Chapter 35: Ophelia

Chapter 35: Ophelia

So much for the rules.

I mean, it was worth it, but I don’t see how we’re going to go back to a business arrangement. I’ll still tell him about the rules though in case he wants an out.

I’m guessing he does.

As I glance over at his sleeping frame, I feel slightly guilty. I took advantage of him while he was in a vulnerable state. He was upset and emotional, and I pounced like a duck on a June bug.

Not that I’ve ever seen a duck pounce on a June bug because, well, ducks are still birds—shudder—but I imagine it looked something like me attacking Xavier as he was freaking out last night.

I don’t know why I did it, other than he was hurting, and I wanted to make it stop, but once I started touching him, my more primitive brain took over. Yes, that’s it.

It’s not because I’m hopelessly attracted to him.

That would be foolish.

It’s certainly not because I’m totally falling for this wonderful man.

That would be downright ridiculous.

I’m exhausted and sore. I feel my cheeks blush thinking about Xavier. Yes, rule number two was definitely violated.

By both of us.

Also, his tongue was quite generous, as was the rest of him, and my uterus is definitely dancing. Shit.

I force myself out of bed and to the bathroom where I take my birth control pill. I look at the pill pack, and I’m right on schedule. In addition to the protection we used, I should be fine. My uterus can slow her roll for right now. There is no need to complicate this already totally messed-up situation with something like an unplanned pregnancy.

I’m all in for the romantic tropes, but that would be too much, even for me. I close the toilet lid and sit down, head in my hands. What the hell was I thinking? Like I could fix his clusterfuck of a life situation with my magic vagina?

We can’t do that again. It’s only going to make things messier. It sounds like his life is a dumpster fire as it is. He doesn’t need me to add kerosene.

At least I put him in a better mood for a while. I definitely got a smile out of him. The memory of him grinning up at me from between my legs is enough to turn my body into molten lava.

Get a grip, Ophelia.

Just because you’re married doesn’t give you the right to jump his bones at any given moment. That’s not in the contract.

Shit. The contract. Tony. Tony’s AWOL, which means there’s probably not even a contract. What does this mean?

Maybe the Buzzards will still take Xavier. It’s obvious they want him. So then all we need to do is draw up a little agreement between us about the marriage stuff. I can probably get my brother Owen to help. I’m almost certain it’s not the type of law he practices, but I’m sure he can do something.

Sure, he’ll rib me endlessly about my impulsive behavior, but I’m used to it. Isn’t that the role of the youngest—to be the butt of all the family jokes?

On second thought, maybe I can figure this out for myself. Hell, the internet has a lot of contracts. I head out to my desk and fire up my computer. It’s Saturday, so at least I don’t have to get distracted by work. It’d be nice to have something positive to give to Xavier when he wakes up.

I glance at the clock. It’s after eight. This is the latest I’ve ever known him to sleep. I must have worn him out. Go me.

Within minutes, I’m down the rabbit hole of prenups, but that’s not really what I need. We need to have in there how long the marriage has to be for the citizenship thing, so I head to the government website to do a deep dive.

It’s as abrupt as diving into a pool of ice-cold water.

Right there, on my screen, in black and white, point number three.

You have to be living with the marital spouse for three years immediately prior to and during the application process.

Tony is a fucking idiot.

Or are we the idiots for racing off to the courthouse and getting married and then consummating the damn thing so we can’t even get it annulled?

I mean, I’m not even religious, and Xavier, if anything, is probably Protestant, but facts shall not get in the way of my righteous indignation!

This is the first thing I’m going to tell Xavier when he wakes up. Seriously, it’s not like him to sleep this late. I can’t believe he missed his morning run. My feelings of elation and pride drift away. I may not know him well, but I know this is not a good sign. He must be in a really bad place.

I guess my vagina isn’t that magic after all.

Well, the least I can do is make him his breakfast smoothie. Naturally, I have no idea what he puts in it, so I Google recipes while I take stock of what’s in my kitchen.

Look at me being a good wife and all.

If you’d told me a month ago that I’d have protein powder and kale and turmeric in my house, I’d have thought you were crazy. Of course, the health food stocking my fridge is only secondary to the fact that I married—and had my world rocked by—a super hot, super kind pro athlete.

