EPILOGUE

❝ I fought the war but the war won. ❞

Between days spent away from each other, Thomas in the complicated entanglements of British politics and Rose overseeing the rebuild of her café and absinthe factory, and nights tangled together, sweat-slick bodies glued tight and sweet nothings whispered into dreams until they fell asleep in each other's arms, a year passed.

Slowly, the French Kissers assembled themselves back into what they were before the Saurets: a secretive, powerful gang with eyes everywhere, acting best in the shadows, pulling the strings others couldn't see and making connections and deals where others wouldn't dare to.

The name of their gang became even more feared and intangible, something whispered in the high circles of society as a conspiracy theory, something murmured in the darkest shadows of alleys by lips blue and poisoned, the dying men engulfed in the arms of pretty, innocent-looking women with mouths red from murder as their targets breathed out their last words.

This was the dark part of Rose's life, necessary but gruesome – the lurking murders, the strategic deals, the delicate but violent dance between her wants and her family's and her country's needs, and the opposition of men who thought themselves wiser and stronger than her.

It was a dance she was used to, but now she had another player to account for – Thomas Shelby and his ruthless ambition, rivaled only by his love for her. As soon as their gangs started making deals together, they prospered. Rose's shrewd wits and stealth with Thomas' foresight and brutality – they were a match made in hell, and few things in all of Britain could stop them.

But the best part of Rose's life was not when they were playing king and queen in a chessboard of business and politics, but when they were father and teacher, helping Charles' grow into the best version he could be. Rose's best days were spent at the music room in Thomas' manor as she guided Charles through his violin lessons. She would always bring him different chocolate pastries and he would always grin and share them with her, and then he would practice twice as hard when he noticed Rose's longing gaze on the violin, as if to give her some part of her music back.

Then when dusk fell Thomas would come into the room and ask her if she wanted to stay for dinner, the sun already set in his eyes as his stare darkened over hers. She would ask Charlie if he wanted her there, and Charlie would giggle and shout yes every time, and so Rose would stay for dinner, Thomas' hand or leg always finding hers somehow, and then, after she said goodnight to Charlie and walked over to the door, Thomas would snatch her away and carry her into his room, where he laid her down on his bed and made love to her however she wanted. He would at times be gentle and sweet, attentive to her every need, so slow and reverent it made Rose's heart burst from so much love, and then at others he would be harsh and merciless, fucking her into the night fast and rough until she was a whimpering mess, writhing and begging for more, Thomas bending her in half or pressing her face down on the mattress to muffle her needy whines.

All times with him were wonderful, but the best part was always the waking up – and seeing the sun rise in his eyes first as he smiled adoringly at her.

They were as in love as two people could be – maybe even more in love than the word itself could contain. It was a love forged in the nine circles of hell but that gave them heaven, and as the seasons turned and flowers bloomed and leaves fell, it didn't fade. It grew stronger, roots stuck deep into the earth and steady branches pointed high at the sky.

They were each other's, and the world was theirs, and nothing could change that.

***

20th December 1925

Five days before Christmas, La Vie Encore Plus Rose opened to the public. It was still in the French Quarter, but far enough from the previous location that people could think of this café as something new and grand, not just a replacement of the old one. Far enough that Rose could look at it and not think of how terribly her beloved La Vie en Rose had ended.

Rose's new café quickly became one of London's hot spots, visited by artists, nobles and the general public alike. It spread over an entire building, and apart from the usual café, restaurant and pub, the new establishment also had a cinema theater, a tearoom, a ballroom for galas and musical recitals, a groundbreaking spa offering both Turkish baths and Finnish saunas, and a big open terrace on the rooftop with live music, art performances and cocktails of every flavor and color.

The building was enormous and hard to miss in the foggy-grey streets, stretching up into the sky with its Art Deco architecture and polished, modern look made of clean, rectangular lines, golden and red decorative elements and Rose's trademark floral motifs. Rose had been afraid that because the café looked different, it would also feel different, but the feeling one got once they stepped inside it was the same: a childlike sense of wonder and a chance to escape the outside world for a few hours, to leave the horrors of life behind and experience its wonders for once. It was enchantment and escapism, promised magic and guaranteed fun.

It was a fresh start and marked a new chapter in Rose's life, so she wanted to do well. She needed this to go well. Most of the people important to her were here, except for Renée and Christopher, whose baby girl, Evelyn, was still too young to travel so far. It tinted Rose's happiness with a small hue of sadness, quickly fading away when she remembered they would all reunite in France when Jules and Angeline married there later in the year. Amidst one of their illustrious concerts at Royal Albert Hall, Jules had finally proposed. The gesture had been so moving it had made it into the newspapers, their fiery kiss plastered on the front page the next day.

