Page 110 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
George shrugs, tuts, leans back into the sofa in his office. “What can we do? Can’t exactly tell her who she can and can’t date. She’s a grown woman.”
“Still our friend, though,” Albie cuts in from the armchair in front of George’s desk.
I think about it.
I want to kill him.
I treated Phoebe bad—believe me, I know I did—but never like that. Never sober, straight-faced and so publicly. That type of humiliation and cruelty only comes from the people who have it embedded deep into their bones. There’s no way to sparkle glitter over what he did even though we all know Phoebe will try to anyway.
“I fucking hate him.”
George looks at me. “Don’t we all?”
There’s a knock on the door. George goes over to open it and Charlie pops his head through.
“Your kid’s out there,” he nods over at Connie. “Making a bit of a knob of himself.” He smiles, ducks back out.
“I knew it!” Connie slaps the sofa, stands up. “I knew I shouldn’t have let him tag along.” And then he looks over atGeorge, points at him. “You bar him, you hear me? He’s not even allowed within a ten foot radius of this place, alright?”
George grins, holds his hands up, nods.
I turn to him once Connie leaves. “Heard anything from Tilden yet?”
George shakes his head, a stern, swift flick. “Nope—not a fucking peep.”
I frown for a second. “Would Phoebe know anything about him?”
He pulls a face. “Doubt it, mate. None of the girls speak to them anymore. Not since they left school—not even Athena.”
I run a hand down my face, lean back into the sofa.
“Shit.”
“Yeah,” George sighs.
And then he sits up, pins me with a stare. “You’re gonna tell her, aren’t you?”
I lean forward, almost laugh. “Who? Phoebe?”
“Well, yeah…”
“I can’t tell her—she’d run a thousand miles.” Shake my head. “I can’t get her involved.”
“She already is involved, mate. The flowers…?”
“Yeah, but—” Clear my throat. “No,” I shake my head. “I can’t tell her.”
He gives me a look, a strange look. “You can’t not tell her?”
“Why not?”
We’ve already jumped through a thousand hoops, I’m not sure my legs will carry me through another hundred—let alone another thousand. I’m tired of the jumping, of the chasing, of the stolen kisses—I’m exhausted from it all. All I want is her. Plain and simple, exactly how she comes—her. No more hoops, no more boulders, nothing.
“I can’t, George.” Pinch the bridge of my nose. “I really can’t.”
After a second he holds his hands up. “Fine, don’t.”
We stare each other down for a second, not sure why he thinks it’s his place to tell me to tell Phoebe. Without even asking him I know that there’s an entire list of shit he hasn’t—and will never—confess to Athena. Killings, guns, drugs, laundering, heists, racketeering—it goes on. Athena knows nothing.
