Page 10 of It Started in the Chatroom

She shrugged, leaning back in her chair and eyeing me. “Let me know if you change your mind,” she said.

I moved quickly from that table, looking around for the next one. I stopped at a table three away from the other one, beginning the process anew. This woman had dark, curly natural hair that fell to her chin, and she was smiling down at her phone. She was cute, with a multicolored, striped short-sleeved shirt that exposed her pierced belly button, and a dimpled smile that lit up her face. I crossed my fingers and hoped that this was Ciara as I approached the table. She was just my type; it would make this whole marriage thing that much easier.

“Hey,” I said. “You wouldn’t happen to be Ciara Payne, would you?”

She turned her radiant smile on me but shook her head. “Sorry,” she said. “But I do know Miss Payne. She works in the school bookstore, right?”

I nodded.

“Let me see if I can find her for you.” She stood up, looking around the room for a moment before she brightened.

“There she is,” she said, pointing to the back corner diagonal from us. “Want me to introduce you to her?”

Though I felt my shoulders tense at the thought of finally meeting Ciara in person, I shook my head. “Thanks for the offer,” I said, smiling at her. “I’ve got it from here, though.”

“No worries,” she said, sitting down again. “See ya.”

I nodded, bracing myself and walking over to the table.

Ciara had her head down when I approached, hunched over a sketchpad with noise-canceling headphones over her ears. She seemed to be mouthing something, bopping her head as she made broad strokes across the page. I watched in fascination, appreciating and envying her ability to be in a room full of people and not interact with any of them. For a brief second, I was hit with a sense of longing for a life I didn’t have, a luxury I would never get: anonymity.

In another moment, though, it passed, and I shook my head to clear it. I tapped Ciara on the shoulder. “Hey, Ciara?”

She gasped, jumping almost a foot in the air. As she turned to me and took off her headphones, my heart sank in disappointment.

Ciara was wearing one of the most old-lady outfits I had ever seen on someone our age. She wore black pantaloon-type slacks that had actual pleats, a white blouse with a tiny button in the front, and a canary-yellow cardigan. On her feet were a plain pair of black flats, and she only wore white pearl earrings as an accessory. Her red-brown hair was pulled back in a severe low bun, completing her buttoned-up appearance.

But despite her outfit, there was something intriguing about Ciara that pulled me in. Her dark brown eyes were kind, and she had a funny tilt to her mouth that made me think she was fighting a smile. Or maybe she was in on a joke I hadn’t yet heard. In the silence that passed between us, she stood up and held out her hand for me to shake.

“Ciara Payne,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

I took her hand, giving it a small but businesslike shake. “Can I sit?” I asked.

She nodded, quickly closing her sketchpad and stowing it away—but not before I could see that she was drawing a cartoon character of some sort. I tucked this piece of information away so I could ask her later.

I sat down. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said, trying to infuse my voice with an apology. “I’ve been told by my siblings that I’m unable to sneak up on anyone, so I’m just as surprised as you are.”

I grimaced. “Or maybe not. Since I, you know, snuck up on you by accident.”

Though she hid her smile, her eyes twinkled. “It’s no problem,” she said finally, taking a sip of whatever was in her cup. Despite my disdain for her outfit, I found myself leaning forward to bask in her voice. It was smooth, low and measured. Unlike other women I had met and/or dated, her voice didn’t make me think of banshees shrieking, and she didn’t end her sentence as if it were a question instead of a statement.

“I have to get going soon, or else my boss will have my head,” she continued, biting her lip. On instinct, I watched her mouth, noticing her pouty, bow-shaped lips. “You wanted to talk about the marriage contract?”

“Yes,” I said brusquely, shaking myself from my observations and folding my hands over the table. “I wanted to give you more details about what you’d be agreeing to, should you agree, and also see what you wanted in return.”

“Okay.”

“Great.” I clapped my hands together. “So, first thing. We would have to be married for at least six months from the time we sign our marriage license, per my mom’s wishes, before we can end the marriage and still have me oversee the estate. We would have to get married pretty quickly, like in the next three months, but the sooner the better. We would have to live together for a time, but if we live at my place, no one will know if we’re actually sleeping in the same bed. And my mother—”I smiled, though it was more of a grimace—“put in another stipulation: if, for any reason, anyone suspects me of faking my marriage, all bets are off and I lose the estate. So if you were to agree, we would have to pretend to be in love. Any questions?”

Though her facial expression remained neutral, I braced for the rejection.This would be too much for anyone,I told myself.If she says no, accept it and walk away with your dignity. You’ll figure out another way.

“I understand this is a lot,” I said slowly. “Which is why I want to hear your terms, should you decide to do this. Is there anything you want that I can give you?”

I saw something flicker in her eyes before they shuttered. “No, nothing,” she said finally.

I leaned forward and squinted. “Bullshit,” I replied. “I saw it on your face. There’s something you want. What is it?”

Other than a tiny grimace that flattened out her mouth, her facial expression remained unchanged. Still, that one change let me know I’d hit my mark. She wanted something. I could work with that.

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