, narrowing his eyes on the very focused girl. She'd been staring in the cabin for a good few moments. "Amelia, I've been looking for you. Where did you go?" He asked, approaching. But she still didn't break her gaze, her breathing hitching and cheeks flushing an innocent red. Instead of startling her, he joined her gaze, watching the woman look at her. He allowed her a few more seconds, but when the gentleman's grunts got ragged and edged, and his thrusts slowed, he closed the crack, jolting Amelia out of her gaze. Biting her lip, fiddling with her dress belt, Amelia diverted her eyes off to the side. "Come, Amelia," he whispered, taking her hand. "They finished. It's done."

Back in their private cabin, Tommy noticed her right breast was pooling slightly from her dressed neckline, a slight bit of nipple peeking. Grace was in the powder room, retouching her rouge and mascara. It left him alone with the bashful teen, clearly feeling ashamed for normal growing hormones. Perhaps most adults would have scolded a youngin like her for looking, but Tommy understood, though hadn't an idea how to handle it softly. "Amelia," he started, but the girl still avoided his face. "You can look at me, you're not in trouble. Good girl." He matched her frown with a smile. "Do you want to talk about what you just saw?" Her silence said it all. "She was a whore, that is why she let you look like that-"

"That is what whores do?"

"Whores," he agreed. "Whores, the lonely, the happy, the depressed, and the in love. It's sex, dear. Sex."

"But my ma' said it's not like that, but like you lie and you relax with your husband," she said, shaken a bit. "That was sloppy and messy…she was all red and wet…it sounded wet and I don't know how to feel."

Tommy put out his cigarette just after lighting it, sighing. "Are you hot?" Amelia was very hot, are you kidding? She couldn't explain it. Every inch of her body felt like fire kissing her skin. "Between your thighs?" Especially between her thighs. "And your stomach is cramping?" Nearly knocked the wind from her lungs! "Your heart is racing?" Faster than your horses, Mr. Shelby. "Head spinning?" Like a dreidel.

"What does it all mean?" she asked, slightly exasperated.

"Congratulations, Miss. Clarke," he responded, dryly. "You're aroused."

"And what am I to do to make it stop?"

He was not ready for that question, hoping she'd leave it as so. But! This was Amelia, the one who always caused trouble. How did she not know any of this? Perhaps as a young lad, he always just knew how to handle these things. Thomas Shelby was never one to be easily stumped, but there he was, trapped on a train questioning how he'd tell the girl how to fix herself. "When we get back to England, Polly will talk to you…it isn't a thing men should be explaining. Now, fix your dress."

Amelia left it, fixing her dress before taking a few quick sips of water. "You didn't tell me where we are going. No speech?"

Tommy sighed, and explained, "I figured after our moment at the court, you understand what is expected of you. We're visiting a gentleman in London who wishes to sponsor you-"

"But I failed," she interjected, tilting forward. "I quite literally disrespected the court! Who is sponsoring me?" Tommy pulled out a card in his pocket and showed her the name. "An Italian?"

"A rich Italian," he said. "His wife and he invited us for dinner. We'll be staying the night and tomorrow, he'll watch you practice. If you do well, he'll sponsor your matches and travel."

The door slid open, and Grace slipped in. "There was a line at the loo. We should be there shortly, hm?" Tommy checked the time, confirming that the train was to be arriving in London soon enough.

~.~

This is wealthy and then there is stupid wealthy. Leonardo De Luca was stupid filthy wealthy. No one understood how a man like him became rich. Never a day in his life had he touched politics, never gambled, and never participated in the underground seedy jobs. Perhaps, he was a good investor. Thomas Shelby never asked, though he would have anyone else. But De Luca was offering to forfeit quite the lump sum over to his new found commitment, Amelia. Grace was in awe climbing into the black, smooth Duesenberg Model J; the fastest, most luxurious car of the year. The seats were pure leather, black as night with no scratches. Tommy made Amelia sit on her cardigan and forced Grace to remove her heels.

The driver looked back, glancing through the rearview mirror. "No trouble," he said. "Mr. De Luca has it touched up weekly."

"Oh? Is that so?" Grace asked, side eying Tommy, taking her shoes back after he had just made a fuss about her heels scuffing the leather. Tommy shared her glance, then turned his attention to Amelia. "Oh, she's fine, Thomas. You're stressing because you have no control over the situation. If you'd just breathe-"

"Has little to do with breathing, Grace," he said, checking over Amelia's dress.

"Perhaps," she hummed. "But it has to do with your ability to mitigate a situation. Just sit and calm yourself. You're nearly stressing me out.

Amelia looked up at him, "if it makes you any less anal, I promise not to throw my racket at his head tomorrow. And tonight, at dinner, I won't say a peep unless asked to."

"That's all I want," he agreed. "Ever." The young, slightly perplexed girl mumbled a simple noted under her breath, and went back to her daydreaming out the window. He snorted in response and whispered to Grace, "she's mad at me. She does this when she's mad at me…she'll pretend to be sleeping in two minutes. But," he paused, pulling out two little pieces of chocolate from his sport's jacket, "I know what makes her look at me. Here, chocolate."

Amelia sat up and glared at him, "chocolate? I'm not convinced with chocolate-"

"Ah, but you did look at me, did you not?"

She grabbed them, and put them in her bag for after dinner. "And so?"

