7. Ophelia
My mind whirls. My father was attacked. Why and by whom?
A sound comes in the distance. It grows louder. A helicopter. I glance up at Silas. Could it be the police here for him? And if it is, how do I feel about it? Probably not how I should feel.
“Do you, Silas, take Ophelia, to be your wife? Do you promise to be faithful to her in good times and bad, in sickness and in health, to honor her all the days of your life?” Father Emiliano asks.
I notice one word is missing.
Love.
He isn’t promising to love me. What he told me earlier, that he’ll marry for love, why did he say that? Why say it at all?
“I do,” Silas says.
Father Emiliano turns to me and repeats the question. I don’t look at Silas when I nod and mumble my I do.
“Now that you have committed yourselves to one another, I pronounce you husband and wife. That which God has brought together let no man put asunder. You may kiss the bride.”
I look up at Silas, and Silas looks down at me, but in this moment, we are further apart than we’ve ever been. We don’t kiss. This isn’t a wedding where the bride and groom kiss.
The helicopter sounds like it’s right outside the door.
Silas checks his watch, nods to Father Emiliano. “Let’s sign what we need to sign,” he says, and from a folder in the first pew, Lourdes takes out the marriage license and a certificate. I sign my name.
“It’s done,” Father Emiliano says.
Silas nods. “Thank you. Both of you.” He turns to me, but I can’t look at him. “Let’s go,” he says. He wraps his arm around my back, and we walk to the chapel exit.
Before we open the door, someone opens it from the outside and I gasp, expecting the police, expecting an army to bear down on us. But it’s not that at all. Instead, a man who looks somewhat familiar smiles to Silas in greeting.
“Hamish. Right on time,” Silas says.
“We’re ready to go when you are,” Hamish says.
He nods and must remember his jacket because he goes back for it and drapes it over my shoulders. I hug it around myself. It’s bitterly cold and the choppers blades are whipping up the air heavy with rain. We step outside and in the noise of it all, Silas stops short, stopping me, too. I see what it is that’s caught his attention.
A single white feather floats in the air before us.
I watch Silas, who stands, mesmerized as it falls. It’s the oddest thing. When it lands on the ground at our feet, he bends to pick it up.
Wordlessly, I watch.
He studies it with reverence then gently, so very gently, he closes his hand around the feather and pockets it. He glances at the grave in the far corner of the lot, the angel’s wings there, the top of her bent head. He then wraps his arm around me, pulling me close. “Come,” he says.
We hurry to the chopper and once we’re inside, Silas straps me in, then secures his own belt as it takes off. We slip on the headphones and look down at Lourdes and Father Emiliano, who grow smaller and smaller the farther we get. I see how far up on the cliffs we are, and the road that was impassable last night is now crawling with a procession of SUVs. Several of them have flashing lights.
“Fucking Sly,” Silas mutters.
We don’t speak as it all disappears from view and, twenty minutes later, the chopper touches down at an airfield where a private plane is waiting for us.
“I’m not going to Atlanta,” I say, remembering that was the plan as Silas hurries me toward the jet.
“No. The flight will take us to Boston.”
“Oh,” I say, honestly surprised. I wasn’t sure he’d stick to his end of the bargain. “Okay.”
Fifteen minutes after we’re on board, the jet takes off. Silas asks for a whiskey as soon as we’re airborne. I decline a drink.
“Tell me what happened. Which hospital is he in? Tell me what’s going on.”
“I already told you all I know, which isn’t much. We’ll learn more once we reach the house.”
“He’s all right?”
“It sounds like it.”
“Let me have your phone. I’ll call his lawyer.”
He considers, then nods and hands me his phone. I dial Mr. Higgins’s office and when I tell the secretary who I am, she puts me right through.
“Ophelia. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. Where are you? Your fiancé told me what happened. Are you all right?”
By fiancé, he means Ethan, who must have my phone—who must have answered it when Mr. Higgins called. But that doesn’t matter. “I’m all right. Where is my dad? How is he?”
“He’s at Massachusetts General Hospital, and he’s stable. I saw him this morning.”
“You saw him?”
“I did. He’s worried about you, obviously, but he’ll make a full recovery. He was stabbed in the abdomen yesterday afternoon but he’s lucky. The guards got to him quickly and he was taken to the hospital.”
“Do they know who did it or why?”
“No. It happened during a busy period in a common area of the prison, unfortunately.”
“He can’t go back there. It’s not safe for him.”
“I’m working on that, Ophelia.”
“Can I see him?”
“I’m not sure they’ll allow a visit at the hospital. I’ll be able to see him as his lawyer but otherwise, I’m not sure. I’ll see what I can do, though.”
“Please do. Can I call him in the meantime?”
“I’ll call you tomorrow morning from the hospital. That’s the earliest I can get there.”
“Okay. Okay. It’ll have to do.”
“Are you safe, Ophelia?” he asks again, voice grave because I’m sure he’s seen what happened and believes I’ve been kidnapped.
“I’m safe.” I look at Silas who is watching me. “Just use this number until I get you a new one. I lost my other phone.”
“Okay.”
We say goodbye and disconnect. I hand the phone back to Silas. We don’t speak for the remainder of the short flight and soon, the pilot announces our approach into Boston.
When we land, an SUV with a driver is waiting for us. Hamish takes the passenger seat as Silas, and I settle into the back. I’m very aware of how watchful both Hamish and Silas are.