They were kissing now too, on a secluded corner of the café, hidden by rose pots and ivy vines, Jules long, pianist fingers buried in Angeline's silky hair. No matter how much time passed, it would always be weird to see her snarky sister like this – sweet and pliant, her mouth holding a smile that was genuine instead of treacherous, a voice that could speak softly without cracking hearts.

Against all odds, Angeline had asked Rose to be one of her bridesmaids along with their sisters – and Rose, teary-eyed and baffled yet bursting with joy, had accepted, promising her she would be well enough by then to play a sonata at the wedding.

And she had faith she would be, or she wouldn't have made such a promise. The rehabilitation treatment was going surprisingly well – even the doctor was stunned at Rose's improvement and her constant drive to do better. Although she could not yet play as deftly and as comfortably as she used to, she could already use her arm to pluck out from the violin the same sorrowful notes that she used to, something she'd never expected to do again.

The first time she did, she was in Thomas' music room, Thomas' eyes on her patient but encouraging her on. The place was drenched in night and the way Thomas was looking at her made her feel made of moonlight, made of all things possible and beautiful, and so Rose had taken a deep breath, tucked the violin between her shoulder and neck, and drawn the bow, and the violin strings had given away under her command immediately, as if she had never stopped playing at all, as if they had been waiting for her all along – the first cry of the violin was only muffled by her own, and then she was sobbing uncontrollably and Thomas was getting up from his armchair and holding her in his arms until her tears stopped and her smile surged.

It was one of the happiest moments of her life – to know her dream hadn't left her, that she had music still.

"You know the weirdest thing that happened this year?" With a nudge of the elbow and her chirpy voice, Arwen stopped her from dwelling too much, coming to stand beside Rose by the bar, the herbal scent of chartreuse strong when she spoke.

"Apart from you and Arthur Shelby being in an open relationship?" Rose asked, the side of her smile quirking upwards. Ever since the New Year's Party at Thomas' manor the previous year, Arwen and Arthur had entered an on and off, often explosive relationship, where they both met up with other partners but somehow always found their way back to each other.

"Ugh, please, keep that name away from me." Scrunching her nose, Arwen made a dismissive gesture with her hand, downing her second drink in one go. In an off moment, then. "And no, not that."

"Those two wonderful ladies getting together and Sienna joining the Communist party even though she's a business owner?" Rose tried again, this time glancing at Sienna and Jessie Eden, heads touching over a book, Karl Marx's, most likely, hands tangled and smiles mirrored. It may not make sense to the world, but it made so much sense to Rose, that Sienna would fall in love with someone that defended women's rights as fiercely as she did.

"Close, but no, I was talking about those two becoming drinking buddies." Arwen pointed towards the other side of the room, where Kaya and Thomas clunked their glasses together, both of them trying hard not to smile.

"Indeed." Rose chuckled; she wasn't sure how it had happened, but she was glad it had. Kaya was good at shoving sense into people, at keeping them within their limits by remembering them how fragile and human they were. She did that with Rose, preventing her from going too far, to dream bigger than her steps could take her, and Rose was relieved she was now there for Thomas too. "What do you think they talk about? Greta Jurossi?"

"Oh, darling, you're the only woman that fine piece of a Brummie ever talks about."

Rose brought her absinthe glass to her mouth to hide her grin. She liked the thought of that more than she should.

"They probably talk about Alfie too." As much as Kaya refused to admit it, Rose knew she was irremediably in love with Alfie Solomons. The two of them were volatile on their own, flint and tinder, but together they were a wildfire to be reckoned with, and both gangs benefitted from it. Rose didn't even need to meet Alfie and think of elaborate ways to persuade him to make deals anymore – one word of Kaya and Alfie would say yes. Not in her wildest dreams did Rose predict this was how things would go when she first brought Kaya to Alfie's bakery all that time ago, but she was happy it had turned out this way. Kaya's heart was not meant to stay broken, and Alfie was much better an ally than an enemy.

"Yeah, but not nearly as much as he wishes, I'm sure." Arwen threw her head back in laughter, the boisterous sound dimming when she caught Arthur's eye as he sluggishly strode into the café.

