Page 189 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
He gives her a once over with his eyes while Mum sits there, fiddling with her hands in her lap. “Good because you’re not married.”
“We know how it works,” I tell him, frowning.
It’s a relatively new law, put in place in our family after Theo. Something Nan and Grandad decided on after theyblamed his death on Mia having a child before they were married. It doesn’t make much sense but not much does when you’re grieving. If Phoebe was pregnant right now, we’d have to get married within the next few weeks before anyone found out. And if we didn’t, we’d both be cut off and I’d be forced to leave the family.
“We won’t have to worry about that,” Phoebe says quietly.
“Oh, no, why?” Mum frowns, facing her. “Are you having trouble in the bedroom?”
“Mum!”
Phoebe laughs. Not awkwardly. Just laughs. “No, Sophia, it isn’t that but babies just aren’t on the cards for us at the minute.”
Dad’s eyes ping-pong between them. “But they will be, right?”
I run a hand down my face. Everytime I come here, I fucking regret it. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’ll need an heir,” he tells me plainly.
I shift in my seat, further away from him. “And what if she doesn’t want children?”
“Why would she not want children?” Mum asks, smile on her face. “Having a child is the most magical thing that can happen to a woman.”
“Because it’s the fucking twenty first century and if she doesn’t want a child I won’t put one inside of her—and if I do accidentally then I’ll take her to the clinic myself if that’s what she wants!”
Dad scoffs. “No you will not.”
“If she wants an abortion, you won’t let her get one?”
He gives me a stiff shake of his head. “No.”
“Well, good job that it isn’t your decision to make, then, isn’t it?”
“Arthur!” Mum cuts me up. “Stop it, will you?”
“It’s not me!” I point at my dad. “It’s him—stuck in his ancient ways!”
Phoebe’s awkward laugh cuts through the air. “Can we stop discussing my uterus, please?” We all turn to look at her. “I’m not pregnant nor will I be needing an abortion anytime soon. Excuse me,” she stands up, runs her hand down her dress and then walks away.
It wasn’t lost on me—the fact she can’t have children—but I just don’t know what will happen if I tell my parents that. Mum would be more understanding since she’s a woman but Dad? He wouldn’t. He’d probably forbid me from marrying her. It’s an old school way of thinking. There’s no point in trying to educate him now. It’s not like Mum can have any more kids.
Mum clears her throat. “You will propose, though, won’t you?”
“Yes! When she’s ready!”
“Alright,” she holds her hands up. “Take a deep breath, darling, calm down. We’re just talking hypotheticals.”
“He’s not,” I nod over at the man next to me. “He’s talking bullshit.”
“Arthur,” she mutters, shaking her head.
When a few more minutes pass and Phoebe doesn’t come back, I go and look for her. She isn’t in the downstairs toilet because no one in their right mind uses that toilet. I do, however, find her sitting on my bed. I go in without thinking, only realising that I’m in there when I’m sitting on the bed next to her. The walls are bare, the furniture is collecting dust and the only thing that’s still left are the sheets on my bed.
She doesn’t even look at me—might not even know I’m right here—before she starts breaking down into quiet sobs.
“Sorry.” She turns her face to look at me, her chin wobbling, her cheeks red, her eyes glazed. “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you need.”
I frown for a second, take her face between my hands. “You’re not running away this time, Phoebe. I fucking mean it. We’re staying. We’re not going anywhere.”
