From London With Love

04 | lady windermere's bran

Ophelia stood just inside the café.

Lady Windermere's was a riot of pink and purple flowers; crushed velvet loveseats were spaced out around marble tables, and neon letters on the wall spelled out "I love you a latte." Glass display cases showcased red velvet cupcakes, frilly cakes, and silky tarts with white chocolate ballerinas on top of them.

She had no idea why the hell she was here.

Okay, that wasn't entirely true; Ophelia had spent the night staring at her ceiling, unable to get the image of Digby winking at Louise out of her head. It was hardly Louise's fault that she was so damn personable.

But god, it stung.

They hadn't stayed long at the pub — only another thirty minutes, or so — and Louise had ended up going home with the grumpy bartender. She had patted Ophelia's shoulder as they waited for their cabs.

"I was never going to get with Digby, you know."

"Really?"

"Of course not." Louise had given her an odd look. "Not when you fancy him, obviously."

And Ophelia, who hadn't realized that it had been that obvious, flushed a blotchy red colour. Curse her pale skin. It really was the worst, sometimes.

Still, Ophelia hadn't planned to take Andrew up on his offer. He was a stranger, after all. A stranger that lurked in dark alleyways and cheated on his long-term girlfriend. Not exactly promising stuff.

But then Ophelia called her mother.

She loved her Mom. Really, she did; Carmen Prescott was the sort of mother that left notes in her school lunchbox and baked extravagant birthday cakes, usually in the shape of pirate ships or trains. But she also had a habit of treading blithely all over other people's feelings, usually without any awareness of it at all.

And today was one of those days.

"So," Carmen said brightly. "Your brother has a girlfriend!"

Ophelia froze. "He does?"

"Her name's Jen."

"Oh." Ophelia paused. "Right. Don't you think he's a little young, though?"

Jeremy was thirteen-years-old, although Ophelia personally thought it was a miracle that her brother had survived through most of his childhood. Over the years, he had surfed down the stairs on a mattress, tried a handful of recreational drugs, and almost froze to death after setting off a carbon monoxide detector and running outside, shirtless, in mid-December.

And that was just the stuff that Ophelia knew about.

"Oh, don't be silly," Carmen said dismissively. "Thirteen is a perfectly normal age to date, Ophelia." She heard a wine bottle being uncorked. "Your father and I started dating in elementary school."

"I know."

"And we're happily married with children."

"Again, I'm aware."

"Just because you haven't dated anyone—"

"Alright," Ophelia said, nettled. "Point taken. Thanks, Mom."

Ophelia's dating life was a sore point. Even with the girls, she always felt uncomfortable when boys were brought up; Ella, Louise and Sophia had all slept with a handful of men by now. Ophelia, on the other hand, had only kissed three boys — and the first one had been in sixth grade, so it didn't exactly count.

So here she was. Hovering awkwardly inside Lady Windermere's stupidly pink café. Already regretting walking here in the first place.

"Are you waiting for someone?"