Chapter 19: Ophelia

Chapter 19: Ophelia

I’m acting weird.

I know I’m acting weird, but I don’t seem to be able to do anything about it. I mean, how do you bring something like this up? It’s not the easiest thing to fold into the conversation.

Are we engaged?

Were you serious about getting married? Because you know we’re total strangers, right?

Did you come all this way to get married to me?

Will our babies be as good-looking as you? Please say yes.

None of those seem like good intros. Also, I have to mentally kick myself that it’s not like it would even be a real marriage. Because, obviously, there’s no way in hell someone like him would marry someone like me.

Though he did want me in his picture. That’s got to count for something, right?

I’m staring out the window and Xavier’s on his phone. Perhaps we have this marriage thing down already.

My phone pings with a notification. I glance down, unable to control the reflex. "@XavierHenry3 tagged you in a photo."

Quickly my eyes dart to him. Then, before I can say anything, my fingers are swiping, opening up the app. And there’s the picture. He looks great, naturally. I don’t look … terrible, so that’s a plus.

Iconic city, iconic restaurant, incredible company. The perfect trifecta. Thank you @opheliaxoxo for showing me around! #Boston #NewAdventures

"Incredible company? I’m over here being all awkward and weird. Definitely not incredible," I blurt.

Because why would I say anything normal?

Xavier looks up and smiles at me. "Of course, I think you’re incredible. What you’re doing is incredible. I’m speechless that you’re helping me in such a selfless and giving way."

The pit in my stomach. At this point, it’s so large, that I’m probably just a head stuck on this giant vat of dread. "What do you mean?" I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know exactly what he means. My throat is dry, so I pick up my glass and take a sip.

He shifts, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think now he was uncomfortable. "I guess now is as good of a time as any to discuss our marriage."

And in true Ophelia fashion, I choke on my water. At least gasping for air and attempting to calm the spasm in my windpipe buys me a few minutes. It also buys me the stares from the other diner patrons around me.

"I’m choking. It’s not COVID," I assure them. "Swallowed wrong. I’m not sick. I’m vaccinated."

"I don’t believe you have to justify trying to breathe." Xavier smiles.

Finally done with my fit, my face undoubtedly red and splotchy and with tears in my eyes, I lean in and whisper, "But you know, people are looking. People are thinking it. Like if they get sick, they’ll blame me."

"You do what you can to keep yourself and others healthy. But you are allowed to choke every now and again. Not that I recommend it, though."

I feel the need to address his comment that nearly killed me.

"So … you know I was drunk last night."

Xavier grins. "I believe that’s been established." Then he frowns. "Do you not remember what we talked about? What you suggested?" His whole frame wilts as he slumps back.

"No, I mean, I remember. Sort of. I guess I just didn’t think you took me seriously."

He shakes his head and blows out a long breath. It’s his turn to gaze out the window for a moment. "No, I guess it was too bloody good to be true. I mean, you’ve no reason for doing it. There’s nothing in it for you. I’m not wealthy, but I was planning to offer you some sort of financial compensation. Not that I think you’re in dire straits or anything." He lifts his eyebrows. "But if you were, that would help tremendously."

"I’m in straits but like not dire ones." The sad thing is, it’s totally accurate. I’m not wealthy, but I can make my rent—on my sad one-bedroom that’s still in a college neighborhood, despite my no longer being in college. I have friends. Well, I have Marley. And … I have a cat.

I also have a viral following on ClikClak that is setting me up with losers and keeps telling me I don’t deserve anyone worthy.

Good times.

And they’re probably right. It’s not like I have tons to offer. I prefer a quiet night in with my cat and a good book. I’m not the life of the party, and I never will be. I’m just plain old Ophelia Finnegan. There’s nothing exciting about me at all.

I look up at Xavier. He’s dashingly handsome. A pro-athlete. His career might take off, and if it does, it will be because of me. Because I helped him in this little way.

Suddenly, my romantic brain takes off. I could write a book about this. I could write a book about this!

Fictionalized, of course, but what great material! And I’d have it all right at my disposal. I’m sure he’s got to have a glamorous life with glamorous people and scandalous stories. All the pro-athletes do, right? The book would practically write itself! I feel the words starting to run through my brain. Lines. Snippets. Scenarios. It’s already here.

For the first time since my story was panned, I want to write. I need to write. The muse is back, bitches.

"I’m not in dire straits," I continue, "but I think we should do it nonetheless. We should get married. As a business arrangement, of course. Strictly business." My voice wobbles, even though I wish it wouldn’t. My throat feels tight. Did someone shut the air off in this place?

