CHAPTER SIXTEEN
O skar
“Is good you’re here,” Dmitri’s voice booms from the next room.
Muffled, masculine voices sound, followed by stomping.
I leave the bedroom to find Dmitri’s best friends trampling around my room. Their smiles are awkward, their gazes confused.
Finn holds up a bottle of champagne. “For the newlyweds!”
“Thank you,” I say, though my voice sounds more like a squeak. My skin flames, and I feel their curious gazes on me, as if to wonder how I managed to end up married to the guy I was so obviously crushing on.
Dmitri takes the bottle of champagne. “Is good for packing. Makes the boxes less heavy.”
The others laugh, and I do too, because Dmitri is charming.
He navigates my tiny kitchen with familiar ease, pouring champagne into glasses.
Troy’s eyes narrow. “You know your way around Oskar’s kitchen.”
“Of course. Is my best friend.”
“Yes, but....”
The others shake their heads. Dmitri pulls me toward him, and gives me the first glass. “Happy wedding, husband.”
“Happy wedding,” I stammer out.
“Right. Let’s get packing!” Noah lurches for the cardboard boxes lined in one section of the room, as if touching them will dissipate the awkward energy around us.
Finn grabs some masking tape, and in the next moment they are turning the cardboard into actual boxes, cavorting into all manner of positions.
“Where should we start?” Noah asks.
“Doesn’t matter,” Dmitri says. “Everything will go.”
“You’re certain about this?” Finn asks. “Because if we pack everything, um, it won’t be easy for Oskar to come back when...”
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
Instead, his cheeks pinken, which is a rare occurrence for him.
Dmitri narrows his eyes. “Of course, everything must come with. Oskar needs to have his things.”
“But if you split...”
“I am not splitting from my new husband,” Dmitri says, steel in his voice. “Is outrageous.”
“Right.” Noah nods multiple times. “That’s nice.”
“It’s so great you’re married,” Luke says. “I wish you a very long and happy marriage.”
He shines a bright beam at me, and for a moment, I almost believe this is real, and that I am actually going to have an ongoing and happy marriage to Dmitri.
I glance at Dmitri, but he just sends me a blissful smile, and something catches in my throat.
The guys start packing my life into the boxes. Pillows and books and throw blankets disappear. They move into the bedroom, and I’m glad I already packed my intimate things, before they rifle through the rest of the room.
Later, we line the boxes against Dmitri’s gleaming walls. His apartment is glossy and expensive in a way that mine isn’t.
“Welcome home, baby,” Dmitri exclaims, slinging an arm around my shoulder, and laughing.
The other guys bounce their gazes away, but not before I see some of them look at me with pity.
Only Luke gazes at us happily.
I turn around and grab one of the boxes. I concentrate on unpacking it, moving things around Dmitri’s apartment, even though I feel that his sleek, modern furniture is screaming at me that my things don’t belong with his.
I inhale and exhale.
This is fine.
One year of pretending that I am not madly in love with him. It’s no big deal. I’ve been pretending this for the past three years. It’s definitely my area of expertise.
Finally, the guys say their goodbyes and offer additional congratulations about our wedding.
It’s all fake.
They know it.
We know it.
But Dmitri must have said something about how it’s important for us to pretend for the visa process, and thankfully, the guys play along.
“I’m so happy you guys finally got married,” Luke says.
“Oh, year?” Dmitri grins at him.
“Yeah, maybe something can be done about all your chemistry,” Luke says.
Dmitri’s smile falters as he glances at me.
“I think it’s super great.” Luke continues. “I know homosexuality is forbidden in Russia. I’m really proud of you, Dmitri.”
Dmitri swallows hard, managing a strained nod. “Thank you. That’s, um...”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. He can’t. He’s too shocked.
After Luke leaves, I meet Dmitri’s stunned gaze.
“I don’t think Luke was acting,” he says.
“Luke is a terrible actor,” I say, and we both laugh.
“Worst reality TV show ever,” he says, and we both plop onto Dmitri’s slick leather couch and giggle.
The tension that has whirled around us dissipates, leaving me gasping for breath.
Luke had been infamously terrible on “Seeking Mr. Right” after Troy and Noah signed him up. The whole country watched him fumble through conversations with bemused, stunning women, only to end up with Sebastian, the host, much to the producers’ fury.
“Well, we fooled one person,” Dmitri says.
“We need to fool the world,” I remind him.
“We’ve got this.” He shifts closer. “There’s no one I’d rather fool the world with.”
I stiffen, then scramble for the remote control. Anything to distract me from the fact that I have two hundred pounds of ridiculously handsome Russian man beside me. I wait for my heart to slow to a more manageable level as I put on a sitcom that everyone has watched a million times.
Finally, Dmitri yawns. “Bedtime?”
“Okay.” My voice squeaks, and he shoots me a sidelong glance. Thankfully he doesn’t say anything.
“So, um, should I go back to my apartment now?”
He stares at me. “You’ve moved into this apartment.”
“Yes, but...”
“You’re sleeping here,” Dmitri says.