Chapter Forty-Three
Lady Phoebe
“Evangeline, it isn’t going to fit! Just give it up!” I wince as she pulls the strings on my corset tighter,
“Shut up,” she grunts. “That’s just a mindset—bend over.”
“What?” I gape at her through the mirror in my bedroom. “Don’t tell me to do that.”
“Beauty is pain, my love,” Mum says from her perch on my bed.
With a huff and roll of my eyes, I lean forward. Ev puts her foot on my backside and tugs even harder, all the air in my lungs now stuck in my throat.
“Fucking hell,” I heave, slowly standing back up. “I can’t breathe for shit!” I gasp, gesturing at my neck that I’m sure is turning purple.
Mum tuts, shakes her head. “You’re a size six on your best days, Phoebe, darling. You’re being overdramatic.”
I shake my head, try and tell her that I literally cannot breathe but she’s too busy stitching the hem of my tutu that Evangeline lended to me for tonight’s annual Stratton Halloween party.
I’m going as the White Swan. Ev was going to give me the actual outfit but she didn’t trust that I wouldn’t spill anything down it so Mum handmade the corset and Ev gave me the tutu to go with it.
“You look amazing,” Ev tells me, taking a step back.
I manage to straighten back and suck in a weak deep breath, doesn’t quite reach my stomach but it’s there so I should be alright.
I run my hand down the satin. “I feel like I’m going to burst—” turn to face my mum. “Do you think I’m getting fat?”
She doesn’t even look up at me, just laughs. “Don’t be so ridiculous. You have a body most girls make themselves ill for.”
“Very true,” Ev sighs, goes over to sit on my bed.
“I know,” I nod, turning around. “But you don’t think I’ve put on some weight after Digby left, do you? When you last measured me a few weeks ago, it was fine.”
Haven’t seen or heard from Digby in just over a month, since he packed a bag and walked out.
I still don’t know if I’m upset or anything yet, though, which is weird because if this was Arthur, I would’ve been hospitalised.
I tried for weeks to feel something towards him but I just couldn’t.
It wasn’t there. Not like it is with Arthur.
After our perfect weekend in Oxford, we went our separate ways (almost).
I came home to Mum’s, been staying here since.
And Arthur went back to Connie’s. The last month has been pretty smooth which is so rare for any of us.
There was an exhibition that Sophia opened at the V&A which went as well as you’d expect—literally, I mean.
No one fucked up which is insane, isn’t it?
Pretty unheard of for us—and then Cynthia hosted a charity auction at Sotheby’s.
Saw Dr.Kane four times, as well, but what he told me is quite frankly none of your business and also things that I didn’t want to hear but apparently it’s his job to tell me the things I don’t want to hear. Whatever.
Not loads as gone on, really. Nothing to report, anyway.
I’d like for it to stay that way but I know it won’t. It never does. Not for me—not for us.
“Oh my god!” Ev groans, grabs one of my throw pillows and burrows her face into it. “I hate girls like you!”
“Like what?” I pull a face.
She peers up at me. “You are perfect! Stick thin, long legs, boobs that aren’t too big, a bum and hips that magically fit into any jeans.”
I roll my eyes. “Skinny girls can be insecure, too! Don’t be so stereotypical.”
“Oh, shut it, the both of you,” Mum mutters, a pin sticking out of her mouth.
She holds up my tutu and gestures for me to go over.
She slips it on for me while I hold her shoulders for balance.
“Like a glove,” she admires. No matter how big or small or the reason, my mother is always so proud of her work.
You’d think after all these years that she wouldn’t be that phased by her own art but she is. Always.
“Perfect,” I smile at myself in the mirror. “Now I need the stockings and the headpiece.”
“The swan doesn’t wear stockings,” Ev remarks.
I throw her a look. “It’s Halloween—obviously I’m making it slutty.”
“Don’t say that,” Mum mutters as she walks out of my bedroom to get the rest of my outfit that she also spent two weeks crafting.
Evenagline twists her lips up, stares at me.
“What?”
She sits up on my bed with her legs crossed. “Can I—”
“Nope,” shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
“Please!” She moans. “You won’t even know I’m there!”
“No!”
“I’ll wear a mask,” she smiles, gives me a wink. “No one will know it’s me.”
“Your brother would kill me if he found out you were there.”
She scoffs, rolls her eyes. “No he wouldn’t, he—”
“If anything happened to you, it would be my responsibility.”
“Since when did you become so responsible?”
I stick my nose in the air. “Since—” I wave my arm about. “Always. I’m, like, so responsible.”
She blinks a few times. “You’re actually the least responsible person I know.”