"Did you really have to invite him?" Arwen clicked her tongue, squinting at Rose after a full minute of death glaring the poor Shelby, who had stopped dead in his tracks by the threshold and was now gawking at Arwen as if unable to decide if he wanted to leave or come closer to her.

Rose snorted. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were in bad terms, considering just last week you told me he was the best in bed you'd ever had."

"Best in bed, but the worst for my heart," Arwen murmured, clutching at her chest. Rose wrapped one arm around her shoulders, squeezing her slightly. She knew what that was. She knew that by worst for my heart Arwen didn't mean worst in my life, she meant I think I might like him a little too much, and that's killing me, because I don't know how to deal with so much feeling.

Because if he doesn't feel the same, that would kill me the most.

But Arwen's laugh had been the first thing Arthur had picked on as soon as he burst into that world of color and movement that was La Vie Encore Plus Rose. That had to mean something.

"You should talk to him. I feel like maybe you're on the same page, you just don't know how to express it because you're both more into the physical aspect rather than the emotional," Rose said, smiling sympathetically at Arthur, still standing by the entrance, hands wringing his cap as his eyes flickered over to Arwen like a lost puppy.

"Why should I be the one going to him?" Arwen shrugged and turned her back on him, but it was obvious in the way her brows knit that she was dying for Arthur to approach her. He didn't, though. He just grabbed an abandoned whiskey bottle and slumped down into a chair, his puppy stare replaced by that of a rabid dog. Arwen scoffed, taking two glasses with her as she mingled with the crowd, the chattery whirlwind of guests quickly swallowing her up.

"Rose," Nicolas' soft, low voice hit her back like a tender caress and Rose smiled as she turned to him, her luminous smile not fraying even as she looked beside him. Lizzie was holding his arm, her chin held high, her mouth slightly less tight-lipped than it usually was. "Congratulations on the opening, this is... it's wonderful, Rose. Magnifique."

Nicolas looked around, a glint of awe and pride in his warm brown eyes as he glanced around. Rose didn't miss the way Lizzie's gaze got trapped in his dazed expression, her pressed lips opening in a real smile. It felt like witnessing a miracle, but then again, wasn't that what love was? Rose was happy Nicolas got this, that they both did. Together they were experiencing the kind of sweet, easy love they'd never had before, and Rose wished for it to last. They both deserved someone to love them whole.

"You say that as if you didn't help rebuild it." Rose chuckled, her stare slipping beyond Nicolas' shoulder to catch Thomas watching them like a hawk, his jaw subtly tensed. She wasn't sure if he was jealous over Nicolas or worried about Lizzie being mean to her, but he didn't have to worry. No matter how strong Nicolas' feelings for her might have been in the past, he was well over Rose now, and Lizzie had gradually warmed up to her as she forgot all about Thomas and got lost in Nicolas. "But I'm glad you like it."

"We brought you this." With a secretive smile, Nicolas handed her a vintage, pricey Champagne bottle. It was from the Picardy vines – from Amiens, their home. She hadn't seen one of these in years, let alone taste it. It meant more to her than she could put into words, that Nicolas had gone through so much just to get this special bottle, so she hugged him instead. "You should open it later today, to celebrate."

"I certainly will." Rose beamed. She knew that as soon as she opened it she would smell her sunny house, her parents clinking their glasses as the children tickled each other under the table. "I'll toast to you two."

She winked at them, cackling at the startled look on Lizzie's face. Then Lizzie relaxed, smiled back – all was well.

"Y'know, you're really not as bad as I thought you were, once we see past your bad taste in men," Lizzie said, gesturing with a dismissive hand towards Thomas. "But you're the only woman he had to fight for to have, so I like you for that. Blue-balling Thomas Selby for almost a year? Now that's power."

This time Rose threw her head back in earnest laugher, Lizzie and Nicolas promptly following along. Rose was just carefully placing the Champagne bottle inside a cabinet when she heard a jovial, very familiar voice.

"Rose!" It was Andrea, and Rose barely had time to turn around before the sun-freckled girl threw herself in her arms. Even though at the beginning of the year Andrea had returned to France with Renée and Christopher, she was now back for good. Soon after returning to her old life Andrea had learned it no longer fitted her – the slow, repetitive days of her hometown bored her. She longed for the restless danger of London, for adventures, sequins and pearls. And of course, she missed Raphael, Finn and Isaiah terribly.

It was only as she held her that Rose realized how much Andrea had missed her too.

