Chapter 12
OPHELIA
Colette’s commitment to an iced latte knows no bounds.
She sips hers through a lipstick-stained paper straw while I cup my giant mug of tea, watching the rain trickle down the windows of a quiet café in Covent Garden. The temperature in London may be flirting with single digits, and the UV index might’ve somehow worked its way into the negatives, but Colette is sporting a miniskirt and sunglasses. She’s got those narrow-framed ones that only someone like her could pull off, balanced precariously on top of her head as she sighs happily into her drink.
Eike sits quietly on the table behind us, reading a thriller with his earphones in.
The idea of a shopping day had filled me with dread, but when Colette said she could work withanybudget, she really meant it. A morning spent traipsing along the racks of London’s dustiestcharity shops has left me with two pretty dresses, a new skirt, jeans that actually fit me, and two new knitted jumpers, all for less than the single cocktail I bought at the bar last night.
Colette’s phone pings on the table in front of us, prompting us both to lean over to look at it. It’s morbid curiosity on my part; the texts Vincenzo sends her are beyond filthy. I have to google half the things I see in them. But it’s not Vincenzo. It’s an address, sent from an unsaved number.
She looks at me warily, and worry trickles down my spine. I turn around and scan the café, just in case. I’ve had such a busy couple of days, I almost forgot about my stalker. “Don’t open it.”
“You think it’s from … oh my god. How did they get my number? What if they know what hotel we’re at?”
Eike pulls out both earphones and is at our side in a split second. “What is it?”
“Someone sent Colette an address.”
“We’re too scared to open it.”
Just as I finish speaking, a second text pings through. We stare at the phone like it might be about to blow up.
Here’s the address for today. Thanks soooo much for this, cannot tell you how much we appreciate it! It’s a sold out event and it’d be so sad to cancel! Clemmie x
Colette picks up the phone, frowning. “Did I book us in for something? Volunteering?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
Her pink nails tap at the screen, expression pensive. Eike is stressing me out, pumping out tension like a radiator where he hovers over us. Colette’s pink flush drains away, her face pale.
“What is it?”
“Okay, Ophelia,” she says, like someone trying to talk down a wolf.
“What is it?”
“I need you to not freak out.”
Obviously, I’m going to freak out. I’ve never successfullynotfreaked out. “Tell me.”
“Oh God,” she says, dragging both hands down her face in a way that issounlike her. She’s smudged her makeup, so I know it must bebad.
“I’m freaking out.”
“Oh God,” she repeats. “Oh God.”
“Eike, hit her reset button, she’s malfunctioning.”
“Shit, Ophelia,” she mutters, and now I really am worried, because sheneverswears. If it’s skydiving, I’ll lose my shit. “It’s all coming back to me.”
I place my clammy palms on her narrow shoulders and give her a gentle shake. “What is it?”
“We signed you up to be the model for a one of those naked drawing classes.”
Skydiving would’ve been alright, actually.
