"Sorry about the comments earlier. I know you work hard there. The birds are lucky you take such good care of them."
"Eh, I'd rather be with them than people anyway. Ain't got no use for most people."
"Myself included, I believe."
He ignores that comment. "As for the marriage thing, treat it like you would your playbook. You follow the script. You know the tactical moves. You know when to strike. This is another offensive move that will brush right past the defense."
Philip's words are starting to make sense. I need to do what I have to do to play, and that means having a convincing enough marriage to grant me citizenship.
There's a grunt from the other end of the line, which is Philip's usual way of dismissing the conversation. "Right then. Thanks for the advice. It's actually quite helpful."
I need to go into this marriage like I would a game. Tactical and prepared.
It's time to get my bride her bouquet.
Chapter 25: Ophelia
"Is it bad luck to wear black to a wedding?" I ask hopefully. My closet is not offering much in the way of a solution and the minutes are ticking by. At this rate, I'm going to show up at City Hall naked.
I can almost guarantee that'll cause exactly the kind of scandal Xavier wants to avoid.
"If you're the bride it is. Don't you haveanythingthat isn't black?" Marley's rear end is only partially visible, as she's head first in the depths of my closet. "Also, I feel like I'm in some sort of alternate universe. You. A bride. I still don't know how this happened. Are you sure? Like sure you're sure?"
I lie back on my bed and cover my face with my hands. Sundance takes this as an opportunity to pounce onto my stomach and start making biscuits. Seeing as how he weighs seventeen pounds, this feels like he's trying to give me CPR or the Heimlich over and over.
"I have a light ivory cable knit, but there's a good possibility that it has coffee stains down the front of it, and yes, I'm sure, so stop questioning me. We only have about three hours to transfer me into a blushing bride."
Marley's head pops out of the closet, eying me warily. It's time to lay it on thick.
"Marl, I can't even explain how it happened. We chatted one night—all night—and the next day he was on a train to see me. You know how they say 'when you know, you know?' Well, we justknew. There's no sense in waiting."
Her eyes narrow, considering my words.
"And this time, it's not me being impulsive and stupid. He wants to marryme. He sees who I am, beyond my messes, and still wantsme. How can I not love that?"
Marley harrumphs. "You are wonderful. I don't know why it's taken someone so long to see it."
She's coming around. At least I hope she is. I stare at my ceiling and silently beg the universe to make her see it my way. I know she's turned the corner when she says, "You arenotgetting married in a sweater, let alone one with stains. How do you not have any white dresses?"
I lift my head to see her over the mound of yellow cat on my stomach. "See previous comment about spilling coffee. Also, I'm pasty white as a baseline, so white's not the best color on me. It looks so much better on you. That's why you always get white."
As soon as I say it, Marley lets out a dramatic groan. "Arrgh. Why didn't we think of it sooner? I'll be back as soon as I can. Get to work on your hair." Marley looks for her shoes, which may have disappeared into the abyss of clothes that now cover most of the bedroom floor. "And pick up this mess, because you don't want to have your wedding night in this chaos."
While my curling iron's heating up, I shove my clothes back into the closet. I'll worry about those later. It's been ages since I've curled my hair, though this is a pricey curling iron I was compelled to buy during the height of the first lockdown, mostly because everyone on ClikClak said it was revolutionary.
About every other curl is coming out well. The others, yikes. I may have to fall back on some of the other hairstyles ClikClak told me about, most of which involve flipping the hair through itself and twisting it around.
By the time Marley comes bursting back through my door, I've managed to get my hair into a purposefully messy chignon that looks elegant and romantic. A few face-framing pieces and a pound of hairspray, and I'm good to go, at least with that.
"I brought these three." Marley waves a garment bag. "I hope one will work."
I wasn't kidding when I said white was her color. It's stunning on her bronze skin.
There's a long sheath dress with a cowl neck that's too long on me. There's a lacy summer two-piece jumpsuit that looks totally inappropriate for the occasion. Not to mention the pants are about six inches too long for me.
But then I see it.
"Where'd you get this?" I can't take my eyes off the last dress.