"You made it!" Rose laughed, embracing her tightly, letting the sweet floral scent of lavender wrap around her like a scarf in winter. The previous month Andrea had written her a letter stating she was going to come back to London in time for the café's opening and announcing her plans to stay there for good: she wanted to keep working at Sienna's boutique until she was experienced enough to open her own. Rose already knew she'd make the most scandalous dresses in all of Britain, and she couldn't wait to see them.

"Of course, I wouldn't miss your grand opening for the world!" Andrea beamed, looking around the café with the same amazed expression as Nicolas. It filled Rose with a renewed sense of pride: if she could impress those most dear to her, she could impress anyone. "Renée and Christopher sent some groceries for you, including those macarons that you love. Raphael is storing them right now. They were sorry they couldn't make it."

"I know, it's okay. As long as Evelyn is healthy, that's all that matters."

"Oh, she is! Full of energy and ready to take on the world like her mother and aunts! Wait, I have a photo of her..." Andrea trailed off, rummaging through her wallet until she found a wrinkled picture of a blonde baby with rosy cheeks and soft blue eyes running towards the camera, her chubby arms held high as she pouted. Rose's heart clenched. "Isn't she the cutest?"

"She is." Rose smiled. There was so much goodness and hope in a baby – she was glad Renée and Christopher had taken the difficult decision to go back and raise Evelyn somewhere peaceful. Even if it hurt being away from them, it was for the best; that pure, untainted smile on the picture made it all worth it. "I can't wait to meet her and hold her in my arms."

"Oh you will, once those two lovebirds tie the knot this year!" Andrea chuckled, glancing at Angeline and Jules, still lost in their own world. "Now where are Finn and Isaiah? I still haven't told them I'm back for good and I'm dying to see their reactions! Do you think they remember me?"

Rose knew she was only joking – Andrea was well aware of her worth and importance in those two boys' lives. Still, Rose fought the urge to tell her Finn and Isaiah were mad at Thomas and Polly for not allowing them to go to France to see her, wanting to keep them close in case an unforeseen enemy snatched them away. Polly and Thomas might not agree on a lot of things, but in this they did: family was meant to be kept close.

"Oh, ma chérie, how could they ever forget you? They've been taking turns coming to my pubs to drink and cry over you because they're scared shitless a Blinder will find them and make fun of them for pining over a girl." Rose grinned under Andrea's flushed, secretly pleased face. "They're at the spa. Please, do not break anything in there, alright? It will open in two hours and I would not like the guests to find it wrecked, alright?"

Andrea nodded, her blush even pinker, before she darted towards the spiral stairs and vanished away. Shaking her head, Rose decided to go check on Raphael. But when she got to the storage room, she stopped. It was dark, and seemingly empty. She heard him before she saw him, or rather, she heard a thud of something being shoved against something else.

Sighing heavily, she turned on the lights.

Just like she predicted, Raphael was shoving James against the shelves, one hand planted against the rack, the other placed firmly on James' hip, pinning him in place as he kissed him long and hard. A true French, no doubt.

"Well, at least you had the courtesy of keeping your clothes on," Rose said, snorting upon their bewildered looks, like two deer caught by an unexpected hunter. James was flushing violently, but Raphael was panting more, his shoulders sagging in relief when he saw it was just Rose. Kaya had been helping him getting to terms with his sexuality, but Raphael was still coiled up in himself, still walking on eggshells, afraid the longer he kept at this, the harsher it would blow on his face later on. Rose wished she could give him a world where he could love in peace, but there were some things not even she could change. "Given as there's only one dick I'm interested in seeing, and that he's currently upstairs."

Her joke had the desired effect: it diffused the tension, made them less guarded. James chuckled, still averting her gaze, and Raphael took a step back, trying his best to fix his shirt.

"Sorry, Rose," Raphael muttered, but Rose was glad his shame was for getting caught, not for doing what he was doing. She wanted to be a safe space. She wanted her café to be the same. "I asked for James' help in storing the goods and then we just... got caught up in each other."

"As always." James smiled, reaching for Raphael's hand to give it a comforting squeeze. Raphael relaxed further. Rose felt something tug at her heartstrings – she felt like she was witnessing the kind of love that would years from then be depicted in books, make waves on the big screen. "No matter how hard I try, I can never seem to get away from the French."

