Chapter 29: Ophelia

Chapter 29: Ophelia

All I need to do is commit every single moment of this night to memory so I can write it down as soon as I get home. If not the events then my emotions. I try to take occasional notes on my phone, but I don’t want to draw suspicion.

I mean, how do you even begin to process a kiss like that?

For the record, it was the kind of kiss I’ve only ever read about or seen in the movies. I legit thought that toe-curling was hyperbole.

Now I know a toe-curling kiss is a very real thing.

The thing I can’t figure out is how he could kiss me like that, so tender yet intense, without meaning it. Because, obviously, he didn’t mean it. It wouldn’t have even happened if the people in the bar hadn’t put us on the spot.

I mean, obviously, Xavier is hot. Like, super hot. That’s not even a fact one can debate. And he is actually very thoughtful. A bouquet and a ring? My heart is still fluttering thinking about that. Most guys wouldn’t think of those things even with explicit directions. But he’s made it clear that he’s focused on his career and his career only. This is a business deal for him. The only way he can keep playing, the only thing that matters. He’s not looking for more.

It’s fine. I don’t need more. I just need enough to write my story and get started on that dream. Xavier isn’t the only one with career goals.

Out of habit, I check ClikClak again. I’ve long since turned off the notifications, but I can’t help myself from looking to see what people are saying.

Isn’t that the #romanticsurprise girl?

Well, she moved on quickly.

What do you expect from an "accountant?"

Xavier married an accountant. I guess the rumors are true.

I’m not sure what my job has to do with getting married quickly, but at least none of the comments are too horrendous.

Seriously, social media makes people mean, yo.

The Uber arrives at The Tower, which is supposed to be one of the premier event locations in Boston. From the outside, it looks like a castle. Once through the heavy oak and gold gilded doors, it’s like we’re transported into the past. Marble tile, cherry archways, bronze chandeliers, and candles make this easily one of the swankiest places I’ve ever set foot in. It looks like it could be the set for The Great Gatsby or The Gilded Age.

In reality, I’m glad I’m wearing my wedding dress, as nothing else I own would have been appropriate for this place.

"Whoa, this is nice," I can’t help but whisper.

"There’s a lot of money in professional sports, especially when they’re trying to get more money from the sponsors," Xavier whispers back.

"The old ’spend money to make money’ adage?" I grin as we approach the coat check. I hand over my bouquet as well and rub my bare arms which are now chilly.

Okay, so I might be dressy enough, but I do feel a bit foolish wearing white and silver in the middle of November, especially in the sea of black and navy that every other female here seems to be dressed in.

I’m awkward enough. I don’t need any more help standing out in this crowd of highly skilled professional athletes and their supermodel girlfriends. So, in order to ease my unease, I do the most sensible thing possible: I grab a glass of champagne from the waitress passing by.

Considering I’ve had several hard seltzers at the bar, and the last thing I had to eat was that bowl of Golden Grahams, it’s probably not the smartest decision I’ve ever made.

And this says a lot coming from the woman who had no idea her boyfriend was cheating on her until thousands of strangers pointed it out on social media.

Xavier is glancing around the room, looking as unsettled as I feel.

"Do you know anyone here?" I whisper. From the looks we get from the people standing around us, I think maybe my whisper wasn’t as quiet and subtle as I thought it was.

Xavier nods toward a freakishly tall, thin ginger across the room. "That’s Kenley. He’s the strength and conditioning coach. I roomed with him when I first came to the States. He’s a good bloke. I’ve no doubt he put in a good word for me."

Xavier starts across the room. I don’t know if I’m supposed to follow him, or if I’m on my own to mingle and stuff my face. Oh, are those pancetta-wrapped scallops? I snatch one and pop it in my mouth.

It’s a little bigger than I’d thought which makes it difficult to chew. Naturally, this is when Xavier turns back to see what I’m doing and jerks his head to indicate I should be coming with him. There’s no way I can chew this with elegance and grace, so I do my best to keep my mouth closed and not look like a heathen.

"Ophelia, I’d like you to meet Claude Kenley."

I try to swallow what’s in my mouth, so I’m much more focused on that than what I say. "You don’t look like a Claude."

The words are out before I can snatch them back. I gasp, and in doing so, inhale a bit of scallop right into my trachea. Xavier turns and stares at me as if he’s never seen someone have a piece of shellfish cut off their main airway before.

I may add scallops to my list of creatures I’m afraid are trying to kill me. The only difference is that this mollusk may actually be successful. I almost wish it were truly lodged so someone could Heimlich me. But no, I’m full-on coughing and sputtering.

In other words, I’m making a scene.

"I’m okay," I wheeze, red-faced and spluttering. I’m not totally sure, but there may be part of a chewed-up scallop on the floor now.

Please, dear God, let no one be filming this.

Not that having food go down the wrong pipe is the same type of scandal that Xavier was talking about, but I don’t want to mess this up for him. I’m his last chance.