“Have you not met the Holland’s, then, or…?”
“Okay,” she nods. “Apart from them—please, just let me come, Phoebs. Please!”
“Fuck off,” I turn away from her and focus my attention back on my reflection. “And anyways, isn’t anybody your age throwing a party?”
“Well, yeah,” she sighs. “Carter’s throwing one but it’s going to be shit in comparison to the Stratton’s.”
“Have you ever been to one of his parties before?”
“No.”
“If he’s anything like his brother then you should be thankful that you’re about to pop your Holland party cherry.”
“Er, why are we talking about popping cherries?” Mum frowns as she walks back in with two V.K Design boxes.
“Phoebe was just telling me about the time she popped hers with my brother,” Ev smiles up at my mum.
“Phoebe!” My mother spins around, appalled. “Don’t talk about sex with Evangeline! That’s very uncouth, darling. You keep that to yourself and Arthur—or Digby, whoever it is that you're popping cherries with.”
When my mum turns her back, I give Evangeline two fingers.
? ? ?
When I walk into George and Albie’s place, I’m instantly overwhelmed. You always are at their parties because they just go over the top every single time. Arthur’s parties were insane, we know that but the Stratton’s? You step through that threshold and you’re transported to a whole new world.
Security and paparazzi will hang outside for at least three days after tonight.
There’s a strict no phone policy, everyone’s cameras are blacked out with masking tape and if you are caught taking pictures then you’re blacklisted from every Stratton hotel, members club and party and no one’s stupid enough to get themselves in that position.
Red lights cover everyone’s imperfections, animal masks and bow ties are worn by the men who want to cheat on their wives and girlfriends tonight, the girls strut around in next to nothing because if there’s one night it’s socially acceptable to wear your Agent Provocateur corset and thong, it’s tonight.
Even the outside of their house, rivalled Annabel’s this year—which is obviously saying something.
Jesters walk around on stilts, acrobats swing from the chandeliers swallowing fire, clowns serve you drinks and truly, it’s terrifying. There’s never a theme. They just make it as scary as possible.
After saying hello to a few old faces, I push my way through the crowds and find Arthur, Athena and Connie talking in the foyer.
“Fuck,” Athena laughs, looks shocked. “I didn’t know you had it in you to dress so slutty.”
“That fucking thing,” Connie pushes Athena’s huge feather headpiece, “Is a serious safety hazard.”
“It’s couture,” she rolls her eyes. “Something your straight-off-the-rack Tom Ford wouldn’t know about.”
I’m pretty certain the entire Showgirl get up she’s wearing has been custom made. Pink bra with a diamond bodice, a tulle skirt that’s cut at the front and floats behind her, knee high socks and stilettos.
Connie and Arthur look boring. Tuxedos and masks. Connie a fox and Arthur a rabbit.
Arthur turns to me, gives me a little head nod and shifts over to the side, away from them. “You look fucking amazing,” he tells me.
“I know,” I nod.
He pushes his mask onto his head, a little smile playing on his lips. “Where’s Digby?”
I shrug. “Here, probably. Everyone’s here.”
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “But why isn’t he here with you?”
“Because I still haven’t spoken to him—anyway,” I shake my head. “How are you? With this,” I wave my arm around. “Are you okay?”
He reaches out, touches my hand, our fingers grazing lightly. “I’m alright. Feel like I need a drink after seeing you, though.”
“No, Arthur—”
He throws his head back, half groans, half laughs. “You ruin me, you know that? Like, proper, ruin me.”
I grab his face, kiss him. I don’t care. There aren’t any phones that could steal this moment from us. I love him and I love kissing him and I want to kiss him until I take my last breath—in fact, I think I want my last breath to go to him. He deserves it.
You might think he doesn’t but if this year has taught me anything it’s that there might be a future for us.
Maybe. A tricky one. A messy one. But a future nonetheless and isn’t that all I’ve wanted since I was a little girl?
I fell in love with the prince so isn’t this the point I get my happily ever after?
“I love you,” he mutters against my lips when I pull back.
“I love you more.”
He smiles, a grin that I want to steal from him and put in my pocket. But someone taps me on the shoulder and I spin around to see Zara dressed as a clown.
“Holy shit,” she looks me up and down. “Fuck Arthur, I want you in my bed.”
I bop her nose. “You are off your face.”
She moves her head to the music, her jaw working overtime, her tongue darting out every second to wet her dry lips. “I saw Dicky.”
I pull back. “You what?”
“Yeah,” she nods, licks her lips. “I gotta go, but yeah, saw him—love you, bye!”
And then she spins around and saunters back into the crowd of—maybe a thousand?—people who are gathered in the entryway.