"You and me both." Spinning on her heels, Rose shivered – that deep, velvety, Brummie-lilted voice would always have that effect on her. Blue eyes catching on the dim light, Thomas' strode towards them, his shadow spilling onto the hallway in front of him like a dark, ominous threat. From the corner of her eye Rose didn't miss the way Raphael stepped in front of James to shield him from view. He didn't know Thomas the way Rose did – therefore, he didn't trust him. To him and most of the world Thomas was a stone-hearted, menacing gang leader with no regard for other people's lives. If only they would look past the surface. If only they could see all the kindness buried deep inside, all that soft hope. "Good to see you again, lad."

He was talking to James, but it was Raphael who let out a sigh of relief; from his experience men were usually crueler when they saw men liking other men. But not Thomas. Like Rose, he was decades ahead in so many things.

"I'm afraid I can't say the same thing, Mr. Shelby," James said, his eyes sparkling in challenge. "Rose is a much better gang leader than you are."

Thomas chortled, stopping only when he was beside her. The room felt instantly warmer, spring arriving early to her skin. "I don't doubt that. But Rose did use you to get information on me and me men when she ordered you to live with Ada."

"Yes, but at least she didn't get me almost killed trying to blow up a damn bakery with a madman inside." James squinted at him, accusatory. Beside him, Raphael's eyes widened as he discovered a new side of James he hadn't yet seen: braver than him. James did not fear Thomas Shelby, so why should Raphael? "Between you two devils, her horns are less sharp."

"Oh, but they cut deeper," Thomas said, the corners of his lips threatening to quirk up. He snaked a hand around Rose's waist then, bringing her closer to him until her back was pressed flush against his chest, and when she turned to grin at him he kissed her until it felt like all air had left the room.

After what felt like either a second or forever, one of the boys loudly cleared his throat. Raphael, most likely.

"Should we leave and turn off the lights? Lock the door and everything?"

"Don't be foolish," Rose chided, at the same time Thomas said, "best idea you've had yet."

Rose glared at Thomas. Thomas stared back, his eyes even darker and more veiled behind his spectacles. He'd discarded his suit jacket, had his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened as if he'd come down here with one intention alone. Rolling her eyes, Rose put a palm over his chest, right where his ouroboros tattoo was, and pushed him away.

"No, Thomas, we are not fucking in the storage room right on my café's opening day." As tempting as the offer sounded, she couldn't. It was too typical of Thomas Shelby, wanting to mark this place with all traces of him so wherever Rose looked she'd think of him. He'd done that to her manor – fucking her everywhere, on the kitchen counter and the living room's sofa, the bathtub and her office's desk, bending her over any surface available, folding her in half or laying her down wherever and whenever he could. Now she couldn't look anywhere inside her own house without wishing he was there, doing it all over again. She couldn't let the same thing happen in her precious café, so she turned her back on him and glared at Raphael and James, both doubled over in the effort of trying not to burst out laughing upon Thomas' disappointed expression. "And neither are you, for that matter. The party's upstairs, come on."

Sighing dramatically, Raphael and James walked away. Before they could cut the corner and disappear, however, James looked over his shoulder.

"Rose, when you rented me the apartment next to Raphael's, you were hoping for something like this to happen, weren't you?" He lifted their arms to show their entwined hands, blissful smile on his face as Raphael brought his palm to his face and groaned in embarrassment.

Rose didn't have to think much. Over the past year, she saw Raphael and James sharing their time between boxing and writing, between secretive glances and furtive touches until they could go home and love each other safely. Maybe she'd glimpsed some of that since the start.

"Well, when you told me you were going through a terrible writer's block but then all your inspiration came back the moment you saw Raphael on the boxing ring, I knew you had found your muse, and I had to find a way to keep you close to him," Rose said, while beside her Thomas muttered something along the lines of devious schemer. Rose threw him a look that said 'look who's talking'. And it wasn't scheming, not really. What they both had was a knack to predict the future, and then take the necessary steps to make it happen exactly as they envisioned it. Why should she keep that skill strictly to business when she could make people's lives better in other spheres too? "I have to admit it worked out better than I expected, though."

James pointed an accusing finger at her, eyes narrowing. "Devils, both of you."

And then they were gone, and the storage room was no longer dark nor empty nor cold, made brighter by the ice thawing instantly in Thomas' stare when he found himself alone with her.

Without a word, he sat on a wooden crate, legs spreading only enough for his slacks to tighten generously over his crotch. One brow raised, he looked down at his lap, then at her. Rose's tongue dipped over her bottom lip, and she crushed the distance between them but did not touch him like he was inviting her to.

"Why did you come here, Thomas?" She asked, leaning to him as she wrapped her fingers around his dark blue tie, tugging on it lightly until he had no choice but to lean the rest of the way into her. She pecked him on his lips twice and when he asked for more she chuckled and pulled away.

