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 knowexactlywhat 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. Ineedto 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 seenGreen Card, that old '90s rom-com. Though whoever thought of casting Gérard Depardieu inanythingshould be fired. But that's neither here nor there. FYI, Gerard Butler is my Gerard of choice. I mean,P.S.-I Love Youis a definite go-to movie for me, but I've been known to watch300simply 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.