The noise of the blender is enough to rouse Xavier, and he stumbles out to the kitchen, clad in only his shorts. His hair is tousled, most likely from the number of times I ran my fingers through it last night, and his stubble is thicker than normal.

And there they are. His abs.

I can confirm that they are indeed lickable.

I bite my lip to keep my tongue from taking over.

"Morning. I made you a protein smoothie. I think I did at least. I make no guarantees about the taste." I hold the concoction out to him, willing my hand not to shake.

Why the hell am I nervous now? He’s seen—and explored—every inch of me. A bit of the smoothie sloshes over onto my hand. Instinctively I stick my finger in my mouth to lick it off.

I won’t be craving this concoction any time soon, but it’s not awful. I am glad I’m not the one who has to drink it.

But then I see it. His pupils dilate and his lips part slightly.

Maybe my lady bits did cast a spell.

Good. We’re going to need it to drop this bomb on him.

"Ophelia, I wanted to discuss last night." He takes a large drink of the smoothie and then pulls a face.

"That good?"

"It’s, well, no. Not good. I’m sorry. It is the thought that counts though."

My quivering quim may never quiver again. In fact, I can practically feel it shriveling up into my body, never to see the light of day.

"Too heavy on the turmeric and ginger."

I blink, trying to figure out what he means. "Oh, the smoothie." I smack myself on the forehead.

"It’s not inedible, but I hope you don’t take offense if I add some more berries to it." He brushes past me and sets about fixing my mess. "What did you think—oh, Ophelia, last night, well …"

I turn to look at him, and I swear he’s blushing. Blushing! He stammers, "Er, ah, it was quite lovely, in my opinion. Are you settled with it?"

Settled? What’s that supposed to mean? Settled like it occurred and is in the past? "Of course." No.

I mean I have to be, if he doesn’t want anything else to happen, then that’s that. "So what now?" If he doesn’t have a plan, then I’m definitely busting out my rules. We need them now more than ever.

"Well, I’ve got to try to set up a call with someone at the agency to see what can be done to salvage my career."

"Do you still want me to call the movers?" The place is technically ours. As soon as we can get furniture there, we could stay there. Xavier’s stuff, with the exception of two suitcases, is in a storage pod in Baltimore.

"Let’s hold on that to see if I’m still getting traded."

The knowledge of what I discovered sits heavy in my stomach. "Um, the trade is dependent on becoming a citizen right?"

Xavier nods. "Yes, that’s why we did all this."

I blow out a small breath. "Um, we need to talk. Come here." I lead him to the couch. Once sitting, I angle to face him and take both his hands in mine. I can do this. I can tell him. "So, it’s about Tony," I begin.

"When I find him, I’m going to throttle the wanker."

"I have a feeling you’re going to have to get in line," I mutter.

"He always was too slick for me, but now he’s slid right off the grid." Xavier shakes his head. "Bloody wanker."

It’s time to pull off the Band-Aid. There’s no other way. "Yeah, well, he screwed you over. Royally."

"I know, but I’m hoping something works in my favor and the Buzzards can buy out my contract for the trade."

I shake my head. "No, because you can’t become a citizen. Not yet anyway. I don’t know where Tony came up with this brilliant plan, but he didn’t look into it. Not at all. We’d have to live together for three years prior to your application to be able to accelerate your citizenship application."

My words hang heavy as Xavier processes. His mouth opens and then closes several times. After what feels like an eternity, he says, "So then, we didn’t have to—"

"Nope." I don’t even let him finish. "I’m not sure if he was high or delusional or had just watched too many rom-com movies with this plot, but no. Our getting married is not going to help you become an American citizen. At least not for three years."

"I’ll be eligible on my green card in eighteen months anyway."

"So we didn’t need to do this." The words are heavy and hurt to say, especially after last night. "You don’t need me."

Xavier sits in stunned silence.

I head back to my computer where my next search is, "how to file for a quick divorce in Massachusetts."

This cannot be real. My head hits the desk with a thump. I hear the door open and close. I’m sure Xavier needs to run or pound something. If I were the working out sort, I probably would too. I have a different sort of release. I open ClikClak.

