Page 50 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“Happened once, but alright.”
I cut him a sideways glance. “Weird that it happened at all, though, really.”
He walks off in a strop. Didn’t know it was still such a sore spot for him. Thought Albie had the thickest skin out of all of us. There’s rumours of him fucking past school friends mothers, for crying out loud. I'm shocked he didn't have a crack on Sophia.
A little later on in the evening, I find myself decompressing in one of the reception rooms at the back of the house. You know when you have at least five conversations with people and didn’t fuck up once so now you’re exhausted? It’s almost like, if I did fuck up in any of those conversations I wouldn’t be so tired now because keeping up a persona in front of people you barely know is so much hard work. It’s not a simple two way conversation with a flowing topic. It’s constantly telling yourself not to swear too much or leave too long a pause in between questions. It’s mentally reciting what to say next when someone says something. It’s making sure your glass is filled so you can take long sips to plan out your next facial expression. It’s an entire performance.
I expect Digby to maybe come looking for me.
But not Arthur.
He pops his head around the door, his shoulders sagging lightly when he spots me sitting on the sofa.
“Just wanted to say bye, I’m heading off.”
My heart drops.
I want to go with him.
I sit up, lock my eyes on the fireplace that’s just a little bit to the left of where he’s standing.
“You kissed me the other night.”
There’s a small silence. I move my eyes over to him. With Arthur, I’ve never cared if my eyes are awkwardly staring at him for too long. He swallows, glances down, licks his lip, runs a hand through his hair.
“I’m sorry?”
I smile. “No, you’re not.”
His lips pull up, he subconsciously moves further into the room. “You’re right, I’m not.”
“I’m just saying…” I wave my hand about, averting his gaze. “That, hypothetically, if you kissed me again I wouldn’t be sorry, either.”
“Yeah?”
He looks shocked.
Arthur walks into the room, leans against the fireplace. Head tilted, eyes studying me. “Was that an invite?”
I study him, too. The way he fills out his suit with a healthy weight. His skin, plump and glowy. Eyes brighter and clearer than ever. It kills me. It kills me because I can’t have him now. I can’t have the Arthur I prayed for for so long. It wouldn’t be fair on him. It would fucking destroy him and he doesn’t deserve that now. Sober Arthur is standing a mere few inches away from me and I can’t have him.
“No,” I mutter finally, looking down. “That wasn’t an invite.”
“Sounded a bit like one.”
“I have a boyfriend,” I say rather quietly.
“Yeah and from what I’ve heard he’s a total prat.”
Lift my head up. “Fine but I—”
“You love him?” He cocks an eyebrow, trying his hardest not to smile.
Squint my eyes, pull a face I don’t mean to pull. “I’m fond of him.”
“You’re fond of him?” He laughs.
“Rather so.”
