Page 154 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“Are you alright?” Digby gives my hand a squeeze.
I smile up at him. “I’m okay.”
And I am, that’s the truth, just imagining everyone we pass is looking at me as though I’m a walking x-ray. They’ve all seen my naked body now. There isn’t much else that can be hidden.
“Are you excited for it to launch?”
“What?”
I blink a few times, drag my eyes away from the paparazzi lurching in the trees.
“The clothing thing,” he laughs, drapes his arm around my shoulders. “Are you excited for it?”
“Oh, yeah,” I nod. “I’ve been working on this for months. Mum and Cynthia are pleased with how it’s turning out.”
“And are you pleased with it?”
I frown. “Of course, I am.”
“No, I know,” he wobbles his head a bit. “But like, you’re always so focused on someone else’s opinion—it’s alright to put yourself first, Phoebs. This is yours, yeah? Your thing.”
I pull back from him, stop walking, look at him. “She’s my mother, Digby. This is her line that I’m producing this under, obviously her opinion is going to matter.”
He gives me a funny look. “Don’t take it the wrong way, I just—”
“You just what?”
He shrugs helplessly. “I just want you to be taking credit for it, yeah? You’ve worked hard. I’m proud of you.”
I say nothing and we keep walking even though he’s rubbed me the wrong way—I mean, what would he know about fashion and my mother? He’s only met her a handful of times. But that’s him, though. Will never form his opinion, just takes what you give him and runs with it.
Sure, my parents might not be in the country a lot of the time or have all the time in the world to give me, but they did—when I needed it the most (usually). I don’t know. Maybe I’m just overthinking it because I’m well and truly over being with him.
I need to let him go, give him to someone else but what if when I do that, it’s too late and Arthur has moved on and then I’m all on my own. I’m not sure I know how to be alone. I’ve always had someone. Arthur, my sister, my friends. I’m alone so much in my own head that I’m not sure that I’d be able to handle being alone physically, as well.
When we get home, I kick my shoes off and hang my coat up and then Digby’s on me. Kissing my neck, hands in my hair, body pressed up against mine.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, backing me into the wall by the front door. “Come on, I’ll make it up to you.”
I push him off, duck under his arm and walk down the hall. “I’m not really in the mood. I have a headache.”
He follows me into our room where I start to undress.
“We haven’t had sex in weeks, Phoebs.”
“So? Priests go their whole lives. I think you’ll be fine.”
I go into the wardrobe, grab a shirt from one of my hangers and slip it on. It’s one of Arthur’s that I’ve had for years. A Ralph Lauren Purple Label Oxford button down. Nothing fancy. But it’s his which automatically makes it fancy.
Digby’s sitting on the bottom of the bed, brows furrowed. “Have you gone off me or something?”
“No.”
“Then why won’t you even kiss me?” He comes up behind me in the mirror, hands around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder. “You’re not shagging Arthur, are you?”
I turn around, break free from his grip on me. “Stop with that, Digby, for fuck sake! I’m not sleeping with Arthur! God forbid I don’t drop to my knees for you the second you click your fingers.”
He throws his head back, laughs. “That is not what I mean and you know it! Since the summer, since that dinner when you ran over to him, you’ve been weird.”