“What happens now?” I ask Silas as we merge onto a highway.
“There’s a warrant out for my arrest, as we knew there would be.”
“For the fire?”
He scrutinizes a sedan with tinted windows and only once we pass it does he nod to answer my question.
“That and they want to talk to me about the accident and, of course, your whereabouts.”
I haven’t seen a single paper or even looked at the news since I woke up. “According to the Foxes, I tried to kill Ethan and kidnapped you. They’re looking for you as well.”
I wonder what Ethan told them. I can imagine what witnesses would have made of what they saw. Silas had rammed his SUV into our car before hauling Ethan out and beating him and then taking me. I get it that there’s a manhunt for him.
Silas takes a call, and I rest my head against the back of the seat. About twenty minutes later, we exit the highway and, ten minutes after that, we veer off onto a long driveway in a cul-de-sac.
“Whose house is this?” I ask as the house comes into view. A Bentley is parked out front.
“This is one of Nigella’s investment properties, apparently.”
“Who’s Nigella?”
“My lawyer.”
“Is she any good?”
He looks surprised by my question. “The best.”
The car comes to a stop at the front of the house. It’s a beautiful, large white stone house, not big but not small by any means. We all climb out, and I’m surprised to find Hamish unloading two suitcases from the trunk. Silas walks up the porch steps to the front door, which is opened before we reach it. Standing there is a woman in a dark pantsuit, her black hair cut sharply at her nape, her makeup perfectly applied, and her lips painted a deep, dark red.
She steps toward Silas and cocks her head to the side. “I expect a raise after all this,” she says to him.
He leans in to kiss her cheek. “Judging from the house, I already overpay you.”
The woman raises her eyebrows and looks at me.
“Nigella, this is my wife, Ophelia Cruz. Ophelia, this is my lawyer, Nigella Gibson.”
My attention is snagged by that one word—wife. We’re married. It’s done.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Nigella says.
“I guess that depends on your perspective. It’s Ophelia Hart, actually,” I say, extending my hand, and it’s not just the last name. I hear myself say Ophelia. Not Phee. My father had called me Phee when I was younger, and it’s just how I’ve always introduced myself. Using my full name now feels like a milestone, as strange as that sounds. Like I’m taking charge of it.
“Well, congratulations on marrying one of the most stubborn men I have ever met.”
I can’t help but smile.
“As nice as this is, it’s late and I’m sure Ophelia is tired,” Silas says, ushering us inside.
“Of course.” Nigella tells Hamish where to take the suitcases and grabs her purse.
“You’re not staying?” I ask. “It’s your house.”
“She’s fine,” Silas says. “She’s booked herself a suite at the Four Seasons.”
“Already looking forward to a massage followed by room service,” Nigella says. “You two get some rest.” One corner of her mouth quirks upward. “See you tomorrow?” she asks Silas.
He nods once and she walks out the front door and into the Bentley.
“I definitely overpay her,” Silas says, and he closes the door. He turns to me. “Are you hungry?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to have a shower. Which one is my bedroom?” I ask, looking up at the half-dozen doors I can see from here on the second floor. Hamish comes out of one of them.
“That one,” Silas says. I notice Hamish doesn’t have either of the suitcases with him and I’m pretty sure Silas expects to share a room, but I’ll handle that later. Right now, I want to be out of this wedding dress and in a hot shower.
Silas takes his phone out and disappears into the living room while I make my way up the winding staircase to the second floor. Hamish left the door to the bedroom open, and I enter to find a king size bed against the far wall. Floor to ceiling windows overlook the elegantly lit backyard and the lamps on the nightstand are on, their brass bases ornate and heavy, the light they cast warm.
Throughout the room are accents of red and gold, the bedding heavy with it, each piece in the room obviously chosen with care. It’s all beautiful, from that statement bed to the armoire, to the richly upholstered deep red Louis XIV chairs threaded through with gold that share a single footrest between them.
Hamish set our suitcases on racks and they’re both unzipped. I cross from the large living space to look through the first one, which is full of women’s clothes. I pull out a dress and see the tag from the store still pinned to the label. It’s my size, as is everything else. I glance at the other case, and inside are men’s clothes, all new, all looking like things Silas would wear. Did he buy us two new wardrobes when plans changed? I guess he’d need to. Neither of us have extra clothes on hand.
I walk into the en-suite bathroom. It’s huge. It would swallow up Lourdes’s bathroom in the cabin. And it’s nice and warm. Every surface is gold-veined white marble, and the bath has brass fixtures and claw feet. It stands invitingly in the middle of the room.
I should just have a shower. It will be faster. But a tray rests across the tub that’s loaded with luxury bath salts and oils, and I find myself turning the old fashioned taps and watching hot water pour into the bath. I drop some lavender oil into the steaming water and get up to lock the door, except there is no lock.
Not much I can do about that.
I walk to the window as the bath fills and look out over the backyard. The sky is midnight blue dotted with stars, and everything seems so calm here. It’s almost like the events of the past week couldn’t have happened. It seems so long ago.
I take a deep breath in and exhale. Even with all that’s going on, it feels good to be here. Feels safe, maybe. Maybe I’m fooling myself, but I can’t think about all that now. I just want to forget for a little bit and have a long, hot bath.
I get out of the wedding dress and drape it over the bench against the wall, strip off my underthings, and slide into the steaming tub. The too hot water is soothing as I rest my head against the edge and close my eyes.