Page 192 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“Are you sure?” I tilt my head.
“Positive. I’ll be right as rain later.” He gives me a kiss on the lips, his hand clutching mine. “Go back, have a glass of champagne.”
Scrunch my nose up. “I’m off that, remember?”
He frowns. “Maybe get back on it, then. It’s freaking me out.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll have a gin and tonic,” I lie because I won’t. I’m not drinking now. Maybe it’s because of Halloween or maybe it’s because of the morning of my birthday. I’m not sure I can tell yet.
“Perfect,” he smiles, leans in for another kiss. “Come back to Connie’s. I’ll be there.”
I nod and watch him walk off. My hand instinctively goes to my stomach and not why you think it does because that can’t happen to me, remember? But I think it does because I want that to happen to me. It was the conversation with his parents and seeing Margot and everywhere I look, it seems. You don’t think babies and pregnancy are everywhere until it’s the only thing you’re actively trying to seek out. I don’t know why I do it to myself. It’s a possibility that isn’t even within reach. It can’t happen. It won’t happen. It hasn’t happened.
I stare at myself through the mirror mounted on the wall opposite me, outside of the hall. My dress fits me. It’s a size ten which is weird. I’ve never bought any of my clothes in a size ten. I think I put on some weight when I was with Digby. That’s the only reason. Still makes me uncomfortable because I'm a girl and girls typically do get funny when they go up a clothes size. Fuck society and our own brains.
After five or so minutes, I make my way back inside the hall, where the speeches have finished. Everyone is now conversing, swanning through the tables, making nice with everyone they hate.
Spencer comes over to me. “Where did Arthur disappear off to?”
I wave my hand through the air. “Headache, he went home.”
She hooks her arm through mine. “Don’t you think it’s weird that Connie didn’t bring Primrose?”
“Maybe,” I shrug. “Did they break up?”
“I doubt it. They’ve been on and off since they were about fourteen.”
I nod mindlessly, my eyes focused on two blonde heads bickering by a table near the windows. I nudge my best friend. “You don’t happen to know what Carter is up to, do you?”
“No,” she frowns. “Why would I?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “You spend a lot of time thinking about the Hollands.”
She rips her arm away from me, stops in front of me. “That’s not true.”
“Really?”
“I have so many more important thoughts.”
“Like what?”
“Maths—solving Eisenstein’s equations—”
“Stop talking.”
And it’s actually in that moment that—coincidentally—Carter comes walking over to us. He’s such a mini Connie. Their features are literally identical. Platinum blonde hair, striking blue eyes that actually just seem to slice right through you, perfectly rounded pink lips that seem to always be curved into a grin. They’re one of the same. You can’t even tell which one is older.
Carter flicks his eyebrows up at Spencer, gives her a little nudge, a wink. She shoves him away before walking off.
“Does that happen a lot?”
He gives me a look. “Does it fuck? Where’s your boyfriend? I like him.”
“Do you? Or do you just fancy his sister?”
He scoffs. “Both, mate. Evangeline is the girl of my dreams.”
I raise my eyebrows. “That’s a loaded statement.”