He leaned into Grace, and said, "she got aroused earlier, watching two-"

Amelia huffed, whacking him in the arm, "Mr. Shelby!"

"You fight with her like a brother," Grace said, pursing her lips and checking her lipstick in her small pocket mirror. "You're being a child, Mr. Shelby." The engaged duo shared a grin, and went to relaxing for the remainder of the drive.

~.~

For a wealthy man, he lived in what would be considered a modest Italian villa. According to his wife, Camilla, twenty years his junior. Who quite had a taste for silk and feather boas. She called Grace's dress simple, but tasteful, and Amelia, cute. "She's cute, this one," was what she said, word for word, after pinching the girl's bottom lip. If not backhanded, it was certainly condescending. But the sheltered rich lady grew on Amelia. She was a victim in a way, blinded by the smell of money and diamonds. Mr. De Luca, however, was like a grandfather who lived for spoiling his grandchildren.

"Don't eat all of that," Thomas Shelby warned, already stuffed from the first five courses. The business man was getting impatient! He spent two hours learning about Italian culinary gems and being forced fed pasta, meats, and cheeses. Amelia learned when De Luca was involved, she didn't have to listen to Thomas Shelby. "You're going to get sick, Amelia-"

"Dying by chocolate is my dream, Mr. Shelby, so don't mind if I do," she giggled, digging into the chocolate gelato and taking a rather large, improper bite. Leonardo De Luca smiled at, what he would consider, his newest prize. No big name sponsor had ever claimed a girl, but he had a good feeling about her.

"Ah! Let her eat, she's burning more calories than she can keep up with." He pinched the girl's chin before grabbing a wet napkin to wipe the corner of her lips. "Do you want more cream?"

"Mr. De Luca," Tommy Shelby spoke up. "We've come here to speak business and, if you don't mind me interrupting, we spent the last few hours talking about cured meat and wine. To be blunt, I-"

Grace feared Tommy would say something a bit too curt, and interjected, "he's worried about Amelia and what the contract entails. Do you have a copy?"

De Luca paused, before turning to his head maid, speaking Italian. On the stand in the entryway, there was an envelope his maid grabbed for him. It was a rather detailed, 30 page document. Tommy assured he'd read it before bed for some light reading, half sarcastically before skimming it. Most of it was formalities. Any branding or advertisements needed to bear the De Luca name. Amelia couldn't play for any organization or team without first notifying her sponsor, De Luca. Amelia must always abide by court rules and regulations. Thomas paused, and looked at the girl. "No more feisty racket throws, for you." He continued on. All coaches were vetted and supplied by De Luca. All travel was to be provided by De Luca. Amelia must make an appearance at all and every event organized by De Luca.

As promised, there were no sketchy implications. The man really just had a lot of money and passion for the game. Thomas, a gangster, was lost as to how he benefited at all. Except some light on his family name and branding. There was not a thing Thomas objected to. Not a cost was from his pocket and nothing interfered with his own business. The only thing Amelia, the stupid girl, objected to was having to attend school full time in Autumn until her 17th year.

"We can sign tomorrow," De Luca said, tucking the contract back into its manila folder. "I will have another written in regards to finances. Tomorrow, my nephew is driving down from Cambridge. He'll join her on the court….If all is well, I think you will be quite pleased with the amount."

"Tell me," Tommy urged, "what exactly is the ballpark?"

Instead of saying it out loud, De Luca grabbed a cloth napkin and wrote in black ink: £15,000. "That is not including travel expenses, schooling, coaches, and a yearly increase of 10%. However, tomorrow depending, it could be more or less. If she makes Wembley, it'll be a 30% increase. The French Opening? 50%. The contract holds for 3 years, as written on page 28. Unless, of course, there are any breaches."

"There will be absolutely no breaches," Tommy said, looking at Amelia. "Amelia is a good girl. I'll make sure of it." Amelia's eyes fluttered up, from her golden bowl of chocolate gelato. Her mouth was decorated with the dessert. He wondered, thinking back to boxing and horse racing, if tennis was that big of a deal, could he run a betting ring on her games. At this moment, Thomas Shelby knew for sure, she was never going home to Boston. Even if he had to erase the obstacle himself.

De Luca nodded in agreement, smiling, "and anything else she would need, I will provide it for her." His hand cupped her cheek. "Tomorrow, we'll meet for breakfast at 8. Unfortunately, I can't keep you past noon. I have a meeting half past." Thomas nodded, still keeping steady eye contact with the girl, grinning lightly.

"I should get her to bed," he said, "If you don't mind?" The awfully generous host nodded, and asked his maid to show them their quarters. Upstairs, Tommy waited for the maid to leave the room before locking the door. Amelia had her back turned, unpacking her nightgown. The turn of the lock made her jump, but before she could turn, his hands grabbed her arms. In her ear, he whispered, "before you ever make another decision, you best remember this moment…you and I, and everything I have done and will do for you."

"And you've done what?"

He turned her around, and licked his thumb, wiping off the chocolate on her lips before dipping the finger in her mouth. His thumb did one more swipe across her mouth. "Your father humored your talent, what a stupid fool. Hm?" He leaned in, whispering in her ear again, something so appalling and foul, that it was best not to repeat out loud. Just a young woman, she hadn't an idea what he meant.

"You're not my father-"

"I didn't say I was your father, love. You should learn certain words have different connotations," he grinned, pinching her chin. "Sleep well, and tomorrow, make him happy. Make me happy."