Chapter 23: Ophelia

Chapter 23: Ophelia

Did you know in Massachusetts there’s a three-day waiting period from when you apply for a marriage license to when they’ll mail it out to you? Then you have to wait for it to be delivered before you can get married. It’s almost as if they want you to slow down and think about what you’re about to do.

That’s never how it is in the movies. They just run off to the courthouse. Real life can be such a buzzkill sometimes.

Lucky for me, there’s also a waiver form, so you can get a marriage license issued the same day you apply for it. And if you call and tell the clerk a sob story about how your fiancé is getting traded, and he has to move and all that jazz and oh, he’s a pro athlete, they’re likely to grant you that waiver so you can get married right away.

And we’ll be doing all that at 3:30 p.m. today.

Also, thanks to COVID, Boston City Hall only does marriages on Wednesdays and Thursdays. So here we are, getting ready to get married on a Thursday.

It’s been just over a week since Xavier took the train up here and we agreed to get married. For real. I mean, this time we were both sober and decided to move forth with the plan. I guess I didn’t have any idea of how much of a whirlwind this would be. If you’d have told me ten days ago during PenisGate that I’d be standing in front of my closet on Thursday morning, looking for something appropriate to get married in, I’d have called you nuts.

Also, if you’d told me that I’d be writing thousands of words a night, I’d have asked for some of what you are smoking. Apparently, all I needed was a muse, and that muse is my soon-to-be husband. Like seriously, being around him has totally restored my flow.

It’s like a river when the levee breaks.

Over the past week or so, I’ve come to realize the following about the man I’m going to marry: he’s the complete opposite of me. Mostly because he’s a man of action, yet not impulsive. He has a goal and makes a plan and then works for it. He just does it quickly.

Soccer is a speed sport, after all.

In the past ten days, he’s returned to Baltimore, talked to the coaches, talked to his agent, packed up most of his stuff, researched places to live down by Gillette Stadium, and returned back here late last night.

I’m pretty sure he’s worked out every day too.

I’m more the type to get a passing thought and then act before I think it through. Like posting on ClikClak to help me find dates. I had to turn off notifications for good and block people from messaging me. I even went in and deleted that video, but it doesn’t matter. It’s out there in the world, and by the way, people are disgusting with what they will proposition you with over the internet.

I mean, I read some pretty smutty romance novels, but these things are downright crude. Plus, it’s one thing to read it in a safe, totally made-up space. I’m a real person that other real people are saying these degrading things to.

If nothing else, marrying Xavier means I don’t have to deal with that anymore.

We need to move on this quickly. Because let’s face it, if I have too much more time to think about this, I won’t go ahead with it. I either don’t look before I leap, or I think it to death. There’s no middle ground for me.

Still in my pajamas, I walk out to the kitchen to find Xavier’s back from his run. He didn’t get here until about eleven last night, and it’s only eight and he’s already exercised. He’s making a protein shake full of all sorts of green things I’ve never even heard of. I have a bowl of Golden Grahams for breakfast.

"So, I know you posted us last week, but should we make our ’relationship’ social media official, seeing as how we’re getting married today?" I use my fingers to bracket the word. "We don’t have to post the marriage until later on, though."

He takes a sip of his health drink. "Probably. But you should also probably stop making air quotes around the word relationship. You don’t want to get too comfortable with it and slip up."

I pull out my phone and open ClikClak. Without pausing to think or plan, I hit record.

Guys, huge updates since the last time I was here. And you did it! A roundabout way, but I’ll have to put that in another video. But OMG, isn’t he dreamy?

I step in front of Xavier, holding the phone out in front of me to get him into the frame. Xavier looks up, startled, hands still on my blender, which until this point has only ever been used to make margaritas. It’s probably in as much shock from this development as I am.

So, let’s just say this is not at all what I planned when I started with my hashtag surprise visit, but I’m so happy at where I’ve ended. You couldn’t write this in a movie if you tried, right, honey?

A shy grin spreads over his face.

Well, here I am, living my own fairy tale. Thanks, ClikClak! Kisses and hugs!

I sign off blowing a kiss to the camera, and then quickly add my hashtags. #lovelylia, #liainlove, #surpriselove, and of course, #xoxo.

"That was fast. I didn’t realize when you talked about posting you meant right this instant," Xavier says casually. Probably a little too casually.

"Keeping up appearances. You post on Insta, I’ll post on ClikClak, and then if the FBI or ICE comes calling, we have a nice little portfolio to show them."

"Right. Good idea. Maybe we can do another one later? I’ve got a call with Janssen in a bit, so after that?"

