Chapter 5 Ophelia
OPHELIA
Istare at the closed door after Silas leaves.
The room feels suddenly chillier, and I hug my arms to myself.
The log in the wood-burning stove glows red and I go to it, taking another from the basket and setting it onto the fire.
I close the door and stand back to watch as it catches, and I can’t help but think about my house, consumed like this log.
Closing my eyes, I shake my head and force myself to draw a deep breath in. It’s time to face the future and stop trying to make sense of a past that doesn’t make sense.
I walk into the small bathroom and close the door behind me.
It’s cooler in here. There doesn’t seem to be central heating.
I shudder, sit on the edge of the tub, and turn the tap, not sure how much hot water I’ll get but letting it fill up the tub as I glance at my reflection. I look a wreck. Hell, I am a wreck.
The glasses, though, are kind of nice. Big, like I like them.
I know how much the lenses cost with my particular prescription, but as soon as the annoying voice of gratitude to Silas rears its traitorous head, I tell it to shut up.
He has enough money to buy them. Still, I am grateful he thought of it.
But if he hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be able to see my way down the aisle, so his motivation is at least a little selfish.
Rummaging through the medicine cabinet, I find a toothbrush still in its packaging as well as toothpaste.
I brush my teeth, and by the time I’m finished, the tub is half full and the water pouring from the tap is no longer hot.
I switch it off, take off the nightgown and my panties, and slip into the bath.
There’s a half-full bottle of shampoo and conditioner.
I realize it might be Lourdes’s room, and she’s given it to me as I’ve been recovering.
I wonder why Silas brought me here and didn’t take me elsewhere. Although I guess if there’s a warrant out for his arrest, it makes sense to come somewhere that’s pretty much off grid with impassable roads. But where does he think we’re getting married?
I wash my hair quickly before the water cools, and as the conditioner detangles my curls, I gently lather soap over my body. I’m sore all over, the bottoms of my feet still the worst of it, but it’s not as bad as it was the night I woke up in the hotel room with Ethan.
I wonder where Ethan is now, what he’s doing. I remember what Sly told him about not fucking this up. He did fuck it up, although it wasn’t quite in his control.
I shake my head. I don’t care, not about Ethan or what may happen between him and his father.
I think about what I’ve learned about my grandfather, my uncle.
I wonder if my grandfather is like Chandler.
I’m not sure I want anything to do with him if he is.
According to Silas, he’s dying. Is that even true?
What he said about Ethan’s plan, though, that I can’t wrap my brain around. I may not know Ethan the way I thought I did but I know he’s not capable of murder. That’s too far-fetched.
I pull the plug on the drain and stand up, feeling steadier as I towel off.
I put the nightgown and panties back on even though I’d love something fresh, but it’s this or naked right now.
When I walk back into the bedroom, I see another steaming mug of broth on the nightstand.
I drink it all, take two aspirin, then get back into the bed.
Even though I’ve slept most of the last week away, I’m exhausted, and I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
I must sleep solidly through the night and most of the next day because when I open my eyes again, it’s to the sound of rain pelting the windows. The sky is a dirty gray, and the clock on the nightstand tells me it’s a little after two.
I’m stretching when someone knocks on the door.
“Come in,” I say, expecting Silas but seeing Lourdes, who is carrying a plate of eggs and fruit and a big steaming mug of coffee. The scent of it all makes my stomach growl embarrassingly loud.
“Good morning. I mean afternoon,” Lourdes says. “You slept a long time. How do you feel?”
“Better. I guess I needed it.” I do feel clearer, my head not as foggy. “Is this your bed, Lourdes? Did I displace you?”
“No, don’t worry about that. You look better,” she says as I take the dish from her and set it on my lap before sipping the coffee.
“This is delicious,” I say, the coffee perfectly made with lots of cream and sugar.
“Silas made it for you,” Lourdes says and ruins it.
I set the coffee aside and pick up the fork. “Is he here?” I try to ask casually.
“Right here,” comes Silas’s voice from the door. I startle and the fork slips from my hand, clattering loudly against the plate on my lap.
I clear my throat and try not to look at him. He’s showered and dressed, and the beard he was sporting is gone, replaced by his usual five o’clock shadow.
Lourdes smiles. “I’ll leave you two alone. Dress is in the closet. It should fit. I was your size once a very long time ago.” She smiles at me then turns to Silas. “We’ll be ready when you are,” she tells him on her way out. I guess she’s talking about the wedding.
Silas thanks her and waits for her to close the door before approaching the bed.
“How do you feel?” he asks, and there’s something in the way he’s looking at me that’s off.
“Fine.” I put a bite of eggs into my mouth and chew.
At least we have that signed agreement. It should make me feel better, somewhat in control of what is happening to me.
I’ve been out of control for so long. But then there’s something else that comes to mind.
A prenup. If it’s true about my grandfather, what about Silas? Would he—
No. I stop.
He wouldn’t hurt me. I know that in my gut.
I clear my throat. “How are we getting married exactly if we’re trapped here in this cabin?”
“Father Emiliano will marry us. Lourdes will be our witness.”
“Ah. You really have thought of everything.”
“You look better, O.”
I eat another bite of eggs although I’m not hungry anymore. “I want to go to see my father with you,” I tell him, trying again.
“No.”
“We’ll be married. Like you said last night, I can’t marry Ethan if I’m already married to you.” The thought, the words, send not dread but an almost electrical charge through me I know I shouldn’t feel.
