Page 106 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
Yeah, fine, whatever, it’s childish but he deserves it.
Arthur’s around here somewhere with the rest of the Grosvenor’s. All of them. Sebastian. They’re all here.
All over in the Royal Box while I sit outside in our lodge, with a glass of champagne, looking out over at the racecourse.
It’s so great that this is Arthur’s thing—his family’s thing. Makes me feel special in a way that no one else attending will understand. It’s a staple event. No one misses it. I’ve been coming every year since I can remember with my family and Arthur’s. We’d all sit in the Royal Box, photographed together.
This year it’s different, though. My parents couldn’t make it. Dad is in Indonesia and my mum is balls deep in silk and satins in New York with Cynthia to prepare for a show.
It’s not all bad, though. I’m here with everyone else; twins, Athena, Connie, Lottie, Charlie.
“I’m sweating my bollocks off,” George comes out with a whiskey. “Should be fucking illegal.” Shakes his head, turns to look at me. “Bet on Lucky Star?”
I nod proudly. It’s George’s Thoroughbred that he sent to my trainer who I’m good friends with.
Digby shifts in his seat, clears his throat.
George smiles, pulls a face, looks at him then back to me. “Sorry, mate, didn’t realise I was interrupting.”
I want to beg him to stay out here with us but I don’t and he walks off. No one knows what went down in Paris, only Arthur, Digby and I—not even Connie who set the whole thing up. I’ve been telling every I burnt my hand while doing my hair which is a thankfully very conceivable story since that wouldn’t be my first time.
We haven’t really talked about it, Digby and I. I haven’t told him that I did sleep with Arthur, I don’t plan to, either. But I think he knows I’m lying—maybe that’s why he hasn’t looked twice at me all week?
I know he’s pissed about me being alone with Arthur in a hotel room but weirdly enough, I don’t feel guilty for cheating on him. It felt so right and he didn’t even filter through to my mind once. Not even during those brief few seconds when you pull away to catch your breath or change positions. The whole time my mind was focused on one spot—Arthur.
Do you know how peaceful that was for me? To finally be able to concentrate on just one thing? It was heavenly. My mind is usually so loud—screaming and shouting at me.
“You know,” I turn to face Digby. “You don’t have to be so rude to my friends.”
He pulls back, offended. “When was I rude?”
“Just then! To George.”
Shakes his head. “That wasn’t rude.”
“Whatever,” I mutter under my breath, down the rest of my champagne.
I get up and go inside with everyone else.
“What’s up with him?” George nods his head behind me.
“Nothing.”
I brush it off because he doesn’t know about Paris and if I did tell him, I think today would be the last day anyone would see Digby.
“Sure?” George bends down, searches my face.
I smile, pat his chest. “I’m sure.”
Connie comes over then. “We talking about Dickface out there?”
I roll my eyes.
Connie nods his head at me, signals for me to go with him so I do. We go to the other side of the room where I refill my glass with more Moët.
“’Ere, what happened in Paris?” He asks, in my ear.
Look up at him. “It was fine,” I shrug.
