Strings of Solace

Chapter 6

"Lunch sounds good. I'll need the energy for all the walking we're going to do," I said, sounding a bit more normal, casual even. "As a matter of fact, let's have lunch first and then go around the city garden."

"Sounds good to me," Stephen said enthusiastically. "Tell me your address, and I'll pick you up."

Once again, he threw me a curveball I didn't expect. I was one of those private people who refused to share personal information, especially the address. Yet, his reasoning sounded so logical and natural...

"I don't think that's a good idea," I said hurriedly. "Let's just meet at the restaurant. I don't want to trouble you. This way, it's more convenient for both of us."

"Mina, you asked me to marry you," Stephen said patiently. "Soon enough, we'll share the same address. Coming to pick you up is surely a small thing in comparison."

When he said it that way, my reaction was silly. I was the one who started this whole thing in the first place, and yet it seemed I was chickening out at the first sign of trouble. Thus, my stubbornness kicked in, making things easier for us both.

"Fine, I'll text you the address," I said, giving up the last chance for me to run away from our deal. "Call me when you get here, and I'll come out to meet you."

"Alright, I'll see you at one p.m. like we agreed," Stephen said, sounding like he had just fought a tough battle and won. "Oh, and by the way, be ready to take many pictures. We will need them in the future. Perhaps I'll even Photoshop some of them to make it appear as though they were taken at different times and in different places."

"Sure," I said distractedly. "See you."

When I ended the call, it occurred to me that even though I was the one who started the whole thing, Stephen was trying much harder to make it work. I worried he had some residual feelings left over from our high school days. And if that was the case, it was bound to make our strange little deal so much more complicated.

Luckily, I didn't have too much time to overthink things because I had to get ready and needed to do my best. After all, taking pictures was involved. Considering that I rarely dressed up, it was an additional challenge to do so now. However, having always been well-organized, I did quite a good job.

When the doorbell of the old little house I lived in started ringing, it caught me off guard.

"Who could it be now?" I muttered to myself. "They have just the wrong timing. I don't want my friends or family to meet Stephen yet."

However, when I reached the door and glanced through the peephole, my legs almost gave out because it was not a surprise visit from a random friend; it was Stephen. Instead of phoning me and avoiding the embarrassment of my living abode, he came to the front door.

The mortification sure started early.

"Stephen," I said, barely cracking the door open to stop him from seeing inside the modest house. "You didn't have to come to the door. I told you to call me, and I would come out."

"A gentleman comes to the lady's door and escorts her to the car," Stephen said, sounding like an old-fashioned gentleman from black and white movies.

"Ahem, sure, sure," I said, confused. "Wait just a moment. Let me put on my shoes."

Upon saying so, I closed the door in his face, doing my best to put the shoes on and grab my purse as soon as possible. Of course, I tripped a few times, almost breaking my neck, but I was still ready in record time.

"Let's go," I said, balancing my purse in one hand while trying to lock the door with the other.

"Allow me," Stephen said again, sounding so unbelievably formal.

Then he took my embarrassingly tacky keychain with literal unicorns and butterflies and locked the door for me expertly, making my struggles look ridiculous.

"Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm.

"Yeah... sure," I said, accepting the offer.

After all, if I were ever to get over the embarrassment I felt in Stephen's proximity because I proposed to him out of the blue, it was better to play this game we were playing to perfection. What that apparently meant for me was to follow his lead and do my best not to constantly turn every shade of red. It also meant trying my best not to have a spontaneous combustion at the most inopportune moment.

So, we set off, the perfect nineteenth-century couple in modern clothes and setting, with him gentlemanly opening the door for me and me clumsily almost falling into the car, my sunglasses cluttering to the floor, luckily undamaged. Even my phone almost flew out of my hand to add insult to injury.

And off we went to the strange land of fake dating and toward the even stranger land of sham marriage. What could go wrong, right?