"Who’s Janssen again?" He said it like I should know, so I wonder if I’ve missed an important detail about his life. I think his agent is Tony. Other than that, I can’t remember who he’s talked about specifically. I have no idea if he has any family or friends.

I should probably listen more instead of daydreaming scenes for my book, and many more books to follow.

Like the one I’m thinking of now that involves the top flying off the blender, getting doused in a smoothie, wiping each other down, and then a hot steamy scene on the kitchen counter.

My mouth goes dry just thinking about it.

Focus.

"He’s the coach for the Buzzards. He used to be my coach with the Terrors, but they let him go during the shutdown. He’s the one I talked to last week. I want to make sure this trade is happening."

Janssen, coach. Need to remember that. It seems important. More important than defiling my counter. "Right. Because it would be totally stupid for us to get married if you don’t need to." I laugh. Can you even imagine?

"Completely. I’m going to hit the shower if you don’t mind. What time’s the appointment again?"

Appointment. Wedding. Holy shit, we’re really getting married. I’m no better than one of those people who go on a TV show and marry a complete stranger.

Suddenly, the air seems thin. Too thin.

"Three-thirty. We should leave around two forty-five to get to City Hall." I try to appear interested in some work on my desk and not at all like I’m having a panic attack.

Breathe in, breathe out.

"Right. Good." He disappears into my bathroom.

I take a moment to look around. This is all happening so fast. He’s put an air mattress on my living room floor, refusing to allow me to take the couch any longer. This place is definitely too small for the two of us, and it’s not like I’m trying to create a scenario for the one-bed trope.

This seems like some dream that started the moment that first video went viral. And if not a dream, surreal, at the very least.

"Hey." I knock on the bathroom door. "After we … you know … do you want to take a drive down to Foxborough and look at places?"

Xavier pulls the bathroom door open, clad in only a towel.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

Check that. I’m all on board for the one-bed trope. We never need to move.

My mouth goes dry yet I start salivating all at the same time. Muscles ripple and cut underneath his skin. Writing in black ink wraps around his left side, just under his pec. I would like to look at it closely to see what it says. My gaze starts at his well-defined shoulders, travels down his firm pecs, continues down what has to be an eight pack, and ends on a trail of hair pointing down underneath the towel to what must be the promised land.

"Close your mouth. You’re apt to catch flies."

I close my mouth but am still unable to blink at a normal speed. I’m afraid if I close my eyes, this vision of male perfection will disappear. Finally, I drag my gaze up to meet his.

"Sorry. You’re naked and hot."

He tightens his grip on the towel as if I’m going to snatch it away from him. Not saying I would, but it’s definitely not beneath me either. "I mean, I like knew you were sort of athletic and all, but …"

"I’m not sort of athletic. I’m an athlete, darling."

"Why are you fake marrying me then?" I glance down at my frumpy pajamas, oversized hoodie, and fuzzy socks. "Surely you could easily find someone who matches you better."

"I don’t do drama. I’m not into that scene, and real relationships always involve drama. And you’re …"

"A temporary blip on social media. I’m someone who overinvested in my last relationship because I was so afraid I’d never find someone. I want to find someone. I mean, I know you’re not him, but at least I’m not alone when I’m with you. But at the end of the day, I’m still nobody. Not compared to your world."

"You’re not nobody, Ophelia. I like you. You’re caring and funny and …" He searches for another word.

"Impulsive, boring, introverted."

"Pretty awesome," he finishes. "Not many people would give up everything to help a total stranger out."

I look down at my feet and shrug. "That’s the benefit of being a nobody with nothing. I have nothing to sacrifice. I’m not giving up anything. In fact, I’m gaining something."

"What’s that?"

"For the time that we’re married, I get the knowledge that people are looking at us, wondering how I was able to land you." I shrug again. "I want to be special for once. And if I’m married to you, people will think I must be special."

This pity party is interrupted by pounding on the door. I don’t even need to wonder who it is because I can hear Marley yelling, "Ophelia June Finnegan, open this door this very second."

Xavier looks at me, his eyes wide.

Right. He wants a drama-free life.

Marley doesn’t sound like drama-free.

"It’s my best friend, who undoubtedly saw my ClikClak." I don’t mention the letter I mailed to her, naming him as my murderer. "I’ll pay you to answer the door like that." I nod at his mostly naked body which looks quite lickable. If nothing else, it will distract her from her rampage, which, judging from her yelling, we’re going to need.

He smiles but inches toward the bedroom. "Sorry, but that’s not me. I don’t stir up drama."

I shrug. "Probably for the best. You should come with a warning anyway. Unexpected viewing of pecs and abs will cause spontaneous panty-dropping and immediate pregnancy."

Oh dear Lord, tell me I did not just say that out loud?

