Page 55 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“I think she’s very pretty,” Phoebe shrugs and my eyes go to her.
Fuck, I hate that she’s here. Hate that she’s got a boyfriend. Hate that for the first time in over ten years that she’s in my house and I can’t disappear off to my bedroom with her because it’s not actually my bedroom anymore.
“She is, isn’t she?” Mum agrees, eyes locked on me.
I start feeling a bit hot, my shirt collar suddenly tightens up and starts choking the life out of me.
“She’s alright,” I mutter.
“Alright?” Phoebe laughs. “She’s more than alright! I could only dream of having legs like hers.”
“Astrid does don a lethal pair of legs,” Mia chimes in.
“I actually custom made her eighteenth birthday gown, and they are impeccable.” Victoria nods, proudly.
“Why are we talking about her fucking legs?” I whisper to myself.
Another kick under the table.
I look up, Phoebe is sitting directly opposite me.
She’s got pretty nice legs, too.
“How’s school, Evangline?” Joanne asks.
I take a deep breath, sip my water and take another bite from my beef wellington.
“Fine,” she mumbles.
“School has never been Evangline’s thing, has it, darling?” Mum adds with a smile so fake I can almost—almost—see the plastic melting off her face.
She hates that Evangline hates school. Hates that she had to be held behind. Hates that she knows she won’t do good in her final A-levels. Hates that she won’t go to Uni. Hates that her baby won't be the perfect child she so badly wants.
Ridiculous, really. Five, sometimes six days a week since she was about three years old, she’s trained ballet nine hours. Danced in The Royal Opera House, opened shows in Paris and Moscow. Won all but two of her competitions. Sure, that’s unusual for a royal but then again, if you’re that good at something why waste it? Especially in this day and age. If this was twenty years ago, everyone would look down at her.
I wish I knew more about my sister. Wished I went to more shows and gave her something to look out for in the crowd other than Delphine but I didn’t. I don’t know what other things she’s accomplished or who she trains with or who she’s met or what opportunities she’s had to turn down because of her title. I don’t even know how many trophies she’s won (do ballerinas even win trophies?).
Phoebe frowns when no one else says anything.
“Evangeline, aren’t you opening The Nutcracker this year?”
“What?—oh yeah, I am, yes.”
“See!” Phoebe smiles, raising her glass to everyone. “That’s amazing!”
Mum raises her glass and then looks at her. “You didn’t tell me you got the part, darling?”
“Yes, I did,” my sister mutters quietly beside me.
Ev and I still aren’t on very good speaking terms. That food thing is still playing on my mind, though. Looking at her plate, she’s only eaten a few potatoes and maybe two carrots. The rest of it’s just been cut up to mush to make it look like it’s been eaten, I think? Or has she eaten more? I don’t know? I guess no one was really paying attention.
Lunch drags on, no one—thankfully—asks me how recovery is going or anything adjacent. Johnathan talks about his new restaurant opening in San Francisco. Mia, Sebastian and Joanne all kind of just sit there nodding and smiling at all the right points because it’s all still really sticky between them three. I think Joanne only came with hopes of Mia not turning up and vica versa.
After we all help clean up, Mia and Joanne both grab their coats and then pause and stare at one another.
“Who do you think will go?” Phoebe says into my ear, coming up behind me.
“I don’t know—they’re both kind of family?”
