Page 144 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“Alright!” He takes a step back, hands up. “What was that for, then?”
I walk over to him, try and find something that will give it away. Eyes look normal. Nose is fine. Arms are clean apart from the track marks that are already there. My heart is racing. Why can’t I see anything?
Stare up at him. “Have you relapsed?”
He places both hands on my shoulders, bends down, gets in my face. “No. Stop acting like a nut job.” And then he presses a small, light kiss on the tip of my nose.
If I was a cartoon character there would be steam coming out of my ears.
Part of me knew he didn’t. But then why else could everyone be balancing on the edge of this cliff? I can’t think of anything worse than Arthur relapsing. I’d rather him tell me that he’s killed someone then him relapsing.
“Why you being weird for?” I ask him.
“I’m not being weird! I just fucking woke up!”
He takes a step back, tilts his head. “Are you going fucking loopy or something, Phoebs? What is going on?”
“Don’t turn this around on me!” I point at him. “That’s psychological mind fucking, Arthur!”
He turns around, thinks I don’t see him yawn.
“Can I go back to bed?”
“It’s wet,” I say, looking at the soaking bedsheets. Feel a bit bad for it now.
“Normally is when I wake up with you in here,” he says sheepishly.
“Pig.”
He smiles.
I roll my eyes and storm out of his room, just in time to bump into Digby.
“Morning,” he says gruffly. He looks so good in the morning. Don’t all men, though? Face all puffy, hair all messed, lips bigger than usual. I love Arthur but I love waking up next to him a little bit more.
“Hi,” I smile up at him.
“What was all the fuss?” He nods at Arthur’s door.
“Oh,” I look over my shoulder, can see him aggressively ripping his bedsheets off. “Just thought I’d wake him up early—it’s such a lovely day out, hate for him to miss it.”
He nods, kisses me.
Digby and I rent a little boat and spend the day together. Probably one of my favourite days that we’ve spent together as of late. There’s been so much arguing and shouting and throwing things. He tells me he loves me at least a hundred times, kisses me twice as much, jumps off a big rock with me because I was too scared to do it alone. Reminds me to drink water when I start complaining of a headache, takes me to a small restaurant for lunch that hangs just over the cliffs. Smiles and laughs and looks so much like the Digby I met.
Later that afternoon, we’re lounging by the pool, Spencer, Connie and I.
“Do you think he’ll propose?” Spence asks.
“No.”
“I think he will,” Connie adds in.
Spencer lifts her head up from her book, frowns at me. “Would you say yes?”
I look at her bizarrely. “He’s not going to ask so why would I need to think about it?”
“Yeah, but what if he did?”
