This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.
This isdefinitelygoing in the book as a gesture to win over the heroine. I hurry to film a few seconds, close enough that you can't tell it's a bouquet, and post to ClikClak with the caption, "Flowers from a boy" #xoxo. If it's on my feed, I'll remember to write it down in my notebook tonight when we get back.
We're not even married yet, and the book is practically writing itself.
"We ready to go?" Xavier asks, donning a long coat over his blue suit. I'm not going to lie, I think he may look hotter in the suit than he does in the towel. Okay, not really, but the suit is a close second. Maybe I can take a picture of him to use on the cover of a book. He's totally dreamy enough.
I open the hall closet where my raspberry wool dress coat hangs. I've had it since college and hardly ever wear it anymore, but it seems wrong to put my Northface puffer on over this beautiful dress.
"Let's grab an Uber. You're too clean to ride the T. Plus those shoes don't look sensible for walking."
Once we slide into the back of the car, I look at my ClikClak to see the notifications for my last video. It's not viral—yet—but it's getting there. I should have made one of those time-lapse videos counting down the time to our wedding.
Xavier also has his phone out. "Let's do one for Instagram." He pulls his mask down and I do the same. I slide in close to him as he reaches around me to get the selfie. My flowers are perfectly blurred at the bottom of the picture. I don't look half bad myself. I mean, I'm not on his level, nor will I ever be, but I am reminded that if I put in a little effort, I'm rather pretty.
I hope he thinks so too. Not like it matters.
It's not like he's really my fiancé or anything. This isn't my real wedding. If it were, I'd have a bouquet of hydrangeas, not roses. And Marley would be here. So would my parents and brothers. My dad would be beaming with pride and my mother would be wiping her mascara away with her tears of sheer joy. My gown would be long and would not be borrowed and would not be so tight that it makes it hard to breathe.
And the man I would be marrying would actually love me.
But I don't get my dream wedding. I should enjoy this because it's all I may ever have.
Suddenly my eyes are full of tears. I pull my mask back up and stare out the window, trying to blink them back.
This is without a doubt the stupidest thing I've ever done.
Chapter 26: Xavier
If I didn't know better, I'd say Ophelia is crying. Or at least trying not to cry. Bollocks.
I don't know what I did, but more importantly, I don't know how to make her stop. Marley's not-so-gentle words echo through my head.
You'd better treat her right because she is the most wonderful person on the face of the earth.
There was also a not-so-thinly veiled threat to remove my manhood from my body should I break Ophelia's heart like "all the other losers she wasted time on" did. Fine. It was an outright threat with awful details including a pair of pliers and a long needle.
I'm glad Ophelia has someone like Marley looking out for her. I'm slightly disturbed as well, but Marley's concern and caring for Ophelia came through in her threats. Ophelia needs that. She, from what I can tell, wears her heart on her sleeve way too often to avoid the heartbreak that accompanies it.
Without warning, I feel very protective of her. I want to take her in my arms and tell her not to cry. But I can't do that. That would be too real.
And all of a sudden, this has become infinitely more complicated. It did seem too easy, all of this falling into place. I've never been one to rush through things, but the past three weeks have been at warp speed.
And now Ophelia's in tears.
I reach out, my hand hovering over her bare knee for a moment, but decide that's entirely too familiar. I let my fingers rest on her forearm. "You alright, love?"
She doesn't turn back to look at me, her gaze transfixed out the window. I snap a quick picture of her. It's rare that she's not smiling.
I don't think I care for it at all.
I clear my throat. "Right, so you spoke with the clerk, and we're all set to get the marriage license immediately?"
Her hair bobs up and down, indicating a nod of agreement, but she remains silent. I put my hand back on her arm. "Ophelia, what's going on?"
Finally, she turns to face me, her eyes dull. "It's nothing. I'm fine."
"If you say so." She's obviously lying, but I'm not going to push her. God strike me down, but I don't want her changing her mind. Not with Coach Janssen wanting me at the event tonight.
