Page 119 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
Maybe it isn’t Astrid who doesn’t deserve him sober, maybe it’s me. Maybe she does and I don’t. Maybe I was just good enough for him while he was high.
Either way, I had him once and I’m determined to get him back because I know it’s right. I know it’s what I’m meant to do.
Chapter Thirty-One
Prince Arthur
“Are you sad she left?” Astrid turns to me. “I don’t mind if you want to leave.”
“No,” I shake my head, force my eyes away from the dock where Phoebe just walked. “I’m good here, with you.”
Astrid smiles, rests her chin in her hands. “So, what’s going on with you two?”
“Ah,” I scratch the back of my neck. “Slept with her.”
“What?” Astrid slaps my arm. “You did? That’s huge, Arthur.”
I fight back a yawn. Don’t know why I stayed. To prove a point?
What fucking point? Phoebe knows this thing between Astrid and I is just some poorly put together PR stunt.
“It’s nothing, really,” I tell her, which might actually be the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
“Shut up,” she rolls her eyes. “I can tell that means everything to you. Did she break up with her boyfriend?”
“Nope,” I sigh. “It felt right but it’s not. It’s all a bit pear shaped.”
She shrugs. “Oh, well—what isn’t these days?” And then she stands up, nods her head at me. “Come on, I’m getting cold.”
I follow her into the main sitting area. She sits on the couch, curls her legs under herself and grabs a blanket from down the side of the sofa. I stand there until she smiles, pats the space next to her.
It’s not real between us, you know that, right?
Astrid’s parents caught wind of a small rumor that she was seeing her professor, told my parents, and then they pushed us back together. I understand it from her family’s perspective but from mine? I thought they loved Phoebe—I mean, they still do—so how could they do this to me knowing how much it would hurt her?
Sure, another cheating scandal is the last thing my family needs but still, I don’t understand it. The obsession our family’s have with putting us together even though the whole world can see how fucking fake it is. Me and Astrid? No. Me and Phoebe? Yeah, since we were kids.
The entire world has been following our relationship.
I don’t know what they’re saying about her or me or Astrid—or any of us, really. I try not to look.
We sit on the sofa in a comfortable silence. The kind where we’re both thinking of the other people we love but instead of being with them, we’re forced to be here.
“What’s going to happen with us?” She asks, resting her head on my shoulder.
“I don’t know.”
I sigh, find myself putting my arm over her body to pull her in closer. We haven’t slept together or kissed or done anything like that. We just go on dates where we talk about anything but us.
She’s not a foxhole, or a distraction. We’re not fake dating. We’re simply just pawns in our family’s game.
I don’t know when or how or if this will end.
“Do you think Phoebe will forgive you?”
“I hope so.”
“Do you miss her?”
