Page 70 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
I laugh. “I think people just say it’s their birthday to get the free brownie.”
“Fancy that,” Athena snorts. “You spend like, twenty-five-hundred on a dinner just to skimp out on a fifteen pound dessert.”
“I know,” Zara turns her nose up. “On an adjacent note, I’m not being fucking funny but what even is beans on toast? Have you ever eaten that?”
I smile. “Arthur used to eat that all the time.”
“That’s disgusting. A guy tried feeding it to me once but I thought he meant to give it to his dog so I scrapped the food into the dog bowl.”
“That’s because you’re American and new money,” I tell her.
Athena snorts. “George still calls you a yank.”
Zara rolls her eyes, smiles.
I like Zara as my friend. Not as much as I liked Bliss being my friend but then again, I think I just have an attachment to the people I grew up with. Even though I was never actually close with Athena—and some could argue that I even hated her—I still feel more comfortable around her? I don’t know why. I don’t like change much.
After lunch, we stop by Harrods. I pick up a few pieces for summer, grab those Aquazzura heels that I haven’t stopped thinking about and then we part ways and I go back home—not home but the place I live with Digby.
I open the front door and to say I’m knocked for six would be an understatement because Arthur’s standing in the kitchen, mug in hand, having a rather comfortable chinwag with Digby.
Neither of them face me when I shut the door and drop my bags dramatically on the floor.
“Sorry, have I come at a bad time?” I say, walk over to them, tilt my face in front of Digby, eyebrows up.
He blinks, puts his mug down on the counter behind him and kisses my head. “Sorry,” he laughs. “When I got back, Arthur was waiting in the lobby so I invited him up for a cuppa.”
“I can see that.”
Digby pulls me into his chest, arms wrapped around my shoulders, my eyes locked on Arthur because he’s the only thing I can see—but it’d be like that even if I wasn’t standing in front of him, wouldn’t it?
“How are you?” I ask Arthur a bit nervously.
He grins. “All the better for seeing you.”
Digby shifts behind me and now I’m glad he can’t see my face because a hot blush spreads up my neck and cheeks.
I hated what I was doing to Arthur. Really, I was. The last time I saw him was about a week ago at that Claridge's lunch when I lied and told him I was going to marry Digby—I mean, not even I could believe he brought that. In what fucking world would I marry him? But I had to say it—had to throw him an unmovable curveball—otherwise, we’d be spending more of those Oxford nights together and I couldn’t do that to him. That, and, Digby got so funny about that. He tried so hard to ignore me when I got back but then I kissed him and touched him and made him all better because apparently sex is a soft spot for all men.
It was weird, sleeping with him knowing I still had Arthur’s scent on me but Digby didn’t seem to notice or care. All he wanted was to be inside of me so that Arthur wasn’t. He believed me when I said I didn’t fuck Arthur which was shocking but I have also been told that I can be such a crap liar. Apparently the tip of my nose turns pink or something.
Also, I think I’d tell Digby if I did. He hasn’t done anything to me. You can’t punish someone for loving you. That’s cruel.
Arthur sips his tea loudly and I wonder if there’s sugar and honey in it.
“Do you want a biscuit with that?” I nod at him.
Shakes his head. “I’m alright, just stopping by. Was in the area.”
I squint.
“Thought you were over in Mayfair now, with Connie?” Digby says before I can.
Arthur drops his head for a second, sniffs a short laugh. “Was out, having a gander and ended up here.”
“Convenient,” Digby mutters, lips pressed against the back of my head.
“Very much so!” I smile.
