Page 148 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“Look in the wardrobe. In a bag or suitcase.”
I start looking in all the places where Arthur used to hide drugs. I know that’s sick but he put them in the most unlikely places and I knew all of them. He never told me but I knew him. The night he got into that terrible car crash? I broke down, told his parents all of his hiding places. It’s why he hated me for weeks after he was out of the hospital. He blamed me for the drug tests and the sudden distrust. His parents never knew up until that point how bad it had gotten. I was the one to tell them.
I’ve only ever seen Sophia cry twice. At a memorial for Theo a week after he died and that night in the hospital.
I grab Digby’s suitcase down from one of the top shelves in the wardrobe. It’s empty but I unzip the other side and there it is.
My heart stops for a second—I’m sure of it.
A royal blue Harry Winston box.
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
Spencer comes running in. “Did you find it?”
I can’t even see straight with how hard I’m shaking but I open the box and sure enough it’s the Bridal Couture Emerald Cut Engagement Ring I showed him mindlessly one night, almost a year ago. I didn’t mean it. I was just browsing, looking for a replacement for the Tiffany ring I lost. At that time, I was still trying to both erase and turn Digby into Arthur.
“Shit, it’s beautiful,” Spencer mutters.
I close the box, put it back where I found it and find a dress to wear.
“Phoebs?” Spencer follows me about as I put together an outfit. “What are you going to do?”
With every zip I close and every brush of my hair and every swipe of powder I cake my face in, it feels a bit like singing my death warrant. It’s a familiar feeling. That night before Arthur left, I felt the same—although, that was more pleasant, if you can believe it. I knew what I was signing with him. With Digby, I don’t. He’ll want children. I can’t have children. He’ll want to move abroad. I want to stay in England. He’ll want to come to all my dinners. I’ll want him to stay home. He’ll want me to have dinners with his family. I’ve only met his mother once—I don’t know her like I know Sophia.
I’m ready just before eight and go into Arthur’s room to chainsmoke three cigarettes on his balcony. I can see the table being set up on the patio by the pool by the housekeepers. They light a couple candles and place the cutlery meticulously.
I go downstairs, Arthur comes out of the kitchen, looks so unaware.
“Where have you been all day?”
He shoves a grape into his mouth, eyebrows up. “Out—you look nice.”
“Who with?”
He shrugs. “Twins.”
“Doing what?”
He looks pale. Do you think he’s alright?
“Sightseeing. Doing anything this evening?”
“Digby’s proposing.”
He stops. I nod towards the patio doors.
He swallows, forces a smile, takes a couple steps towards me.
“I’m happy for you.”
“No you’re not.”
He frowns, nods but I can see how fast his heart is beating. I can see the absolute dread in his eyes and the sweat beading on his forehead and how his hands are shaking and how the tip of his nose has turned a shade of red.
Arthur reaches into his pocket. “I should probably give—”
Digby interrupts us, puts his arms around my waist. “You hungry?”
