Page 121 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
That must mean something? I mean, is that a sign to tell her? Why would I tell her, though? It’d only make her sad? I’ve already made her sad.
I knock once on the door, poke my head through to see her sitting up in bed, phone in hand. Never sleeps well when she isn’t at home. I wonder how she sleeps with Digby.
“Cuddle?” I ask, smile. Worked when we were kids.
She shakes her head, looks surprised to see me. “Why aren’t you cuddling Astrid?”
I walk further in, hands in my pockets. Shake my head. “Don’t like cuddling her.”
She tilts her head. “Harsh.”
Shrug. “Not big on hugs. Made an exception for you, though.”
“That’s nice,” she mutters, eyes back on her phone.
I slip my shoes off, pull my shirt off over my head, unzip my slacks, pull the other side of the duvet over and climb in.
Phoebe puts her phone down on the bedside table, eyes locked ahead, fingers picking at a loose thread.
“I hate loving you sometimes.”
With my hands behind my head, I nod. “I imagine it’s not easy.”
“It is, though,” she tells me, sighs. “It’s the easiest thing in the world which makes it so hard.” She turns her head to lock eyes with me. “I mean, you could kill someone, Arthur. In cold blood, first degree, no remorse—whatever—and I’d still be the first person to run to your defence.” She swallows. “You could’ve just had sex with Astrid and I still wouldn’t have turned you away. What does that say about me?” She asks in a small, almost worried voice.
I blink a couple times, my chest heavy.
“It means that your heart is too big and too wonderful and too forgiving for me—for anyone. No one deserves the love you give out, Phoebs. Not even me.” I shake my head, run a hand down my face. “It’s too much, too fragile and people are too heavy handed.”
She looks up at me with big, Bambi like, watery eyes. “But you can handle it, can’t you?”
“Yeah,” I nod, move my arm around her. She rests her head on my stomach. “I can handle it because I know how it feels. I don’t reckon many people could handle that feeling.”
It’s the truth.
Loving her makes life easier.
Loving her makes breathing that bit lighter.
Loving her makes the flowers bloom brighter in spring and the leaves fall slower in autumn.
There’s no limit on loving her. There’s no timer. It’s infinite. Even when my heart stops beating for me, it’ll still go for her—always for her.
Always.
Always.
Always.
Since before I even knew what the word ‘love’ meant.
“Arthur?” She says quietly, breaking the silence we were sitting in. “Can you do something for me?”
“Anything.”
“Can you touch me?”
She shifts, moves onto my lap, stares down at me. I swallow, looking up at her. A bit nervous, I think.
