Page 190 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“But—” she sniffs, shakes her head. “This isn’t going to work. You need a baby—you deserve that, Arthur, and I will never be able to give it to you.”
“There’s no ‘buts’ this time. I’m determined to stay. I don’t care how hard it’s going to be, Phoebe, don’t you get that? I don’t care. I don’t care that you can’t have children. Having a child isn’t your whole worth—we learned that in school—you can be more than a mother. I saw it today, in the store, looking at what you created. That’s all you. If you want children then there are other ways. We can try all the avenues if that’s what you want. It’s going to be hard but I’m going to work through it every fucking day because I want you. I love you. Before, then, now, all the time.”
She cries harder, folds herself into me. I rest my chin on her head. “When have things ever been easy between us? Easy isn’t us. Hard and impossible, that’s what we are. But,” I pull away from her, look her in the eye. Makes me sick what I’m about to say. “If you wanna leave—if you think you can’t do this, then you can leave, Phoebs. I’ve waited for you before, I can do it again.”
“No,” she sobs, grabs onto my shirt. “Not again.”
“Alright,” I lick my lips, nod. “Then we make it work, don’t we? That’s what we do. It’s going to be the hardest thing we’ve ever done, but we’ll do it because we’ve managed every other hard thing so far.”
“Yeah,” she swallows, nods, pulls me down to her. “I love you so much,” she cries, her tears catching in the corner of her mouth. “I want nothing more than to make this work.”
“It will,” I assure. “The proof is right there. We can do it again.”
She nods against me, rests her head on mine.
And then the weirdest fucking thing happens. She kisses me, I kiss her back because kissing her adds years onto my life and then we have sex in my childhood bedroom. When I reach into my bedside drawer, she shakes her head, tells me to not worry and it fucking splits my heart in two. I’m more than aware of the fact my parents are downstairs but it’s not the kind of sex you’re thinking of. It’s meaningful, slow. Every stroke, kiss, touch, tear that touches my cheek is confirmation. Confirmation that this will work. Maybe I didn’t need the confirmation but she did, so I give it to her.
I’ve known since I was five that there was no one else for me. Not a single fucking person on this planet is my person—but she is. She snatched up that place before anyone else could even get a look in. She sits inside of me, curled around my heart, manually making it beat because without her, I don’t think it would. She saved me at thirteen when my brother died, again at eighteen when I hit rock bottom and now at twenty-two when things are spiraling so fast out of my control that not even I can grab ahold of them. Throughout my whole life, she’s been the only constant, the only thing I’ve been able to keep.
I can’t afford to lose her.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Lady Phoebe
Can you believe that Kate and Matthew are still together? No, neither can I but here we are—in The Ritz Restaurant for the annual Christmas charity event.
Sometimes it’s an auction, sometimes just dinner with a few boring speeches and sometimes it’s on Boxing Day. They really are so unorganised. I can see why Spencer tries to spend as much time as possible away from them.
Arthur and I came together which is nice. I look nice tonight, as well. I haven’t felt this nice in a while. Maybe it’s Arthur. Maybe it’s the new wardrobe I treated myself to after that dreadful visit to his parents last week. Who’s to say, really?
“What are you getting me for Christmas?” Athena asks, eyes twinkling, George on her arm.
“A subscription to Durex.”
Her face falls. “That’s lame! Boo!” She blows a raspberry at me. “What about a bag?” She blinks. “Maybe that Chanel I spotted the other day…”
“You think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you?” George chimes in.
I ignore him because I am. I’m the funniest fucking person ever, actually.
“What are you getting me for Christmas?” I ask instead, raising my brows at her.
“A block of therapy sessions!”
Arthur snorts next to me.
I roll my eyes. “They’re not driving lessons, Athena.”
“Well,” she throws her hand up. “Whatever you want then—but it’s tricky because you already have everything.”
“No, I don’t.”
She blinks a few times, tilts her head. “You have a prince.”
George scoffs. “What? And I’m not good enough?”
Athena turns to him, pats his chest. “You’re perfect, obviously but you’re just not a prince.”