The weight of that realization hits me for the first time, standing in this elegant space decorated with the Buzzards colors of aqua and black. This is a really big deal.

I’m not sure how Xavier could have trusted a virtual stranger with his future like this, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Still, it’s a risk. I could be a wild card.

I mean, we all know I’m not.

I’m such an open book, except for my actual book, that someone who’s barely met me feels confident that my life is so boring and safe that they put their multimillion-dollar sports career in my hands.

I start to sweat. Okay, no pressure here. "Are you alright?" Xavier asks. His hand gently rubs my bare upper back, which makes my breath—as irregular as it already is—hitch. Through another round of coughing, I give him two super cheesy thumbs up.

"I’m" —cough, cough— "gonna go"—cough—"to the restroom. Excuse me." I finish with a loud cough that draws the attention of everyone within a ten-foot radius.

I head to the restroom to regain my composure after almost asphyxiating, as well as to try and prevent the panic attack that is most definitely brewing.

The bathroom is nicer than my apartment. I can’t resist. I freshen up my makeup, pull out my phone, and open ClikClak. I film myself with the camera held above and slowly turn to get a panoramic view of the most incredible bathroom this side of Buckingham Palace.

With a voice filter, my own words sound like a movie trailer announcer.

When your date takes you to one of the swankiest joints in town, but you almost die choking on an hors d’oeuvre. But at least you get to use a bathroom that’s nicer than most people’s homes!

I’m pleased with the results, so I finish up by adding my tags #datenight, #surpriselove, #swanky, and of course, #xoxo.

I’m about to leave when the door flies open and one of the servers rushes in. She slams the door shut and presses her back to it as if barricading out some evil force. She rips off her mask as she mutters "No no no no no," under her breath, obviously unaware that she’s not alone in the bathroom.

"Are you okay?" I ask. It’s stupid because she’s obviously not.

Her head jerks up. "I need to get out of here. I need to leave. I need the earth to swallow me whole right this very instant." She leaves her post at the door and looks wildly around the room. She stands in front of the window, a small rectangle up by the ceiling. "Be honest, do you think I’ll fit through there?"

I’m not sure anyone over the age of six would fit through that rectangle, but on the other hand, I don’t want her to think I’m calling her fat.

"It can’t be that bad." I put my hand on her arm. "Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. And trust me, I’ve done tons of super embarrassing stuff in my life. This moment will pass, and trying to squeeze out an opening the size of a vagina is not necessary." And then, because I’m a dumbass and I’ve had too much to drink and I’m awkward, I keep talking. "I mean, hell, I just married a man I barely know. But that’s me, the good little wifey. Anything to support his career."

Maybe I can flush myself down the toilet.

The server looks up, her big brown eyes wide. "You got married?"

"Yeah, like literally a few hours ago. I’m not saying it was wrong or I’d take it back, but you know, we all do questionable things sometimes. You’ll live."

She jerks her head toward the door. "Did you marry one of these guys? One of the Buzzards."

A growing sense of fear travels up my spine. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say anything. Like, it’s not a done deal, but on the other hand, would we be here if it wasn’t?

I give the best answer I can. "It’s complicated, but sort of. Why? Does your escape plan have anything to do with someone on the Buzzards?"

Any information I can find might help Xavier. I mean, it can’t hurt, right?

She tilts her head. "Of course it does. I haven’t seen him in a few years, but of all the banquet venues in all of Boston, he has to walk into mine."

"Did you dump a drink on him? Spit in his food? Accidentally lick him?" My mind goes through all the possible ways to make a fool of oneself, some learned from experience.

The server looks horrified. "No, nothing like that. Just, well, I … he … well, we hooked up. So, yes, there was licking. It was a while back, but the licking was quite purposeful. I was a soccer player too, at least I tried to be, and now he’s a professional, and I’m serving canapés."

"Well, I don’t know your story, but you’re here doing honest work. Nothing to be ashamed of unless something happened during your time together."

Now she sighs, a million miles away. "No, it was fantastic. But there’s a chance I may have freaked out and ghosted him. I wish I hadn’t, but then when I tried to contact him again, he was a big star, and I didn’t want to seem like a cleat chaser."

Seeing as how I’ve never been the ghoster, only the ghostee, I’m not sure I’m in any place to give my new friend advice. That doesn’t stop me though. "I say you just get out there, do your job, and if he approaches you, be candid and honest with him. That’s all you can really do, right?"

She goes over, looks in the mirror, and runs a finger under her eyes to fix her running liner. Then she re-dons her mask and washes her hands.

That action alone is enough for me to give this place a five-star shout-out on Yelp. Hygiene is a plus in my book.

I smile at her. "I’m Ophelia, by the way. Ophelia … Henry." I stumble over my new name.

"Hannah LaRosa."

I open the door. "You ready, Hannah LaRosa?"

Her eyes crinkle with what I know is a smile, and she walks out. She pulls her mask down and mouths, "thanks" before disappearing down a long corridor.

Now it’s time for me to find my husband.