It’s a good thing that we’re not really in a relationship because I would never, ever survive my mortification.

"Right."

"Right then." I shift nervously. The banging at the door continues. "I’d better get that."

"And I’d better get dressed, lest you and your friend find yourself in the family way." Xavier offers a sly smile that indicates slight amusement.

I think.

I hope.

"Girl, you’d better open this door right this instant!"

I pull the door open to see my best friend standing there in an absolute panic.

"Hey," I say as blandly as I can. "What’s up?"

Marley waves my letter. "Are you dead? I thought you were dead. I get this in the mail, and I don’t hear from you. Then, you’re posting on ClikClak with some random dude in your apartment, and you’re in love? What the actual hell, Ophelia?"

"Um, I texted you. You didn’t respond. This is what you get. Be nice to me or you can’t come to my wedding."

Marley’s brown complexion turns a shade of red I didn’t know was possible. There may be steam coming from the ends of her curls. She hisses at me in a not-at-all-quiet whisper, "Wedding? Are you delusional? Has all this social media crap caused you to have a legit psychotic break? You need to pull your head out of those stupid romance novels and wake up, Ophelia Finnegan. You are NOT getting married. This is nuts."

"Who’s at the door?" Xavier struts out in gray sweatpants, a skin-tight T-shirt, and damp hair.

It takes me a minute to remember how to swallow.

Xavier shoots me a grin that if I didn’t know better, could be described as devilish. "Did I hear someone say something about getting married? Is your friend going to be our witness this afternoon?"

That shuts Marley up fast. Her color drains, and I’m afraid she’s going to pass out. I grab her arm and drag her toward the couch as fast as I can. She’s not going down on my watch.

Marley looks blankly from me to Xavier and back again. "I … am I … is this an alternate universe?" she finally stutters out.

"Can I speak with you for a moment?" Xavier jerks his head toward my bedroom.

"You, sit," I tell my friend. "We’ll be right back."

Once behind the closed door, I raise my eyebrow and wait for Xavier to speak. He runs his hand through his damp hair, and I swear to God, I could watch him do that forever. Maybe I’ll record him and make it into a GIF.

It would go viral.

Focus, Ophelia.

"I don’t think you should tell your friend. Not yet."

"Um, Marley’s my best friend. My ride-or-die. She knows everything about me. She’s totally trustworthy."

"I don’t disbelieve you, but there are legalities that we’re still working out. Tony is drafting the NDAs, and until she signs one, I don’t think we’re allowed to tell her."

It feels wrong, like socks with the elastic broken or Pete Davidson dating Ariana Grande. Or Kate Beckinsale. Or Kim Kardashian. Seriously, how does someone like him land women like that? Of course, the same could be said for Xavier and me. "I don’t like to keep things this big from her."

"I understand that, but I want to make sure everything is on the up and up. The very last thing I want is a scandal or something negative making the news. I cannot afford that for my career." His voice is light but there’s a look in his eyes that’s unsettling.

"But isn’t all publicity good publicity? This seems minor, should it leak, compared to what a lot of athletes do. You’re not deflating balls or stealing plays or anything like that."

"Ophelia, no bad publicity. None. I cannot afford it." His voice is grave. "We’ll talk about it later, but know, for right now, this cannot blow up. It cannot end badly. My career cannot have another black mark."

Another? Interesting. I make a mental note to Google him, which I’m sure to promptly forget. "Right. Understood. Got it." His request should be easy, though. I’m like the least controversial person ever. I barely leave my house. I’m an accountant for Pete’s sake. "But, if I can’t tell Marley yet, then we have to convince her." I raise my eyebrow.

"Convince her?"

Is he going to make me spell it out for him?

"You know, convince her." I gesture between the two of us. "She knows me too well, and she knows how I act when I’m in a relationship."

"And how’s that exactly?" Xavier folds his arms over his chest, which, thanks to the towel incident, I now know is chiseled and belongs on a calendar. I’m guessing there’s not much on his body that’s not.

I feel the heat rush my face. I can’t believe I have to say this out loud. It’s easier to stare at my feet than look him right in the eye when I say this. "I, um, tend to be, well, maybe, perhaps a little demonstrative." I raise my gaze slightly.

"Un-huh."

"Okay, hear me out. I’m not saying anything crazy or anything, but there’ll have to be some … touching. Maybe a hug or an innocent kiss. You know, so she believes that we’re, like, together."

He’s going to run. Or vomit. He’s going to leave me here, high and dry, and I’ll spontaneously combust from embarrassment.

A girl can only stand so much.

"You’re right. Not a proper snog, but we should kiss." Xavier nods. "Right then, let’s go talk to Marley." He takes my hand and leads me out of the bedroom.