17 | charlotte's web of lies

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Ophelia knocked on the door.

She rocked back and forth on her heels, glancing around the street. Andrew lived in an expensive area of London: white marble steps, large brass knockers, passersby toting designer bags... it was impossible not to feel under-dressed.

She glanced down at her plain green frock.

Oh, hell; it was the same colour as the dress she wore at Argyll Estate, wasn't it? Not that it mattered, Ophelia thought firmly. Andrew probably wouldn't even notice; he was clearly over their one night stand. And so was she. Obviously.

The door swung open.

Digby stood in the opening. "Ophelia!"

She froze. Oh, crumbs. She had totally forgotten that Digby and Andrew were flatmates. How could that have slipped her mind? She hadn't exactly been round to Digby's place — he always came to her dorm room — but still. She was an idiot.

"Digby. Hi."

He was dressed in a navy suit, his dark hair curling slightly. Cigarette smoke clung to his clothing. Digby was holding two phones in his hands — his personal and his business mobile — and a sea of papers was spread out behind him. His uni work and stock market reports, no doubt, mixing like awkward guests at a party.

"You're early." Digby frowned, glancing at his watch. "Our dinner reservation isn't for another four hours, darling."

"No, I know, I—"

"I booked another place this time," Digby added quickly. "After... the incident."

Ophelia winced. Digby had taken her out for dinner on Valentine's Day, where she had swiftly learned that she was allergic to caviar. Unfortunately, Digby was already a bottle of red wine deep, so Andrew had driven her to the hospital. Thank god.

"What sort of place?"

"Michelin star," Digby said dismissively. "Italian, I think."

Ophelia swallowed. Well. At least there wouldn't be caviar this time. Although if it was up to her, they'd be going to a family-run eatery for burgers and fries.

She leaned against the door. "Why don't we mix it up next time? There's a little waffle place in Camden that I've been dying to try."

Digby stared at her as if she'd just suggested that they release sharks in the Thames and then jump in, wrapped in bloodied fish. "Camden? Don't be silly, darling." He chuckled, kissing her head. "You come up with the oddest ideas sometimes, don't you?"

He was still chuckling as he guided her inside, helping her take off her coat. She couldn't help but notice that he didn't fling it on the table like Andrew would have done, crossing instead to an expensive-looking coat stand.

"Why don't you take a seat in the kitchen? I should be done in—"

"Actually," Ophelia cut in, "I'm here to see Andrew."

Digby paused in hanging the coat. "Andrew? My flatmate?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "He needs help with a painting."

Digby's eyes narrowed. "Ah. He's expecting a model; I just didn't realize that it was you." She didn't miss the way that he put a possessive hand on the small of her back as he steered her towards a rooftop balcony. "He's just setting up outside."

Ophelia blinked as they emerged into a small jungle. Green potted plants spilled over the side of the brick wall, trailing over the floor like Rapunzel's hair. Tomatoes grew in planters. A large easel was set up in the corner, about a meter away from a gardenia plant.

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