Okay, you are not going to believe this. I live in Massachusetts, right? Did you know, according to massachusetts.gov, you can only file for divorce in this state if you’ve lived in the state for a year, the reason for the divorce happened in Massachusetts, or you’ve lived in Massachusetts as a couple. I mean, I know Boston isn’t like Vegas for people eloping, but still, are they saying you have to stay married a year? That’s bullshit. Kisses and hugs, I could really use some.

It does occur to me that any time I post on ClikClak there’s drama and that’s the last thing we need, so instead of releasing this video, I save it in my drafts. It makes me feel slightly better for ranting on camera, not that it actually solves anything. You know, like writing that scathing email but not sending it, if only to get it out of your system.

Xavier’s going to need to run the entire Boston Marathon course when he finds out he’s stuck with me—in this state—for a year. Of course, that’s not going to work if he’s playing in Baltimore.

And since the reason for our divorce is that his job is in Baltimore, we can’t even use the "reason for the divorce happened in Massachusetts" excuse to end our marriage.

That’s going to make him miserable if he has to go back there.

My train of thought is interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Not my phone. Xavier’s cell is still on the coffee table, where he left it a few hours ago after he called his parents.

It’s not my business, but perhaps I glance at the screen to see who’s calling. Robert Miller. That name sounds familiar.

Last night pops into my head. Robert Miller definitely has something to do with the Buzzards. Without thinking, I pick up the phone and answer.

"Xavier Henry’s phone. How may I help you?" Perhaps if I sound super professional, it’ll help.

"Er, I’d like to speak with Xavier." His voice is polished and firm, and I’m immediately flustered and intimidated.

"Xavier’s out for a run. He takes his training very seriously, even in the off-season. Especially in the off-season. He’s in excellent shape."

I should know.

"Mm-hmm. This is Bob Miller."

"With the Boston Buzzards, correct?"

"Yes, with whom am I speaking?"

"This is Ophelia. Ophelia … Henry. Mrs. Ophelia Henry. I’m Xavier’s American wife."

So much for being professional.

"Yeah, I heard about that stunt from Bjorn."

"I suppose you’re calling because you also got the news that Xavier’s agent—ex-agent—is a total shyster and scammer? Xavier’s devastated. He wants more than anything to come play for you here in Boston, but now he’s convinced that Tony screwed him over. Please tell me there’s hope?"

There’s a beat of silence that’s just long enough to let my heart drop to my feet.

"This is a very tricky situation now. There’s no love lost between myself and Vinny Camacho, but the league has very stringent rules about trades. Not to mention they don’t look favorably on pilfering between teams."

"But it’s not pilfering. The Terrors guy hates Xavier, I think because of the mess with the guy and the guy’s daughter back in England. But Xavier never got to tell his side of the story. He would never put anyone in danger, and there’s so much more than you know. Camacho won’t play Xavier, and he’s trying to end his career. Isn’t there anything we can do to help this trade actually happen?"

That was perhaps a bit more rambling and desperate than intended, but if this guy has a heart at all, maybe he’ll listen.

"Oh, but there’s one more thing you should know. Tony told Xavier to get married to expedite his citizenship. However, and it should come as no surprise at this point, Tony doesn’t know his ass from his elbow, and even though we totally got married, it’s not going to help. The law doesn’t work that way. So Xavier’s still British. I mean, he’ll always be British, obviously, but he’s not, like, an American citizen yet."

"Well, then my hands are tied until March. I’m not saying we won’t trade for him then, but until then, there’s nothing I can do."

"Nothing?"

"No. And, this needs to stay quiet. Xavier cannot handle another scandal on his sheet. Pulling a stunt like getting married and trying to orchestrate a trade with a shady agent is bad enough, on top of the Jones incident. If he ever wants to set foot on the soccer field again, he’s got to keep his nose as clean as they come."

I’m so glad I didn’t post that last ClikClak.

We disconnect, and I have the overwhelming urge to vomit. None of this is good for Xavier. I probably shouldn’t have talked to Robert Miller and tried to help.

Add this to the list of stupid things I’ve done in the name of love.