Thomas crossed his legs slowly and adjusted his glasses. He looked very good in them, and she hated how weak she was to that. "To check on you. When I saw you come downstairs, I thought maybe you were going to murder someone, so I came here to offer to do it for ya so you wouldn't have to get your hands dirty right on your big day."

"So thoughtful of you," Rose said mockingly, and sat down on his lap. His arms came to find her waist instantly, bringing her even closer, his hands sliding from her back to the hem of her red dress. She traced a finger from his trimmed hair to his jaw, softly. "Remember the first time you did that? Check on me, that is. You said you didn't think I was a murderer. I didn't know if to cry or laugh at the irony. I had just killed a man, and there you were, looking at me as if I was some kind of saint. Looking at me like..." She lost her breath a little then, stunned to silence at the intensity in his gaze, at the way he looked up at her like he was looking at the sky and beyond. "Looking at me like you're looking now. Like I still am a saint, still worth being worshipped."

"To me, you are." One hand of his clasped her neck as he stroked a thumb across the softness of her cheek, the plumpness of her lips. The other sneaked under her dress, up to her thigh. "Nothing you do could ever change that."

It hurt her so much, in the best way – that he looked at her the way most people looked at temples and altars. So much veneration she wondered if she deserved even an ounce of it. She cradled both sides of his face in her warm hands and kissed him the way he liked the most – a lot of tongue, some biting, no break between kisses, no space between them.

"Putain, it shouldn't be possible for me to love you this much, and yet I do," she murmured after a particularly heated kiss, Thomas' hand falling from her neck to clutch at her hips. "Each time I love you more and more, and each time I wonder when it'll stop. Sometimes I think it never will."

He smiled against her lips, cocky and true. "I sure hope it won't."

Then he kissed her how she liked – all hunger, no restraint, one of his hands yanking at her hair to bare her throat out to him, his other hand coming to wrap deliciously around her neck.

They kissed until the lights at the storage room flickered dark. She could feel him hardening under her, which in turn made her press her legs closer together in the desperate need for some friction. She was very close to giving in and rip his clothes right there and then – damn Thomas and his tailored suit and beautiful face, damn him for getting her all hot and bothered in a day she was supposed to be all cool and collected. She couldn't deny that the idea of getting fucked by him while he looked like this – crisp white shirt with the top buttons undone, sculpted face framed by his round glasses – the idea of him fucking her in this dark, empty place while everyone upstairs wondered what they were doing excited her to no end.

"We should go back," Rose said in a feeble attempt to gain back some control, although she made no motion to leave, just snuggled closer to him.

In retaliation, Thomas squeezed her thigh hard, then ran his hand up and down the smooth skin, one of his fingers curling around the lacy edge of her panties.

"No, I've been wanting to get you all to myself all day, but there's always someone surrounding you. When I complained to Alfie he said it was your 'flower effect', that every bee always wanted a taste of your honey. I was gonna punch him in the face, but Kaya was faster than me."

Rose giggled. Poor Alfie suffered so much at the hands of those two.

"Wanted to steal me away for a second?" Rose asked, looking down at Thomas through curled lashes, gaze half-lidded and as dark as his.

He chased her mouth with his lips, carved his kiss into her jaw. His hand slid down her back, lower and lower until it reached her ass. "I want to steal you away always. The world has too much of you already. I want you to be mine, only. All the fookin' time."

"Well, right this minute, you have me." She lowered her voice, breathed straight to his ear. "So what are you gonna do with it?"

"I'm gonna fuck you right here, love," he rasped out, and in a second he had lifted both of them up, the outline of his hard cock rubbing against her in maddening invitation. "Gonna make you squirm and scream so much your lovely guests up there will wonder what's going on down here." He pressed closer to her, caging her against a rack. It rattled loudly against the wall, making Rose shiver in anticipation. She knew how harsh Thomas could be, how hard he could make her scream. She wanted that feverishly. "And because you've been such a little tease all day, avoiding me and such, I think I'm gonna punish you. Good girls should learn not to misbehave, eh?"

He had a finger on the corner of her mouth. Without looking away from him, Rose swirled her tongue around it and sucked it into her mouth, suckling at it in such a way he'd never think of her as a good girl again.

"Oh, but I think you like it when I'm bad, don't you?" She tilted her head, and the next second she had a palm splayed over his crotch, fingers hooking dangerously on his belt buckle. He groaned in warning, and she blinked up at him innocently. "Still don't want me to get my hands dirty?"

