Page 164 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“Bliss was invited,” she says, lifts her head to look at me.
“What?”
She sniffs, wipes her face. “I only know because Arthur told Connie and he told me. It wasn’t a secret. I was going to tell you anyway but I don’t think Arthur would’ve told you.”
I pull back, hand her a tissue from my clutch. “What do you mean?”
She dabs at her face, sighs. “He invited her to ambush you, I suppose. Maybe he thought it was the right thing to do, I’m not sure.”
“Well,” I glance around. “Is she here?”
“I don’t think so. We would’ve seen her by now.”
“He wasn’t even there when we fell out! He doesn’t know what she said!”
“I know,” she nods.
“I don’t know if I want to make up with her right now.”
“I know, but,” she chews her lip, looks away from me. “She was like a sister to us.”
I give her a look, sort of squinting, unsure if I heard her correctly. “You know what she said to me that night—no ‘friend’ would say that. She was probably just jealous all along.”
She snaps her eyes to me. “That isn’t true. You know it isn’t. Sure, what she said was out of order but you can’t avoid her for the rest of your life. You’ve known her longer than me—”
“Excatly!” I throw my arms out. “And you’ve been a better friend to me than what she has.”
“Phoebe!” She snaps. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“Whatever.”
And then I walk away because maybe I am being unreasonable but I don’t want to hear it. I walk up the garden, back inside, to find Arthur and ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, going behind my back like that. Maybe this wouldn’t be a big deal to other people but it is to me and that doesn’t make it any less of a problem.
I spot Arthur in the kitchen, near the island, talking to a group of people. He locks eyes on me and instantly, we’re the only people in the entire house. But there’s something different about him, the way he’s talking and blinking and moving. Not high—but maybe uncomfortable?
He takes in deep breaths, like, sharp, heavy breaths that weigh more than the world. He blinks more than usual—every few seconds—and his hand is gripping the counter like he needs it to stay upright.
He isn’t uncomfortable. He’s panicking.
Arthur looks away from me, says something to the people he’s talking to—excuses himself—and then pushes his way through the crowds in his house.
As he brushes past me, his eyes lock on mine again, this time for only a brief second. But a brief second can feel like hours with the right eyes. Especially ones that you can climb trees and swim in. There’s never small glances with Arthur. It’s always an entire adventure when he looks at me.
I go to follow him up the stairs because I think that’s what he wants but then someone touches my arm.
“Phoebe,” Digby says behind me.
I spin around. “What?”
He frowns for a split second. “I’ve come over funny—headache. I think I might call it a night.”
“Okay?”
I blink a few times.
He hesitates. “Are you not going to come with me?”
“Do you feel sick?”
