Chapter Thirty-Six #2
“Yeah,” she nods, looking away. “He thought I was embarrassed of him so he turned it around.” She shakes her head in quick succession. “But I was never embarrassed about him, Phoebs. I think I loved him at some point but there was always Primrose.”
“When did it start?”
“It never ‘started’ I was just someone he went to when he felt like nobody else wanted him. Living together intensified it, though.”
I frown. “If it never started how will it end?”
She gives it a think.
“When he realises that there are people who love him. Why do you think it’s never lasted with Primrose?
He thinks he can read minds, thinks he knows exactly what people think about him—but they’re just projections of his own insecurities.
It’s true when they say that no one can love you if you don’t love yourself. ”
“Do you still love him?”
She lifts one shoulder. “I can’t really, can I?”
“You can love whoever you want.”
Isn’t that crazy? Falling in love isn’t illegal despite how cruel and chaotic and dangerous it can be.
There are no rules to love. It’s a free for all.
Probably why so many people end up going mad.
I think being in love is one of the most insane human experiences.
It isn’t even that comprehensible—you can’t explain it or talk about it—you just feel it as it hits you in big waves.
It’s been scientifically proven that being in love changes your brain chemistry—gives you the same pleasure as taking cocaine or drinking alcohol. And how many people do you know that are addicted to those illegal substances?
Probably why so many naive people ask why you do drugs when you could be in love. But I don’t think those people have ever been in love. With drugs, you can stop, you can go to rehab—get better. What is there for a broken heart?
“I don’t know,” Spencer says quietly. “I think part of me will always love him.”
“We kind of guessed something was wrong when Bliss and I snooped through your room and found condoms and Agent Provocateur.”
Her head snaps up, she frowns, pulls back. “You did what?!”
I nod, a bit sheepishly. Sort of wish Bliss was here.
“Well,” she says then, all airily. “Since we’re sharing secrets, Connie was the one I lost my virginity to.”
My mouth drops open. “You slut! You said it was some rando from Eaton!”
“I know,” she winces. “But I was ashamed. I mean, how many girls can say they lost their virginity to Connie? I didn’t want to become another statistic."
“Apparently it’s one in five.”
She hits me.
“No, seriously, though,” I say. “I don’t think half of what he says is true. He gives it all the big one but really, he probably hasn’t even slept with that many girls. He paid a prostitute in Prague to cuddle once, so…”
“That’s ridiculous!” She howls. “Who—”
“Phoebe?”
Digby’s standing in the doorframe and I almost forgot he was here for a moment.
I don’t know—being with Spencer and Connie and talking about things that happened in school makes me all twisted up inside.
Reminds me of when Digby wasn’t even in my train of thought.
Staring at him now, makes me think it’s all wrong.
It was never meant to go like this.
Arthur was going to go away, come back and then we’d be together again.
Anyway, I smile up at him.
“You in the mood to get dressed up for dinner?” He asks, cheeks red, almost flushed.
“Always.”
Spencer gives me a sly nudge.
Digby nods, smiles, walks into the room, gives me a kiss on the head. “Great. Be ready for eight.”
“He’s proposing,” Spencer whispers the second he leaves.
I stare at her, slowly shaking my head.
Spencer sits up on her knees, pins me with a look. “You said you ransacked my room in school?”
“Yes?”
“So…”
I blink. “So what?”
She rolls her eyes, drags me off her bed. “Let’s find the ring.”
“What?”
She turns around to face me, outside of my bedroom door. Both hands on my shoulders. “He’s proposing, Phoebe.”
We go into my bedroom, start opening drawers and cabinets. I unfold each and every one of his socks but come up empty.
“Where would someone even hide a ring?” I ask Spence who’s rummaging through the bedside tables.
“Look in the wardrobe. In a bag or suitcase.”
I start looking in all the places where Arthur used to hide drugs.
I know that’s sick but he put them in the most unlikely places and I knew all of them.
He never told me but I knew him. The night he got into that terrible car crash?
I broke down, told his parents all of his hiding places.
It’s why he hated me for weeks after he was out of the hospital.
He blamed me for the drug tests and the sudden distrust. His parents never knew up until that point how bad it had gotten. I was the one to tell them.
I’ve only ever seen Sophia cry twice. At a memorial for Theo a week after he died and that night in the hospital.
