Ophelia folds her arms across her chest as she fixes her gaze up on the ceiling. She's so focused that I turn to look to see if there's anything in that corner, like a spider or leprechaun scaling down the wall.
For the record, there's nothing.
But looking at her more closely, I see something much more alarming. Tears in her eyes.
Oh shit.
Chapter 21: Ophelia
He doesn't want a wedding.
Of course, he doesn't want a wedding. Why would he want a wedding? It's not like he's in love with me and really wants to declare in front of all our friends and family that he can't spend another single moment without me.
Because that's not true.
Obviously.
It's not like he was going to take one look at me, hungover and pale, stupid Heidi braids in my hair, and fall head-over-heels in love. That only happens in books.
I mean, he's totally the type of person you could fall in lust with, but only one of us here belongs on a magazine cover. And it's not me.
"Did I say something to upset you?"
I shake my head, knowing if I try to speak the words will come tumbling out in a foolish, blubbering mess. You know, the real me.
It's not like I don'tknowI'm being irrational. I totally am. I just don't know how to stop my brain from speeding off down this path like Julia Roberts's horse inThe Runaway Bride.
I keep staring at a tiny crack in my wall, just under the ceiling. I focus on that line and will the moisture to absorb back into my eyeballs. He wasn't talking about a wedding. He wanted to talk about our marriage.
The business arrangement.
God, I'm such an idiot.
I inhale deeply, letting it out over a count of six. Okay, I think I can talk now.
"Right. This isn't about a wedding. I … I don't know why I said that. Um, I work until five, but maybe we could run to city hall on my lunch break. I mean, can it wait until Tuesday?"
Xavier's face goes pale. Shit, I've totally scared him off with my freak romantic notions. He's going to throw away his entire career rather than be attached to me.
I don't think I'll ever recover from this.
Maybe I'll buy a wedding gown and languish here like Miss Havisham fromGreat Expectations. I'd probably be really good at that.
"Well, I mean time is of the essence, but not that much so. We need to go over the contract. You'll want your lawyer to look at it, and we'll have to agree on changes. I'm sure there's paperwork and such, like a marriage license. I don't know what the turnaround time is on something like that. I've never been married before."
I swallow, finally able to look at him. He's easily the hottest guy who's ever been in my presence. Bright blue eyes, wide grin. An ass you could bounce a quarter off of. He does not belong in my shabby apartment with its vintage—okay old—mismatched furniture. I'm going to have to move, probably to a brand new condo with glass tables and clean lines and no character. I won't fit in any more than I do now.
But at least it's a chance to do something other than collect dust and cobwebs here. "Me neither." I finally meet his gaze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get upset."
Xavier leans forward. "Ophelia, you know this is business for me."
I stand up. "Of course. Me too. So, send over the contract and then let me know when you want me. Or how you want me. I'm very flexible. I mean," I fumble my words. "Where you want to do it. Me. Not do me, because, like you said it's business, and I don't do it for business. I mean, maybe I should. I'd make better money than I do now, right?"
Someone, please muzzle me.
Xavier stands as well, nervously glancing toward the door. He's probably trying to figure out if he needs to stop for his coat before running out. He doesn't need to worry. Soccer players are probably a lot better runners than couch potato accountant book nerds who hate to exercise. He wouldn't even have to try that hard to escape.
"You don't need to answer that."
