Rule #3: Never Fake Marry the Coach’s Son (Hockey Rules #3)

CHAPTER TEN

O skar

Dmitri sets me back on my feet as casually as if he hasn’t just kissed me breathless. He grins, then takes the paperwork from the effusive officiant whose eyes are doing that softening thing like the women in the jewelry store.

“We’re married, husband,” he declares.

“Uh-huh,” I croak, because my throat has totally dried.

Dmitri kissed me.

He actually kissed me.

One of those Hollywood kisses that come at the end of movies and make the audience collectively coo in delight, despite their sticky popcorn fingers and overconsumption of soda and sweets.

I slide my gaze to him, because I’m pretty sure straight guys are supposed to have meltdowns after kissing men. Dmitri simply walks to the elevator with his customary swagger, all confidence and athletic grace, as if he’s on the ice and the hockey announcer has just said his name in a booming voice and ten thousand strangers are cheering and clapping.

I hurry after him. “So...”

He swings around, his face glowing. “Thank you, Oskar. I am very grateful.”

“Happy to help.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel.

“You did what immigration attorney couldn’t,” he says, and I smile back. It’s hard not to smile in the face of so much joy.

“Our flight’s tomorrow morning,” he says. “We should celebrate with dinner.”

“That sounds nice.”

“So this is our honeymoon?” I try to keep my tone light.

“Exactly!” His eyes sparkle. “Happy honeymoon, Oskar.”

The casino pulses with more energy than earlier, blackjack tables now filled with players. Dmitri takes my hand as we weave through the crowd, and I try to ignore the zing that springs through me at his touch. I try to pretend that this is totally cool, that we’re just two bros, even though bro has never been a word to describe me.

Dmitri oozes dudeness, and I tell my heart that it doesn’t need to beat like crazy. This isn’t a normal marriage. It’s not even a date.

Just two friends having dinner after some legal paperwork. Nothing more.

The Eiffel Tower restaurant hostess greets us with a practiced smile.

“We need table with view,” Dmitri declares to the pretty hostess. “Is wedding dinner.”

“Ah. Yes.” Her smile falters as she glances between us. “Is, um, the entire party here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just wanted to check...”

“The whole party is here,” I say hastily, because I don’t want her to ask Dmitri if I’m truly his husband, or if I’m just a brother or best man or well-tolerated colleague, and if at any moment a gorgeous woman will burst up from the elevator. The hostess’s eyes track him with the intensity of a scout watching a top prospect, barely registering my existence.

Dmitri must realize all the same. He takes my hand in his, and I don’t miss the frown on his face or his tone. “Is my new husband.”

“Right.” The hostess nods multiple times, flushing. “Wonderful. Just wanted to...confirm.”

Maybe I should have been taller, looked more like Dmitri. His face is plastered on magazines and most eligible sports stars lists. I am...me. My features are dainty and delicate.

Heads don’t turn when I enter a room. People don’t act like elevators in my presence, swooping their gazes down me, until they finally slide their mouth open unconsciously.

No, that’s what happens to him.

Not me.

“Is okay,” Dmitri says softly to me.

I nod, because I’m not going to explain to him that the hostess didn’t think a man like him could possibly want to marry a man like me.

Because there’s no comforting words he can say. He didn’t choose me, not really.

A fake marriage and a fake honeymoon before we fly back tomorrow morning and Dmitri continues on with his life like normal, content that he doesn’t have to hire more lawyers.

The hostess brings us to our table, and it is stunning.

We settle into our seats and gaze at the fountain. Music plays and the fountain explodes with water jutting up ridiculous heights to the beat of the music in spectacular formations.

Our waiter is pleasant, and when we finally return to the hotel after a stop in the bar, I am happy and relaxed.

Until I realize that Dmitri and I will be sharing a hotel bed. I’ve never shared a bed with anyone, well, no one since I was a child and had sleepovers on blow up mattresses where they squeezed a dozen children into a room at once.

“You look nervous,” he observes. “What’s wrong?”

I huff out a laugh. “I was thinking about the bedroom situation.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is mattress not comfortable for you? Should I call reception?”

“That’s not it!”

“Good. I don’t know if they have extra mattress toppers.” He frowns. “Though I can order it.”

“I’m sure the mattress is suitably soft for me,” I say. “This is a nice hotel.”

“You want heater?” He pulls out his phone again. He’s prepared to fulfill every wish I have at a moment’s notice.

I close my eyes briefly and give a nervous laugh. “No heater.”

He unzips my suitcase and pulls out something from it. “I brought your teddy bear.”

I swallow hard. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“I didn’t want you to be lonely at night.”

“But you’ll—” I snap my mouth shut before I can say something embarrassing.

“I’ll be in the next room,” Dmitri says.

My eyes widen. “There’s another room?”