"Are you sure?"

I nod, unable to actually say more. Oh my God, what am I doing? A small part of my brain tries to tell the rest of me to stop, but I’ve never been good at listening to her.

The voice I’m hearing loud and clear is that of Tosser Trent, telling me I’m not worth it. Not to mention the thousands of ClikClakers who weighed in on my unsuitable characteristics.

Let’s face it, I’ll probably never do better than a fake marriage anyway.

"Right then." He reaches for his phone. "It’s a deal. May I have your email to send you a preliminary contract? I’ve briefly glanced at it, so if you have any issues, feel free to mention them. There’s definitely room for adjustment, I would think."

Of course, there would be a contract. This is a business deal. But it’s not like the government can know it’s a business deal, right? I’ve seen Green Card, that old ’90s rom-com. Though whoever thought of casting Gérard Depardieu in anything should be fired. But that’s neither here nor there. FYI, Gerard Butler is my Gerard of choice. I mean, P.S.-I Love You is a definite go-to movie for me, but I’ve been known to watch 300 simply for the gratuitous tunic scenes.

"Okay, so like I don’t know anything about this, but I’m guessing we should make this seem as ’real’ as possible." I use my fingers to air quote the word real. "Like, at least in public. In case the government looks into things, right?"

Xavier tilts his head, considering my words.

I hurry to add, "I’m not saying anything over the top or anything, but like social media stuff. Staged things, just for the camera. You know, that sort of thing." I sound like I’m rambling, probably because I am. Yet I continue. "Like if INS or ICE came looking and we are both on social media, but we’re never in it together, it might be a little sus."

"So that picture I posted was a good start then, I reckon."

I nod again, relieved that the waitress finally delivers our food. We eat in silence for a few minutes. I’m taking small bites, trying to look like I have manners and not tear into my food like a caveman.

I’m not saying I normally do that anyway, but suddenly I’m super self-conscious. Xavier Henry is hot and famous, and he has to pretend to be in love with me. I’ve got to keep my awkwardness on the DL.

In between bites, Xavier says, "Is there anything you want specifically stated in the contract? I can have Tony add it."

"Who’s Tony?"

"My agent and business manager. He handles all my dealings. He’s the one who sent me the draft. I’ll be frank—it was shocking how quickly he produced it. I’m starting to wonder what sort of thing goes on at his agency."

"Maybe," I say, swallowing a mouthful of grilled cheese, "there’s like a whole group of athletes and celebrities in the same boat. Like with fake marriages and beards and stuff. Oh!" I exclaim. "I’m your beard!"

"I think not. I’m not marrying you because I want to appear hetero when I’m elsewise oriented. I’m marrying you to make a better career move. To save my career, actually."

"Oh, right." I settle back on the bench. Mentally I slap myself for saying something so stupid. "So, then, what do we do now? I’ve never been in a fake marriage before. Hell, I’ve never been in any sort of business arrangement of any kind."

"Neither have I, so I’m not really sure. But since we’ll be spending a bit of time together, perhaps we could get to know each other some?"

"I think the time for that will come, but I have other questions. Like how quickly does this marriage need to happen? I’m guessing you’re on a timeline." I take a small sip of my water.

"Don’t you want to look at the contract?" He nods at the phone in my hand.

I know I should. The smart, responsible, non-impulsive thing to do would be to table this discussion until I’ve read the entire thing cover to cover, highlighting and tabbing items for discussion and negotiation. My eyes glaze over at the mere thought. "Is it okay if I have my lawyer look at it?" It seems like a grown-up thing to say. And to do. Like, have a lawyer.

"Certainly. I’d encourage that."

I don’t really have a lawyer, other than my brother. I’m not even sure this is in his area, but he’s got to be able to decipher all the terminology, right?

"And yes," he continues, "I’m in a bit of a time crunch, the sooner we can make this happen, the better."

It’s at this moment that I realize I know nothing about soccer, nor the structure of the league Xavier plays in. Hell, I don’t even know what it’s called. He did say his season was done. "Why the rush? I thought the season was over."

"Technically the regular season is done, but I’m never done. Sometimes I train more in my ’off-season’ than I do during the season. It’s when I get to really drill down on the things that need work and need improvement. I trained for all of the COVID shutdowns, and emerged from the downtime faster and stronger than ever." Color fills his cheeks. "I’m not saying that to be boastful. I work very hard for my sport, which is why I’m going to such drastic measures to keep playing."

I have no idea what it’s like to feel this passionate about anything. Maybe, once I start writing this story, I will.