In one deft movement she unbuckled his belt, tugging at it until it clattered to the floor. It was all Thomas allowed her to do – before she could even get her hand in, he was sucking a harsh bruise into her collarbone, rendering her powerless and pliant as he lapped and nipped at her skin.

"You little minx. I'm gonna edge ya until you're crying and begging for release, and then I'm gonna fuck you so hard you can barely walk the rest of the day. I want every guest of yours to know how good you're getting fucked, so no one even tries to come close."

Forcing down a whimper, Rose gulped, her mouth entirely dry. Her legs were wobbly already; she might've fallen were Thomas not holding her so firmly. She was aware of her hypocrisy: she'd just told Raphael and James not to do it, and here she was, about to get what promised to be the best fuck of her life. But then again, she was the owner. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted, and right now, she wanted Thomas to do to her everything he said he would, to fuck her so hard her insides would be rearranged to the shape of him.

He ran a teasing finger over the shell of her ear, before nibbling at her earlobe with a slow drag of his teeth. "How does that sound, love?"

At last Rose whimpered, shifting her legs close. Thomas was faster, placing a hand between her thighs to stop her from closing them, but still not providing her the friction she so sweetly needed.

Still, she knew just what to say to get some leverage back, to make him surrender a little.

"Not gonna lock the door? Gonna keep it wide open so anyone who walks by can see me like this?"

His grip on her body tightened, his jaw tensing, eyes ablaze. In a blur of a second he had gone, locked the door, and come back.

"Nice try, love. As appealing as the thrill of getting caught is, no one else gets to see you like this." Because she was as turned on as he was, she let him take off her dress quickly and turn her around. She quivered when his hand ran from the back of her neck to her lower back, and then moaned when he ran his tongue up her spine, slowly. Then he slammed a rough hand against her ass cheek, once, before grabbing at it hard. "Look at you, so pretty. All mine... all for me to use."

"Thomas," she hissed, all bite. He pressed closer to her, letting her feel the shape of his cock still tucked into his slacks, how it twitched at the sound of her voice. "Please, just... hurry and fuck me. Please."

With a guttural groan, Thomas held her firmly against him, one arm wrapped over her stomach and the other snaking up her chest to her neck. When Thomas slid into her and made truth of all his promises, Rose realized she venerated him a little too much too.

***

If anyone upstairs suspected what they'd been doing, no one commented on it. Instead, Rose and Thomas found Johnny hunched over a table, loose bottle in his fingers as Arthur patted his back in a pathetic attempt to comfort him while simultaneously shouting around, spit flying out of his mouth.

"They're the French fookin' Kissers, that's what they do... the only time they'll kiss you is to fookin' kill ya!"

Rose froze in her spot. For a second, seeing Johnny curved over like that, she thought the worse. But then she saw his chest rising and falling at a steady rhythm, and Audrey a few meters away being held by Arwen and Kaya.

Arthur was glaring at Arwen. Clearly those words were meant for her, and clearly the kill was metaphorical, as in heartbreaker. Arwen did not stand back, though. She held her chin high and glared just as heatedly, daring him to come closer so she could prove his words true.

"What's going on here?" Rose demanded, arms crossed. Luckily, all the guests so far were from their gangs, not regular costumers to whom the name French Kissers would've scared them away.

With a delighted smile, Angeline detached herself from Jules and jumped at the chance to crush someone's spirit.

"Johnny Shelby here tried to hit on our dear sister, but after a failed kiss, he was cruelly rejected, so his manly ego is a little bruised now. May it rest in peace."

Rose shuddered, a sinking feeling making her stomach drop. Something in that sentence – the words Johnny Shelby and rest in peace strung together – did not sit well with her. She wished Polly was there so she could ask her about it, so she could look into Johnny's future and see if there was something awful and final there, but since Thomas was there, Polly had refused to come. Rose would have to ask her some other time; she just hoped it wouldn't be too late by then.

"But why is Arthur so furious?" Finn asked, a confused look on his face as he tied the spa robes over his body. He seemed straight out of the shower, as if he'd been dragged back here by the commotion.

"Oh, that's because he wants to get into Arwen's pants but she won't let him," Angeline laughed, wicked. "So he thinks projecting on Johnny's rejection is a good way to hide his own."