I grab Digby’s suitcase down from one of the top shelves in the wardrobe. It’s empty but I unzip the other side and there it is.
My heart stops for a second—I’m sure of it.
A royal blue Harry Winston box.
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
Spencer comes running in. “Did you find it?”
I can’t even see straight with how hard I’m shaking but I open the box and sure enough it’s the Bridal Couture Emerald Cut Engagement Ring I showed him mindlessly one night, almost a year ago.
I didn’t mean it. I was just browsing, looking for a replacement for the Tiffany ring I lost. At that time, I was still trying to both erase and turn Digby into Arthur.
“Shit, it’s beautiful,” Spencer mutters.
I close the box, put it back where I found it and find a dress to wear.
“Phoebs?” Spencer follows me about as I put together an outfit. “What are you going to do?”
With every zip I close and every brush of my hair and every swipe of powder I cake my face in, it feels a bit like singing my death warrant.
It’s a familiar feeling. That night before Arthur left, I felt the same—although, that was more pleasant, if you can believe it.
I knew what I was signing with him. With Digby, I don’t.
He’ll want children. I can’t have children.
He’ll want to move abroad. I want to stay in England.
He’ll want to come to all my dinners. I’ll want him to stay home.
He’ll want me to have dinners with his family.
I’ve only met his mother once—I don’t know her like I know Sophia.
I’m ready just before eight and go into Arthur’s room to chainsmoke three cigarettes on his balcony. I can see the table being set up on the patio by the pool by the housekeepers. They light a couple candles and place the cutlery meticulously.
I go downstairs, Arthur comes out of the kitchen, looks so unaware.
“Where have you been all day?”
He shoves a grape into his mouth, eyebrows up. “Out—you look nice.”
“Who with?”
He shrugs. “Twins.”
“Doing what?”
He looks pale. Do you think he’s alright?
“Sightseeing. Doing anything this evening?”
“Digby’s proposing.”
He stops. I nod towards the patio doors.
He swallows, forces a smile, takes a couple steps towards me.
“I’m happy for you.”
“No you’re not.”
He frowns, nods but I can see how fast his heart is beating. I can see the absolute dread in his eyes and the sweat beading on his forehead and how his hands are shaking and how the tip of his nose has turned a shade of red.
Arthur reaches into his pocket. “I should probably give—”
Digby interrupts us, puts his arms around my waist. “You hungry?”
I don’t move, breathe, blink—nothing. There’s nothing there anymore. And there won’t be for the rest of my life.
Arthur clears his throat, squeezes my shoulder and then walks past us.
Digby leads us outside to the patio and I can see it—the bulge of the box in his pocket. I look up, can the others standing on the balcony in my room because it’s the biggest. I scream but they don’t hear me. I fall to my knees and beg but they don’t see it.
He pulls my chair out for me and I sit down.
He starts talking but I’m not interested.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Arthur walking along the beach, kicking the sand. We’re a couple feet apart but it doesn’t feel like it—feels like I’m all the way up here and he’s all the way down there.
And suddenly it’s too hot and I’m not hungry and my heart is beating really really fast—unhealthily fast—and I’m thinking about the time he chased me through his garden maze at his birthday party and kissed me.
And all the times he made me feel like I was the only person in the world.
And how special he made me feel because it was him and he loved me and he’s never loved anyone before.
We loved each other first and I think that trumps everything.
My eyes go back and forth between Digby and Arthur. I’m running out of time. Now or never, flight or fight. It’s up to me. For once, I feel in control.
My heart is pounding, every beat, a tick on an imaginary clock that reminds me just how little time I have left.
I don’t even realise I’m running until my feet hit the sand and it kicks up into my eyes.
“Phoebe?”
Arthur is in front of me and now Digby is all the way up there.
“I love you.”
He frowns for a second. It’s all so fast and it feels like the sun is setting and rising all at the same time. And I sort of can’t believe I just did that.
“You love me?” He laughs. “But you were just about to be engaged?”
“Arthur,” I pant. “I love you—not him.”
He nods, can’t stop laughing which makes me laugh too. and then, quick as a flash, he grabs my face, kisses me with everything he’s worth.
“I’ve always fucking loved you.”
I pull back, catch my breath.
His face drops, the colour drains.
“But I need to tell you something.”
I shake my head. “Please, no, Arthur, I—”
“I killed someone.”