Expectation was the root of all heartache. Shakespeare had said so. Therefore, Rose considered this statement to be irrefutable fact.

However, on this particular Friday evening, she found herself hoping that the hallowed words of The Bard would prove untrue. She had very high and specific expectations for what would come to pass, and disappointment would mean failure. Failure was not an option.

Come the final curtain of Macbeth, the night had thus far gone smoothly. Despite the bodice and bust of the vile yellow dress being too tight for comfort, and Jimmy's hand fondling her knee for the entirety of the performance, Rose very much enjoyed the play. The actors showcased extraordinary talent, eliciting a wide range of emotion from all members of the audience. Rose was especially impressed with Lady Macbeth, whose slow deterioration into madness was both fascinating and heartbreaking to witness.

Jimmy seemed to enjoy the battles most, and he whooped and applauded a bit too loudly for polite society during the final sword skirmish between Macbeth and Macduff. “Stick it to him good, mate!” he jeered at the actors, making a jabbing motion with an imaginary blade. He grinned and nudged Rose in the ribs. “That's how I'd do it.”

Mortified by the glares of the other theater-goers at his tactless declaration, she gave him a subtle smile and a nod to pacify him. Without her conscious consent, her mind went to the switchblade tucked away in her reticule. William had insisted she carry it, but knots formed in Rose's stomach at the very thought of having to ‘stick it to’ anyone. Even Jimmy and his wandering hand.

Invigorated by the bows and applause, Rose was more determined than ever to see the plan through. As she and Jimmy exited the Kensington Theater with the other audience members, she slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow. In her peripheral, she noticed Elijah leaning against the side of the building smoking a cigarette, but she kept her gaze trained forward.

“What a marvelous show!” she remarked.

“Ya liked that, did ya?” Jimmy asked, a pleased smile twisting his lips. “I'm glad! Thought I'd be bored, but nah, that was right brilliant! Ol' Willy Boy can write a fuckin' play, can't he?”

Rose bristled at the disrespectful nickname assigned to Shakespeare, but swallowed her disdain, squeezed Jimmy's boney arm, and smiled up at him. “It was splendid. Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“My pleasure, gorgeous,” he replied. His eyes were hungry as he stared down at her. “Always enjoy time spent with ya. And ya look especially fetching in that dress. Knew ya would!”

Rose repressed the grimace that wanted to invade her face. As predicted, the yellow dress was as hideous on as it was off, and she'd received multiple glances of distaste from other audience members at the snug fit of the bodice and bust. If her mother were to see her out in public dressed in this frock, she would be promptly drawn and quartered.

But to Jimmy, she said, “Thank you again for the lovely gift. It was such a surprise. Really, you shouldn't have!”

“Nah, weren't nothin' grand,” Jimmy negated with a haughty toss of his head. “Girl like you deserves gifts, Rose. Anythin' ya want, you can have it.”

The implications were repugnant, but Jimmy had provided just the segue needed to move on to the next stage of the plan. Adopting a kittenish expression, Rose said, “Is that so? Well, it's only half past ten, and if memory serves, you promised me a drink.”

“I sure 'nuff did,” Jimmy agreed. If possible, the lustful gleam in his eyes intensified. “Ya fancy headin' over to the Lion's Den?”

Rose pouted. “That's quite a jaunt from here. And hardly private. It's so very rowdy.” She pretended to glance around as they strolled. “Oh!” she exclaimed, pointing up ahead. “The Mitre Hotel! I've heard they have a lovely bar in their lobby. Shall we go there?”

The look on Jimmy's face suggested he was about to wet himself from excitement. “The Mitre Hotel? You and me? Aye, let's go!”

【♖】

The bar in the Mitre was quiet, stylish, and boasted tasteful decor. Rose found the atmosphere both calmed her and stirred up fretful thoughts. Had Geneviève sat here at one of the round varnished tables, planning what she would say to Mr. Gallagher? Had this been where she met him on the last day of her life? Had she known when she checked in that she would never leave the Mitre Hotel? Macabre to consider such things, perhaps, but Rose couldn't help herself. Here she was, in the same location, with the son of the man who had ended Geneviève's brief yet bright life.

Rose suppressed a shudder.

“...so, you're my girl, right?” Jimmy asked.

With a series of blinks, Rose turned her head and stared at Jimmy. He had been prattling on like a braggart about some ridiculous thing he and his friends had recently gotten up to, therefore Rose had tuned him out, every so often offering a nod or a “Mm-hmm.” So, where had this question come from?

“Your girl?” she repeated.

“Yeah,” he said. His eyes shifted down and to the side and he took a swig of his drink. “I'm the only bloke you're seein', aren't I?”

“Oh! Oh, yes,” Rose assured him. She laid her hand on his forearm for good measure. “Yes, you certainly are.”

“Good. Glad to hear it,” he said, his tone thick with relief. “You're my one and only, Rose. Cut the rest of 'em loose. Couldn't hold a candle to ya.”

Rose batted her eyelashes at him. “How kind of you to say.”

“So, you're my girl?”

“Well, I'm not sure,” she teased, tapping her chin in faux contemplation. “I don't recall having been asked properly.”

Jimmy barked a nervous laugh. “Oi, shit. Yeah. Posh girl like you, ya deserve a proper proposal.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his wayward tie. “So, erm, Rose Appelbaum, will ya be my girl?”

The urge to regurgitate her wine was strong, but repulsed as she was, Rose recognized this for what it was: a perfect transition to the next step of the plan. Jimmy was doing the work for her. How fortuitous.

“Why, Jimmy…” Adopting her sweetest smile, she slid her hand over his, caressing his dry skin with her fingertips. “There is nothing I would like more,” she lied.

