Page 99 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“What can’t you tell me, Phoebs?” I ask after a few minutes, my voice thick, coated in some kind of urgency.
“What do you mean?”
Her eyebrows furrow, her eyes glazed over with her own kind of urgency—begging me not to go there.
“This thing,” I lean back, spread my legs, clasp my hands together. “Whatever it is, it’s stopping you from what you want to do.” I lock eyes with her from across the room. “You said itwasn’t your fault and I know it’s not—whatever it is, I know it’s not your fault.”
She sniffs, she tenses her shoulders, her cheeks blush. She’s about to cry. “I can’t—” she swallows. “I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
The first tear falls and fear grips me.
“Because you won’t want to be with me and that’s the only thing I want,” she rushes out, stands up, starts pacing. “You think I don’t love you anymore, but I do, Arthur. The second I saw you on that rooftop, I knew my feelings hadn’t changed. But this thing—this fucking thing—is going to change that.”
She’s hyperventilating, wringing her hands, gasping.
Her blotchy, tear streaked face turns to me. “I don’t love Digby,” she shakes her head. “I don’t. You know I don’t—everyone knows I don’t. I can’t—” she breaks off, shaking her head over and over.
I stand up, go to her, wrap my arms around her with the right amount of pressure. “It’s okay,” I mutter into her hair. “It’s fine, Phoebe. It’s going to be okay. The shit we went through in school? Nothing can get worse than that, I promise you. Nothing you say or do is going to make me not love you. Not loving you is impossible. There isn’t a me that exists in any form, universe—whatever—that doesn’t love you.”
She stops trembling, looks up at me with her big round brown eyes. Like a scared fawn. And all I want to do is nurse her back to health.
“Do you mean that?” She asks in a small voice. “Like, really?”
Shrug my lips. “Done with lying. As long as I’m alive, I’ll never lie to you again.”
Sniffs, takes a deep breath, hooks her arms around my neck. “I’ll tell you.” She nods, certain. “I will.”
I look down at her. “I love you.”
A small smile ghosts her lips. “I know you do—I do, too.”
I grin a little bit. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
She gives a small nod, tucks her bottom lip under her top one, her eyelids flutter and fuck—I can’t explain how or why what happens next happens.
Maybe it’s the look she gives me, maybe it’s the fact that her boyfriend’s in London wondering where she is, maybe it’s the fact he kissed her right in front of me or maybe it’s the fact that out of eight billion people, I found her.
Even if she doesn’t come back to me, I’ll die the happiest man knowing I got to spend what would be labelled the worst years of my life with her. But they weren’t, not really. She was the reason I got out of bed in the morning. I feel sorry for the people who will never experience her laugh being the alarm clock they wake up to.
The kiss is rushed, messy, fucked up but fuck me is it perfect. I pick her up, she wraps her legs around my waist, nails digging into my scalp. It’s the most messed up pain I’ve ever experienced.
I walk over to the chaise, lay her down, her bag falls to the floor but she doesn’t bat an eyelid. Her busy hands pull my shirt out of my jeans. I pull the straps of her dress down and when it pools at her waist I take a step back, admire what I fucked up all those years ago. Sort of scold myself because who in their right mind would fuck that up?
Her throat bobs as she swallows, her chest heaving as she props herself up on her elbows.
“It’s been awhile,” I tell her with a grin.
“I’m aware.”
And then she grabs my belt, pulls me down to her and reminds me just how fucked up we both are.
It’s inexplicable, I know. Not many words or metaphors can pretty up what we’re doing. She’s cheating on her boyfriendand I have no plans to tell her to stop. We’re in too deep—have been since we were kids.
Phoebe’s the only habit I’ve never had an interest in breaking.
I reach under her dress, her lips brushing mine, one hand gripping my neck.
