CHAPTER SEVEN
D mitri
Oskar flails on the pavement. His arms swing up, as if hoping for a last-second rope from the sky. I rush forward and catch him.
I inhale his citrusy scent. His long lashes flutter, and his bright blue eyes stare. “Thank you.”
“Is no problem.” My fingers flex against his waist before I realize what I’m doing. I right Oskar up and guide him inside the limo, my hand pressed to his lower back, in case he displays more acrobatic inclinations.
The limo was the right move. Oskar keeps peeking at different spots in the interior, his gaze jumping from the cream leather seats to the polished mahogany panels. The amber LED lights render everything elegant and exquisite, sleek and spectacular.
“Special occasion?” the limo driver asks.
I frown, because obviously the company should have informed him. I slide my arm around Oskar’s narrow waist, noticing how he fits against my side. “We’re getting married.”
The limo driver grins, laugh lines deepening. “Congratulations! We have champagne cooling in the fridge and chocolate-covered strawberries.”
I give him a curt nod, because I didn’t hire a limo to make conversation with the driver. I turn my attention to Oskar. His pink lips have parted somewhat, and something tightens in my chest when his long lashes swoop up.
I retrieve the champagne and lift out the crystal flutes. When I pass one to Oskar, our fingers brush against the stem.
“I-I can do it,” he stammers.
I smirk. “Hold the glass, Oskar.”
“Okay.” He stares as shimmering liquid fills his glass and bubbles leap and twirl.
I pour a drink for myself.
The limo glides from the airport, and I clink glasses with Oskar. “To our marriage.”
“To our marriage,” he echoes, gaze wider than normal, and his voice more husky.
I frown. “You’re catching a cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your voice is strange.” I buzz the limo driver. “Turn up heat, please.”
Hot air pours through the vents, but Oskar still trembles. I tighten my grip around the glass. God, is this my fault? We left too early.
I put down his champagne flute, then take his hands in mine. I rub his hands. They don’t seem cold, but maybe prevention is good in these situations.
He goes rigid. “What are you doing?”
“You’re cold. I warm you.”
“But—”
“You are trembling, Oskar.”
His skin pinkens, the pale color invading his cheeks and making everything soft and adorable. His wide eyes blink.
Romantic music starts to play in the limo. Elvis, I think. The LED lights switch to pink.
His hands are smaller than mine, softer, and...
I drop his hands and scoot away, my pulse quickening. Perhaps friends don’t contemplate other friends’ hands. Perhaps they don’t warm them up either. I give him a wobbly smile, then grab hold of the champagne bottle.
“It was a long flight.” I focus on refilling his flute.
The limo bounces over a pothole, and the champagne spills onto his shirt. I pat it dry quickly, moving my hands over his slender body.
“That’s enough.”
The words come out more harshly than I’m used to, and I still.
He closes his eyes and drags his coat over his lap.
I shake my head and snort. “And you said you weren’t cold.”
He swallows hard.
“Is good I’m here,” I say, and I hand him back his champagne flute, waiting to make sure he actually sips it and doesn’t simply spill it over his shirt.
He turns and focuses on the view of the windows, and I lean back. I would rather he spend his time looking at me, but that’s a strange thought to have. Vegas is interesting to look at. I take a lengthy sip of my own champagne. The bubbles slide down my throat, and I refill Oskar’s and my glasses.
This is going to work.
Oskar and I will be married, and I won’t be sent back to Russia. And no Canadian will hit on Oskar either. I smile, thinking about next time we go to a party. Hopefully the Canadian guy will be back. I think about when he learns that Oskar and I are married, and my smile widens.
“What’s so funny?” Oskar asks.
“I thought you were looking at the view.”
“You’re practically vibrating.”
I snort, and this time I laugh out loud. “Was thinking about the Canadian guy’s expression when he finds out we’re married. Will be so funny. Must make sure Finn and Noah invite him to their next party.”
“You really despised him.”
“He’s not good enough for you.”
“You don’t know that. You didn’t speak to him.”
I scowl. “My fiancé is not going to be talking about another man’s good qualities on our wedding day.”
His eyes round, then he starts to laugh too.
The limo driver probably thinks we’re being ridiculous, but it doesn’t matter. I can always be ridiculous with Oskar. He’s my favorite person.
Finally, the limo stops in front of the jewelry store.
Oskar blinks. “Where are we?”
“We need to get rings, Oskar. This is our wedding.”
“But—”
The limo driver opens the door and ushers us outside. Oskar’s feet still drag on the pavement.
“Something is wrong. What?”
“I—” His long lashes flutter up. “I thought we would buy something silly in the gift shop or something.”
“I do not buy silly things.”
“Right. Of course. But—” He inhales, and I see the way that his breath moves. “I think Finn just gave Noah his class ring. It doesn’t have to be fancy.” He eyes the shop. “Those rings cost real money.
“You deserve a nice ring, Oskar.”
He still hesitates, and I take his hand. It’s larger than a woman’s hand, and it trembles. Maybe I should have asked if he was okay holding hands.
I eye him. “Come, Oskar.”
“But—” He gazes at our joined hands.
His cheeks flush again, and I wonder if the concierge at our hotel can get some medicine in the room for him. He is probably coming down with a cold.
“We are getting married, Oskar,” I say. “People about to be married hold hands. Is problem?”
His eyes are too round, and my heart sinks.
Shit.
It’s a problem.
He doesn’t want to do it. I withdraw my hand, trying to smile. “Is fine, Oskar. I understand. Is a lot to ask for. It was nice of you to consider to marry me—”
He blinks, then shakes his head. “I’ll do it!”
“But—”
“I said I would do it.”
Relief moves through me, but I still narrow my gaze.
“What was the problem then?”
“I know you are straight,” he says, “and—”
“I can hold hands with man, Oskar. I do not melt like wicked witches in Oz.”
“I shouldn’t have shown you that movie.”
I shrug. “Is good movie. And your favorite children’s movie. Of course I wanted to see it.”
Some emotion I don’t recognize moves into Oskar’s eyes, but then he nods. “So we’ll hold hands.”
“Is practice for when we have to tell everyone we’re married.”
“And you really don’t mind? Because I’m a man, and...”
“I’m not going to not hold your hand because you have a penis, Oskar.”
His mouth drops.
“I see many penises every day,” I remind him.
He swallows. “I-I guess you do.”
“Is not scary.”
He blinks, and I squeeze his hand, waiting for him to square his shoulders just like I know he will.
“Let’s go, Oskar.”
He nods desperately, then straightens his spine, and we enter the jewelry store as a bell chimes above us, sending us closer to our future.