Jimmy grasped her hand tightly and smiled an especially oily smile. “Well, you're in luck, gorgeous. 'Cause now ya are. You're mine.”

“I'll be the subject of extreme envy from many, many other ladies, I expect,” Rose remarked, laying the ruse on thick. “But, in all honesty, I find that notion rather...enticing.”

“Oh, d'ya now?” Jimmy prodded.

“Indeed,” Rose purred. “And we really should do something to celebrate the new status of our relationship. Something special. Don't you agree?”

Jimmy's expression and body language positively reeked of lust, and it was all Rose could do not to recoil away from his leer and twitching hands.

“Well, we are in a hotel,” he pointed out. His hand settled on her knee beneath the table.

Rose feigned a mixture of surprise and excitement. “Are you suggesting that we..?” She raised her eyebrows and lowered her voice to a whisper. “...book a room for the night?”

Jimmy leaned in close, the tip of his sharp nose molesting her ear. “I am,” he whispered, his voice husky. “What d'ya say?”

“My mother would disown me,” Rose said, her volume low to match his. She met his eye and arched an eyebrow. “I say... Let's do it.”

Without a word, Jimmy snatched Rose's hand, pulled her to her feet, and marched over to the front desk.

A blonde, pristinely dressed employee stood behind the large mahogany desk, her back to them as she sorted keys and hung them on the wall under their corresponding room numbers.

“Oi!” Jimmy grunted. “Can I get some assistance here?”

The female desk clerk spun around and gave them a polite smile. “Of course, sir,” she said. She nodded first to Jimmy, then to Rose. “Madam. What can I do for you?”

When Rose made eye contact with the woman, she confirmed that it was no hotel employee, but Audrey McQueeney, nearly unrecognizable beneath a blonde wig and large wire spectacles. Rose gave her a polite smile, but made no further effort to acknowledge her.

“We need a room for the night,” Jimmy said, making an encompassing gesture between himself and Rose.

“Do you have a reservation?” Audrey asked.

“What?” Jimmy scoffed. “No. This was spur o' the moment. Just give me a bloody room. I'll pay extra.”

“No need, sir. We have several vacant rooms this evening,” Audrey informed him. “I'll place you in 322. It's a corner room. Very quiet. Very...private. You won't be disturbed.”

“Yeah, yeah, good. That's good,” Jimmy said. He tapped his fingers on the surface of the desk in impatience. “How much?”

As Jimmy fished a wad of cash out of his wallet, Audrey retrieved the room key from its designated hook. Rose noticed that she pointedly neglected to have Jimmy sign the guest registry.

“Enjoy your stay,” Audrey said.

“Thank you!” Rose called over her shoulder as Jimmy ushered her toward the staircase.

Grasping Rose's hand in his own, Jimmy bounded up the stairs like his very life depended on it.

Rose struggled to keep up. She would have found the entire situation comical were he not yanking on her arm with such desperation.

“Jimmy, really, what's the rush?” Rose asked. She employed a tone of voice that she hoped sounded playful rather than irritated. “The room will still be there if we take our time and twist no ankles.”

“Sure, yeah, sure. You're right,” he agreed. Yet he did not slow his pace.

Once they arrived at room 322, Jimmy jammed the key into the lock, and all but shoved Rose through the door.

Closing and locking the door behind them, Jimmy grabbed Rose about waist and slammed her back against the wall. “Been waitin' so long for this,” Jimmy said, his forehead nearly colliding with hers. He groped blindly along the wall for the light switch.

Fighting the overpowering urge to push him away, Rose stayed his hand. “Don't,” she whispered. In the near darkness, she gave Jimmy her best come-hither stare. “Leave the light off.”

“Whatever ya want, Rose,” Jimmy conceded, all too eager. His hands traveled down the length of her figure and around her hips to grip her bum through the hideous yellow dress. “Fuck,” he groaned, squeezing hard. “Ya got some body on ya, girl.”

In her mind, Rose released a sigh of unadulterated agony. This was it. She knew what she had to do.

Steeling herself, Rose took a deep breath, stood on her tip-toes, and pressed her lips to Jimmy's.

It was worse than she'd imagined. The last man she'd kissed had been August, and Jimmy proved to be her late fiancé's antithesis in the most odious of ways. He responded in kind immediately, working his mouth against hers with brutish demand. There was no finesse, no care, no sensuality. Just carnal need. As though he were entitled to her mouth rather than privileged to be receiving a kiss.

Rose forced her arms to encircle Jimmy's neck, reminding herself through internal mantra that this was the one and only time she would have to endure such torture.

He moaned into her mouth, clutching at every part of her he could grab. Such an absolute appalling way to treat a Countess, she thought as his hand groped the curve of her buttocks. She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured the switchblade in her reticule. Should things get out of hand, she had a method of escape.

Suddenly, there was a staccato click and a burst of shaded yellow light in the darkness.

Rose startled. With a gasp, she jerked her face away from Jimmy's and stared across the room at the source of the abrupt illumination.

Equally nonplussed and breathing hard, Jimmy turned his head in the direction of Rose's spooked stare.

William Mercer sat in a chair beside the window, one leg crossed over the other in languid poise. The lamp beside him blazed, creating a deep shadow across his face beneath the brim of his fedora.

“'Evening,” he greeted them, his voice low. “Apologies for the...interruption.”

Jimmy sputtered a series of unintelligible syllables.

William tilted his head off to one side, as though he'd expected this reaction. “James Gallagher II, I presume,” he said. “I'm Liam Mercer. At last we meet.”

【♜】【♞】【♟】

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