“Of course, there’s another room.” He chuckles. “You didn’t think we were going to share a bed or anything?”

“Um...” I flick my gaze to the carpet, but it’s too late. His eyes round. “I just mean that’s generally what people do in hotel rooms.”

“But those are real couples.”

My skin flames. I will not have him think that I think this is real. “I know we’re fake. We’re friends. That’s all there is between us.”

His nostrils flare as if I’ve somehow managed to offend him with my words, which is utterly absurd. “I ordered a big room for us, Oskar. It has two bedrooms.”

“I didn’t know hotels had that.”

“For the couples who can’t stand each other.”

“Oh.”

Dmitri opens the door to the room, and he ushers me into the room. Maybe we’re both men, and of course we’re just friends, friends who have kissed each other, but Dmitri opens every door for me.

I remind my mind not to be confused. We are friends. That’s all. Dmitri is straight. So straight the thought of anything else doesn’t occur to him.

I step into the room. Something feels different, and when Dmitri flicks on the light, I see that the bed is covered with red flower petals.

I stare.

Beside the bed is a bottle of champagne and some chocolate-covered strawberries.

“Surprise!” Dmitri exclaims happily, then bounds for the champagne bottle. “Happy wedding night!”

“Nice,” I say, happy when my voice doesn’t squeak or something, even though my heart is lurching.

Dmitri pops open the champagne, and the cork lands somewhere on the velvet tufted couch. “Oops.”

I rescue the cork from the couch and join Dmitri.

Dmitri pours me a new flute of champagne, and even though we had wine at dinner followed by cocktails at the bar, I grab it eagerly.

I want to feel woozy right now. I want this day to pass by quickly because my heart is getting confused. My dream man shouldn’t be handing me champagne in front of a rose-petal covered bed, and he shouldn’t—

Dmitri’s eyes gleam, and in the next moment he pops a chocolate-covered strawberry into my mouth. My eyes flutter down naturally as my taste buds celebrate the marvelous taste. “This is good.”

“Of course it is.”

I snort.

Then Dmitri laughs. “Who would have thought we would get married?”

“Not me!”

We break into giggles, and when we collapse on the bed, Dmitri throws rose petals at me.

“You didn’t need to order champagne and rose petals,” I tell him.

“I wasn’t going to not order it for you.”

“But rose petals? Seriously?”

He scoops up some petals and flings them at my face. I sputter as one lands on my nose.

“Is in your hair too,” Dmitri says, and I try to brush it away. His eyes soften. “You’re making it worse. Hold still.” He lifts a hand and—God, his fingers are in my hair now.

His eyes catch mine, dark and intent as they get before a crucial play, and my heart hammers against my ribs with the rhythm of skates on ice, too fast, too loud, too much.

But this is all pretend. I shouldn’t be contemplating the shades of umber in his eyes, or the manner in which caramel shards mingle with the darker brown, and I bite my lip to keep from remarking on it. That’s something a significant other might remark upon, and though Dmitri and I might be married, I will never be his significant other. We will never be in a romantic relationship. The ache in my chest when I see him and remember he’ll never, ever be mine will ease with time and maybe distance. But it will never be eased by entering an actual romantic relationship with me.

Dmitri will never love me. Not really. Not the way I one day would like to be loved.

“Your eyes are very blue,” Dmitri says, and I blink.

Maybe it’s fine to stare into his eyes a bit.

I smile. “It’s a Swedish thing. Pretty normal.”

Dmitri frowns, and his jaw juts out as if he’s a general posing for a sculpture. “Nothing about you is normal, Oskar.”

My heartbeat quickens. I’m not sure what he means. “Because of the gay thing?”

His frown deepens, and I wish I hadn’t said anything.

“Being gay is normal, Oskar. You know that. I just meant that you’re...you.”

I want to turn to him. I want to watch his face as he says nice things about me, but my heart can’t take it. It’s already beating too quickly.

Somehow Dmitri seems oblivious of the fact that I’m utterly and completely in love with him. Now that we’re married, I definitely don’t want to reveal it to him. I turn away and grab another chocolate-covered strawberry and drop it into my mouth and don’t look at him. I finish the strawberry, then yawn.

“Ooh! I’m so sleepy,” I say.

Dmitri stiffens, and I wish that I’d taken theater as an elective at Harvard. Acting I suppose is not something that comes naturally to me. Not something like mathematical equations and memorizing the chemical elements table.

Dmitri gets up off the bed, and when I glance at him, his smile is tender. Everything is fine.

“Then you should sleep, Oskar. We have an early flight tomorrow morning.”

Dmitri takes his suitcase and opens the door to the adjoining room. The door clicks shut, and I sink onto the rose-petal strewn bed, my heart pounding.

I am married.

I am married to Dmitri.