"God give me the strength and patience needed to deal with all these Shelby men, their fragile egos and their greedy cocks." Kaya rolled her eyes and stormed away, possibly seeking Alfie's company, the man with the biggest ego of all. Rose thought better not to mention it, given as just a few minutes before she had the greediest cock in the world thrusting in and out of her mercilessly.

"Anyway, tell Johnny to stop being so dramatic, will you?" Arwen asked, taking a step towards Arthur, who bared his teeth at her. Arwen simply chuckled, amused where most would be afraid. Rose always admired her girls, but she admired Arwen a little more then – she'd lost her husband and been betrayed by her best friend, losing her too – of course she would not be afraid of a Shelby with a broken heart and more bark than bite. "He wouldn't have any luck with Audrey either way, isn't that right, darling?"

Audrey looked down, cheeks dusted bloodred. A frown started to form on Rose's forehead, deepening when Angeline clapped in delight.

"That's right! Audrey's been exchanging letters with an American mec for months now and that's all she can think about, isn't it?"

"He's half-Italian, actually," Audrey said softly, and just in those words Rose could see how much her youngest sister liked this mysterious man already. Why didn't she know about this? And had Audrey even met him? "I think he might be the one... he told me his mother's name is Audrey too, how much of a coincidence is that? And in his last letter he said that he might be visiting England soon and that he'd love to meet me, properly." She glanced up at Johnny, still lurched over the table, eyes closed, probably already passed out drunk. "I'm sorry, Johnny."

Only Audrey to apologize for liking someone else already.

"Do you know this man?" Thomas whispered into Rose's ear, just as alert as she was. Any new name in her life meant a new name in his – they needed to make sure it was friend, not foe.

"No." Rose shook her head, knowing this was exactly why Audrey hadn't told her. They couldn't meet anyone without Rose meddling in their business. It was an annoying habit, yes, but a necessary one, in their line of work. "But I'll dig into it as soon as I can."

Soon came sooner than she thought, though.

Because that very same day, when the cork of the Picardy Champagne flew and flutes were raised in celebration of La Vie Encore Plus Rose opening, all of them wishing for a brighter, better future, a new gang arrived to town.

The first sign of them was a package delivered to Rose herself. She was returning to the bar after the celebrations when she noticed it beside a bottle of absinthe, one of her own with the label: distilled for the mending of acutely broken hearts.

Immediately she knew this was very deliberate, very premeditated. Whoever had put this here had wanted her to know they knew her, and that they could easily reach her, for they had been there when she'd failed to notice them.

Heart hung in her throat and pulse thrumming, Rose ripped the package open. The first thing to come out was a note, scribbled in cursive, elegant handwriting. It read:

Cara Rosa, drink your absinthe, you'll need it. For we will get to him, and your heart will be broken. But fear not – you'll finally be a rose freed from thorns.

And in the corner of the note it was signed: L.C.

Rose felt nauseous, her mind faltering, her legs wobbling, her breath staggering. She clutched the counter with both hands, trying to make the dizziness go away, but the floor was far, then too close. She breathed in and out and gathered herself before looking at the package again.

It was a rose the prettiest shade of red, all petals in full bloom, and without any thorns, each plucked out carefully. But that was not the worst part. Oh no. The worst was that the rose came wrapped in a beautiful, finely made handkerchief. Rose slid her fingers over it. Immaculate white, expensive fabric. Italian, most likely. It was a white flag, a peace offering, a truce negotiation.

Which meant war was coming.

author's note.

this is it, the end. my plan was always to include the Changrettas somehow given as they were my favorite villains in the series, and I think this is a great way to leave tommyrose's story open ;) please let me know if you were surprised and what you thought of the epilogue and the story, seeing your reactions and reading your feedback makes me really happy <3

thank you once again for reading until the end! It was a joy writing Rose and Thomas' story and getting to share it with you, and along the way I fell in love with all the other characters and I hope you did too. It was especially fun to write about Raphael and James, Kaya and Alfie, Jules and Angeline and Finn and Andrea - hopefully you enjoyed their relationships as much as I did ;)

as this is quite an open ending, I was wondering if you'd be interested in reading some extra scenes of their future? They wouldn't be full chapters or follow the series plot point by point as I no longer have the time or motivation to follow the seasons in detail, they would simply be scenes where I think Rose would fit well within the plot and that would show more of her and Thomas' future and how they interact with characters from the last seasons. do let me know if this is something you'd like to see as I'll only post them if there's enough interest ^^

one last time, thank you for supporting this story and loving these characters, and may the French Kissers keep ruling from the shadows ;)