𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑴𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓

Elvis Presley

0:28 ──♡───── 2:43

"𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛. 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚎"

The house was quiet when Arthur Shelby stepped through the door, the mistakes of the past few days pressing heavily on his shoulders. He expected shouting, maybe even plates being thrown. It was Maeve, after all. Instead, the silence was suffocating, worse than any outburst he could have imagined. She was in the kitchen, her back to him as she stirred something on the stove.

Arthur stood there awkwardly, waiting for the storm. When she finally turned to look at him, there was no anger, just a raised eyebrow and a slight tilt of her head.

"Sit," she said simply, turning back to the stove.

He hesitated, caught off guard by her tone. He took a seat at the table, unsure whether to feel relieved or terrified. Maeve brought over a plate of food, set it down in front of him, and leaned in to kiss his temple. Then she straightened and began tidying up, her movements brisk but calm.

Arthur stared at the plate. The silence stretched, and the air felt heavy. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

"So, Polly told ya," he muttered.

Maeve's voice came from across the room, flat and indifferent. "Yup."

Arthur shifted in his seat, his fingers tightening around the fork. He hated this-this quiet, unsettling indifference. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her sharp green eyes scanning his face. Then her gaze flicked to his neck, lingering on the red marks left by the rope.

"You should've used a gun," she said dryly, her lips twitching as if holding back a smirk.

Arthur frowned. "Are you laughing at me, Maeve?"

She waited a beat before nodding, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah."

Her bluntness made his jaw tighten, but before he could respond, she crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. Her tone softened slightly, though her words were no less pointed. "Just when things are starting to go right, Arthur. Fancy parties, champagne, fast cars... And how about this?" She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, crisp card, sliding it across the table to him.

Arthur picked it up, squinting at the neat print. "'Shelby Brothers, Limited.' 'Arthur Shelby.' 'Associate bookmaker.'"

"Picked them up this morning," Maeve said. "You're one of three shareholders now. Tommy, you, John. Equal partners. A third, a third, a third."

Arthur stared at the card, his throat tightening. It wasn't just a card-it was proof that he mattered, that he belonged.

Maeve's tone turned playful, but there was an edge to it. "But, see, me and John...we quite fancy splitting your share. So next time, use a gun."

Arthur let out a laugh, a real, deep laugh that shook his shoulders. It felt good-better than he thought it would.

Maeve smiled faintly and sat down across from him. "Our men at the station say Campbell's leaving town. We're in the clear. You, Arthur Shelby, are on your way up in the world."

He hesitated, then cleared his throat. "You ever think about kids?"

The question hung in the air, catching Maeve off guard. Really off guard. She tilted her head, studying him. "Kids?" she repeated.

"Yeah, you know," Arthur said, his voice steady but direct. "Little ones. A boy with my name. Maybe a girl with your smarts."

Maeve blinked, leaning back slightly. "You've really thought about this?"

Arthur shrugged, his expression serious now. "Yeah. Been together more than ten years, Maeve. Been through hell and back. And I reckon I want somethin' more. Don't you?"

Maeve's gaze softened, her lips curving into a small, wry smile. She reached out, resting her hand over his. "Arthur Shelby," she said, her voice teasing but warm. "No ring, no kids."

She squeezed his hand lightly before pulling away. "Finish your food, love. It's getting cold."

Arthur looked down at the plate, then back at her. He was grateful for her answer, because he already bought the ring. For all the chaos in their lives, Maeve was the one thing that made sense. She was his anchor, his partner, his equal. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

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Arthur Shelby wasn't one for grand gestures. Romance wasn't his strong suit-hell, even talking about feelings without his hands shaking was a Herculean task. But here he was, standing like a right idiot with a small box in his pocket, trying to figure out how to make Maeve Harding say yes to a question that had been burning a hole in his head for months.

Maeve, of course, was oblivious. She was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through some legal papers, her sharp gaze scanning every word like it might sprout legs and run off if she looked away. She didn't even glance up as Arthur cleared his throat for the third time.

"Maeve," he started, his voice gruffer than he intended. She hummed in acknowledgment but didn't lift her eyes from the page.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, muttering a string of curses under his breath. "I need to ask you somethin'."

"Uh-huh," she said absently, reaching for her cigarette case.

Arthur stood there, feeling like a man about to walk into a firing squad. He finally dug the box out of his pocket and slapped it onto the table with a thud. "There. That's it."

Maeve froze mid-reach, her hand hovering over the cigarette case. She looked at the box, then up at Arthur, one eyebrow arching in that way that always made him feel like she was about to laugh at him.

"What's this, then?" she asked, her tone skeptical but amused.

"It's a bloody ring, innit?" Arthur barked, crossing his arms like that was supposed to explain everything. "Open it, for Christ's sake."

Maeve slowly set her papers aside, her lips twitching as she picked up the box. When she popped it open, her eyes flicked to the simple gold band inside before darting back to Arthur's face.

"Arthur," she said, her voice dangerously calm, "are you trying to propose to me?"

Arthur shifted on his feet, looking everywhere but at her. "Trying, yeah."

Maeve leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "With a box thrown at me like you're tossing a scrap to a dog?"

Arthur scowled, his cheeks reddening. "I didn't bloody throw it."

"You slapped it on the table like you were mad at it."

"I'm not bloody good at this!" Arthur snapped, his voice cracking slightly. "What d'you want, Maeve? Roses? A bloody song?"

Maeve couldn't help it-she started laughing. Proper, full-belly laughing. Arthur stood there, half-embarrassed, half-offended, watching her with narrowed eyes.

"Go on, laugh it up," he grumbled. "You gonna say yes or no?"

Maeve wiped at her eyes, her laughter subsiding into soft chuckles. "You're an idiot, Arthur Shelby. But you're my idiot."

Arthur's expression softened, though he tried to hide it. "That a yes, then?"

Maeve slipped the ring out of the box and held it up, inspecting it with mock seriousness. "You even know my size?"

Arthur smirked. "Polly does."

Maeve rolled her eyes and slid the ring onto her finger. "It's a yes, you big daft bastard. But you owe me a proper dinner. And maybe a speech next time."

Arthur grinned, relief washing over him. "Yeah, yeah. We'll see."

Maeve stood, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You're lucky I love you."

Arthur pulled her close, muttering against her hair, "Yeah, well, you're bloody lucky I love you too."

Maeve pulled back, smirking. "You'd better, or I'd have you arrested for this shoddy proposal."

Arthur laughed, shaking his head. "You're a bloody menace."

"And you're stuck with me," Maeve shot back, her green eyes sparkling.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Arthur said, his voice low and genuine.