I can't help but grin. Being in her presence makes me smile more than I have in years. "Of course. But I hope you don't. You see, I'm wondering why you're doing this. Or even considering it."
She looks down at her hands folded tightly in her lap. They seem so small. I wonder how they'd compare in size to mine. "I don't want to say."
Oh no. This is not promising.
"Right. But if this is going to work, I think we need to be honest with each other. About everything." I don't need anyone's subversive agendas interfering with my life plans again. Not that I think Phaedra planned to ruin my life, but she absolutely had her own agenda. As did Alycia. "That's pretty much all I'll ask of you."
I see her suck in a deep breath and then slowly release it. "This is my—our—stop." She stands quickly. "Come on."
I stand, throwing my knapsack on and lifting my suitcase as I walk down the train steps. It's totally dark, but the bright streetlights stave off some of that ominous feeling night usually brings.
"I'm about two blocks this way." She takes off her mask and points up the road. "Or, if you want, there are some hotels this way, but they're down a little way. Near Coolidge Corner, I think." She changes her arm in the opposite direction.
"I'll escort you to your place, and then I'll see about a hotel room. Do you mind if I work on it for a few minutes?" I remove my mask and shove it into my pocket. Then I pull out my phone and open the browser.
"Well, don't be silly. You don't need to stand here in the middle of Beacon Street. We can hang out for a while. It's only … wow, it's almost eight already. That went fast."
I too am surprised at how quickly the last three hours have passed in her presence. Usually making small talk seems much more interminable.
No one would ever accuse me of being too congenial.
As we walk up the sideway, Ophelia prattles on about this and that. "I would love to live right on Beacon, but I'm not that far off. And to save the extra thousand a month, I can walk a block or two from the main road. Plus, I don't get the noise from the T. Not to mention my building is super cool, with a turret and everything."
"If you don't mind my asking, what are you paying for rent? I mean, I don't want to pry, but more in a scouting for information way." I'm guessing Boston is more expensive than Baltimore, but they could be fairly comparable. "And you live in a turret?"
Ophelia laughs. "No, I live in the basement in the back of the building. The front has a turret. And a stone balcony and courtyard that I don't get to use. But for the bargain price of $1,500, I can at least say I live there. Windows optional."
I frown. What does she mean? Immediately, I'm picturing a medieval dungeon.
"You'll see," she continues. "It's not bad. It's a one-bedroom, with virtually no windows, but I do have my own laundry, so that's a bonus. A similar apartment here on Beacon would be at least $2,500 and probably wouldn't have a laundry."
"I'm paying about what you're paying, but it's at least a two-bedroom and there are tons of complex amenities." We turn onto her street, and I can't wait to see it in daylight. The brownstones look old, yet well maintained, and there's something very British about the feel of this street with its stone walls and wrought iron fences. "This is quite charming."
"Isn't it? This is how I sort of picture areas of London being. At least the feel of the architecture."
"I was thinking something similar."
Ophelia lets out a little squeal, clapping her hands. "Oh, that makes me so happy. I'm totallyobsessedwith the idea of British life. It's just all so romantic."
That's it. She's not a sports fanatic, but an Anglophile.
Swell.
"So that's why you've agreed to this cockamamie plan then?"
Ophelia doesn't just stop but she actually stumbles. "What? No. I'm not looking for a romantic situation. It's all business, remember? I … it's just … well, you see …"
"Did you only agree because I'm British?" I'm not sure why I'm getting upset. She doesn't have to justify this to me. And who cares if she thinks my accent or how I grew up is fascinating. "Would you still be agreeing to marry me if I were American?"
"Obviously not." She stands tall, finally with her footing secure, and puts her hands on her hips.
I knew it! She's got ulterior motives. I hope she doesn't think this is going to be a financial windfall or some short circuit to publicity. She doesn't want the type of hype I attract.
On the other hand, why else would she be doing this if she didn't have ulterior motives? Unless she was crackers, it wouldn't make sense to marry a stranger for absolutely no reason.
Yet still, I'm miffed. I don't know why.
"I see."
