Page 84 of The Preacher's Pet

I’m the Preachers’ now. The Preachers’ pet. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

47

OPHELIA

The next weekpasses in a flurry of happiness, interspersed with a lot of sex. A lot. I’ve started to wonder what on Earth I did with all my time when I wasn’t having this much sex.

I can feel the change in myself. I smile more, I hold my shoulders back and my chin up. I chat with complete strangers while in line at the cafeteria and find myself speaking up in class. I haven’t changed how I dress, but instead of being ashamed, I’m owning it. This is who I am, and if someone doesn’t like it, that’s their problem, not mine. I’ve even discovered there’s a name for dressing like this—boho. I’m tempted to get myself some boots to wear with my long dresses and might ask the men if we can go to town one day to go shopping, though perhaps Camile might be a better choice for that particular activity.

I’m in my calculus class when a knock comes at the door, and one of the other students—a girl I’ve never spoken to before—pops her head in. Her gaze scans across the desks, and lands on me.

She clears her throat and addresses my tutor. “I’m sorry, but the dean needs to see Ophelia Sinclair in his office right away.”

The tutor gives me a nod to say it’s okay, and I shakily get to my feet. My stomach churns. This can’t be good. Why would the dean need to see me?

It occurs to me that he might have heard about the relationship between me and the Preachers, but surely, he wouldn’t get involved with that? We’re all adults, and who we choose to have relationships with is none of his business. Unless there are some kind of rules against it that I’m unaware of, but it’s not as though I haven’t seen other similar things happening in the college already.

I pick up my books, and, clutching them to my chest, leave the classroom. I hurry down the corridor, simultaneously not wanting to go, while also wanting to get this over with. I reach his office door, and his secretary is sitting at the desk outside. I open my mouth to tell her why I’m there, but she nods toward the door.

“He’s expecting you.”

“Thanks,” I mutter.

My palms are damp with sweat, and I’m all jittery inside. I lightly rap my knuckles on the door then open it.

I stop short.

Sitting on the opposite side of his desk are my parents.

“Mom? Dad?” I say in surprise. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

My first thought is that something has happened to them. Is one of them sick, and they’ve come here to break the news to me? Has something happened to the business? Are they in trouble with the law?

“Ophelia, sweetheart.” My mom stands and gives me a hug.

My dad doesn’t stand, and his expression is stern.

My stomach flips with fresh nerves. “What’s going on?”

From his inside jacket pocket, my dad pulls out a letter.

“We received something,” he says. “It was addressed to you, so you’ll have to forgive us for opening your mail, but we knew something about it wasn’t right.”

I stare at the letter in his hand. “What do you mean, something wasn’t right?”

He presses his lips together and hands it to me without saying another word. I open it, staring down at the handwriting.

Dearest Ophelia,

At first, I didn’t understand why you left without saying a word. I missed you, but I also hated you a little for leaving me. For turning your back on our community when we treated you like family. But now my turn has come, and I understand why you left. The Prophet has announced that we are to be married. I turn eighteen in a couple of weeks, and I’m to become his next bride. He is almost thirty years older than me, and the thought has me crying myself to sleep every night. I feel like I’ve betrayed my community and my God by not being happy about this, but I can’t do it. I can’t lay with that man and allow him to put a baby inside me, which I know he will do. I feel sick at the thought.

Please, Ophelia. You’re the only person I know who can help me. You got away, and I hope you’re living your life now, and still think of me.

Your friend and sister, Daisy.

My eyes fill with tears upon reading her words. It’s exactly what I feared would happen, but I didn’t know it would happen to her. She’s so young, I thought perhaps the Prophet would have given up on taking new wives by the time she came of age.

I blink back tears. “Poor Daisy.”

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