“No. Not yet. Eat.” He checks the time.
“In a rush?”
“The sooner we get this done, the better.”
“Know that you’ll be forcing me. It wouldn’t be a choice I’d make if I had any choice at all.”
He grits his teeth but nods tightly. “I’ll help you get dressed.”
“I’m fine. I can dress myself. I need to use the bathroom, so you can go.” I cross to the bathroom door but when I put my hand on the doorknob, I realize something. Ethan’s engagement ring is gone. “Where’s my ring?” I ask.
“Don’t tell me you miss that fucking monstrosity?”
“No, but where is it?”
“Bottom of the ocean by now.” He shrugs. “Who cares. You’ll wear my ring once we’re married.”
“I don’t want your ring.”
“You’ll wear it anyway. Get dressed and try to remember I’m not your enemy, will you? It’s getting tiring,” he says and walks out.
Feeling like a chastised, petulant child, I flip off the closed door before walking into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I comb my fingers through my hair, but there’s only so much I can do.
Back in the bedroom, I open the closet door.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but what I see is not it.
For a full minute, I stare up at the dress hanging there because it’s beautiful.
It’s a simple floor length dress of white satin and lace.
The satin drapes at the neck and delicate spaghetti straps hold it up. On the floor is a pair of pretty shoes.
I touch the gown, take it off the hanger. It is as light as a feather and so utterly different than the one Mira had picked out for me. This one is something I would choose myself.
I take off the nightgown and slip the dress over my head. I reach back to zip it. It’s a near perfect fit. There isn’t a mirror in the room, so I can’t see what I look like.
Someone knocks on the door a moment later. I look over my shoulder as Silas opens it. He stops short, mouth falling open.
It takes him a minute before he recovers, clears his throat and steps toward me.
“I’m not ready,” I say.
He brushes my hands away, his fingers warm against my skin.
We’re silent, awkwardly so. I’m holding my breath, trying not to make a sound, trying not to feel that spark of electricity, of excitement at his touch as he zips the dress all the way up.
He slides his hands over the smooth satin as he turns me to face him.
I clear my throat, stupidly nervous, and find I can’t meet his eyes. I try to remind myself that this isn’t real.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
“I look like I don’t own a comb, not to mention the truck that ran me over,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed to slip on the shoes.
He smiles, crouches down to take them from me. “You always look beautiful. You just don’t see it.”
I don’t know how to respond, so I regress to anger like I have with him for the last few years. “I can do that myself,” I say, trying to pull my foot free when he takes it in his hands.
“If it hurts, we can…”
“What? Go barefoot?”
“I’ll carry you.”
“It’s fine.”
He nods, slips the shoes on. I’m grateful they’re about half a size too big. I stand up as he straightens and look up at him, feeling self-conscious and, honestly, nervous.
“Ophelia, the dress—”
“This isn’t real, Silas. You don’t have to pretend anything, so drop the act. You’re getting what you want, and I’m walking away once it’s over. That’s the deal. So, let’s go get this done so we can both be free of each other.”
I stalk out of the bedroom and into the hallway. It’s a single-story cabin and I see the fire in the living room burning in a stove similar to the one in the bedroom. Lourdes is there, along with her brother. She takes me in and smiles wide.
“You look beautiful, my dear,” Lourdes says.
“Thank you.”
“This is my brother, Father Emiliano.”
“Hello, Father,” I say, not sure if I should be irritated or outright angry at their complicity with Silas’s plan but there is a part of me that wants this. A part I am trying hard to ignore.
“Ready?” he asks as Silas joins us.
“Can’t wait,” I say.
Silas chuckles, wraps a hand around the back of my neck and turns me toward the front door.
Lourdes gives me her coat, but I notice she doesn’t have another and refuse it.
Silas takes his own off the coat rack and sets it over my shoulders.
I’d refuse that too, but when Father Emiliano opens the front door and we step out into the bracing morning, wind blowing rain at our faces, I shiver and hug it close.
His aftershave lingers, and I breathe it in.
We follow Lourdes and Father Emiliano to the chapel.
It’s a short walk. Much of the snow is gone, the temperature just a few degrees above freezing but enough to turn what could have been more snow into rain.
I notice then the small graveyard, the tops of the grave markers sticking out of the snow. I glance up at Silas and follow his gaze to the angel, whose wings and head are just visible. For a moment, he looks so incredibly sad that I am tempted to reach out, to comfort him.
It must be Esmerelda’s grave. It’s a beautiful spot.
A gust of wind has me shivering.
When Father Emiliano pulls the door open, the scent of incense permeates my senses, and we enter.
Inside is a little warmer with the fire in the grate beneath the altar.
I stand in the middle of the aisle, my feet seeming rooted to the spot, heart racing, hands clammy.
Silas slips the jacket off my shoulders and drops it onto a pew.
Candles burn a warm glow along the altar and all around the stone walls, and a recording of devotional organ music plays in the background.
I realize I’m wrong as I watch Lourdes help Father Emiliano into a decorative red and white robe trimmed with gold thread. I realize that this is happening. It is real. Very real.
I am marrying him.
Cool sweat breaks out over my forehead.
I am marrying Silas Cruz.
At the thought, I feel him at my back and when he leans down, his breath is warm against my neck.
“Still think it’s not real, sweetheart?” he asks, sending a shiver down my spine.