Page 185 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“And I’m sorry again for all the shit, I was a right dick to you.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “You were but I wasn’t any better.”
And maybe I wish I did love him. Maybe if I did love him, things would be simpler. If Arthur was never in the picture, my life would be so easy. Every morning would start the same and every night would end the same. We’d probably live abroad—he always spoke about it—but I love England so I wouldn’t be happy. He’d want kids, too. He never said it but he’s the type of person to want kids. He’d want a mix of girls and boys and name them something outlandish and ridiculous. I probably wouldn’t get a say in the names. We’d see our families every few months and I’d end up red from being in the sun too long.
Since when have any of those things been me, though? I can’t have kids, I love being with my family and I hate being sweaty from the sun. My entire life with Digby would be a constant state of overstimulation and discomfort which sounds so much worse than what Arthur can give me.
Arthur can give me all the trauma and all the pain in the world and yet it’d still feel more like love. Our love is a piece of string that stretches around all seven planets and all infinite numbers of universes. We don’t know how many universes thereare exactly so I guess the string will continue to stretch and stretch until we find a number. And although this string is frayed and tattered and ripping at certain points, I don’t think we’re going to be finding an exact number of universes anytime soon.
And it’s in that moment that I lift my head to see Arthur staring straight at us—at Digby and I wrapped around one another. Before I can pull away, he shakes his head and beelines it out of the restaurant.
“I have to go,” I tell Digby, ripping away from his hold.
I run through the restaurant, my heart hammering and potentially jumping straight out of my chest when I can’t find Arthur outside. The paparazzi try to stop me but I ignore them, legging it down Shad Thames until I spot the back of Arthur’s head at the bottom of Tower Bridge.
“Arthur!” I shout, my legs shaking with how fast I’m running.
My chest burns, aching with every staggered inhale but I’m not giving up. Not this time. Not now. Not even Manolo’s.
I catch all the way up with him when he slows down, walking down Tower Bridge.
“Arthur!”
He turns around as I slow to a stop, the wind hitting my face.
“What?” He shakes his head, standing a few feet away from me.
I sniff, my nose running. “It’s over,” I heave out.
He walks forward a couple steps. “What?”
I swallow even though my throat strings. “With Digby. It’s over.”
He continues walking forward, a slow smile pulling at his lips. With every step he takes over to me, my heart beats just a little bit faster. I don’t care about the paparazzi or the cars. Only him.
“It’s over,” I nod for his confirmation. “It’s done. We broke up.”
“Yeah?” He frowns, grinning. “Really?”
He’s just an inch or so out of my reach but not for long. I run over to him, straight into his chest. I sink into him, like I sunk into my bed with him so many years ago.
Arthur picks me up, presses his lips to mine. “It’s over, yeah?” He breathes heavily.
I nod. I feel something wet on my face. I think I’m crying.
This is it. For me. For him. For us. Chasing after him down Tower Bridge on a freezing November night. I feel like I’ve been running for so long, so many years—even before he went away—and only now I feel like I’ve stopped to rest my legs.
I don’t know what else to say to you apart from this is it. He’s sober and now I get the ending I always wanted. I waited for him, he waited for me. What else do we need to wait for?
So many tears and goodbyes and watching from a distance that it sort of feels a bit like I’ve made it now, to the finish line. I don’t need to run anymore. I can rest here, with him.
“I love you,” he says against my lips, his smile matching my own.
“I love you more.”
You know when something feels like the end? Feels like forever but in a good way? Not in a death sentence kind of way? For two years, five months and twenty-two days I’ve waited for this very moment. I can finally throw the letter I’ve been clutching onto away and go back to sleep.
Chapter Forty-Six
