Chapter Five
SCOTTIE
I wake up to someone pounding on my door like they're trying to break it down.
"What the hell—" I stumble out of bed, nearly tripping over my discarded jeans, and yank open the door.
Luka stands there, looking far too awake for whatever ungodly hour this is, holding two cups of coffee.
"Morning," he says cheerfully.
I squint at him. "What time is it?"
"Seven-thirty."
"Luka, it's my day off—"
"Not anymore." He pushes past me into the apartment, setting one of the coffees on my kitchen counter. "We've got fittings at nine. You need to shower and look presentable."
"Fittings for what?"
He gives me a look. "Your wedding. Which is tomorrow, in case you forgot."
Right.
The wedding.
My fake wedding to Luka's sister, who's currently asleep in the penthouse I left her in last night, looking so small in such a large space.
I was debating staying, but I needed a minute to wrap my mind around everything that I had just learned.
How fast life just changed for me, and I suspected she could have used the space to figure it out herself, too.
I wipe my hand down my face, trying to wake up. "I thought we were just going to the courthouse."
"Hell no. My sister deserves better. I talked to Juliet Haynes. She’s throwing together a quickie wedding as she did for Aleksi and Kendall.
Nothing crazy, just a rooftop wedding and a reception at Oakley’s.
He’s closing down for us, and Juliet is having it catered at a place she uses often. She already has the menu figured out.”
“Oh, right… A quickie wedding, sounds like it.” I say sarcastically, before taking a drink of the coffee Luka brought me.
“But you still need a suit, and Katerina needs her dress altered, and we need legitimate pictures to send to our grandmother. You need groomsmen, she needs bridesmaids, so the WAGS are jumping in, and I’m flying her friend Irina in for one day.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“I’m doing you both a favor.”
"Wait. The guys know?"
"Of course, they know. They were there when I wiped the floor with you at Oakley’s, and you stupidly agreed to that bet.”
Great, thanks for the reminder.
"Luka—"
"Relax. I told them it's for visa renewal purposes. They're being cool about it." He checks his watch. "Now go shower. We're meeting everyone at the tailor in thirty minutes."
"Everyone?"
"JP, Hunter, Trey, Aleksi, Wolf, Olsen—the whole crew."
I stare at him. "You invited the entire team to my wedding fitting."
"Not the entire team. Just the guys who are going to be standing next to you when you say I do."
"Right, no pressure,” I say.
"Shower. Now. Or we’re going to be late, and you know how I feel about being late."
He's already heading for the door, and I'm left standing there in my boxers, wondering how my life got this out of control.
I put on pants, but my brain is still stuck on something else entirely.
My mom.
How the hell am I going to explain this to her?
I can’t invite my family.
I can’t tell them the truth.
I can’t even lie convincingly.
And it hits me—I’m getting married tomorrow, and my parents don’t know.
Shit.
Luka drives like a man on a mission, explaining how the sponsorship visa renewal works, what happens if we have to go through immigration and what Coach Haynes told him to look out for since he and his wife Juliet went through this years ago.
He dives into his grandmother’s expectations, the Popovich family optics and how he can’t hire a hit on me because the US and Russian governments would both love a reason to put him away for life.
I catch about ten percent of it. The rest of my brain is trying to determine the best way to break the news to my mom without breaking her heart that I didn’t even tell her about it.
Do I send her a fruit basket?
Is there a polite way to say, “Surprise, I got married, please don’t murder me?”
I could send it by dust cropper. Nothing says, “Sorry for being a shit son”, like seeing an apology letter written in the sky about how I didn’t invite you to my wedding.
I stare out the window and try to remain calm. I’m doing this for a reason. Part of the reason is to get my mother off my case about setting me up with someone. Well, job well done. She’ll sure as hell find a new reason to hound me.
“Do you really think this is going to work?” My voice is quiet as I think through the logistics.
Yesterday was a whirlwind of information, and I know I would have agreed to help Katerina if Luka had just asked, but now my head is working through my own family uproar for this. Granted, I’m not pissing off a mob boss father, but my mother is not a force you want to mess with either.
Luka doesn’t hesitate. “It has to.”
I swallow.
“Right,” I say. “Right. Okay.”
The tuxedo shop looks like someone dropped a grenade of hockey players and pocket handkerchiefs because the moment Luka and I walk in, both of them are as far as the eye can see.
Fabric everywhere. Tailors everywhere. Hockey players everywhere.
Not a single one of us belongs in a place this fancy.
Aleksi is already on a fitting platform, shirt half-open, arguing with a tailor about why he can’t “go commando in formalwear.”
JP is holding up a bowtie like it personally offended him.
Wolf is trying to button a vest that absolutely does not want to button.
And Olsen is standing in front of the mirrors, arms spread, admiring himself like he’s auditioning for The Bachelor.
“Gentlemen,” the master tailor says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “please—stop moving. Every single one of you so that our tailors can get to work.”
“Can’t,” Aleksi says. “I was born to move.”
“No, you were born to skate,” Hunter says. “And even that you fuck up half the time.”
The moment the guys realize that Luka and I just walked in, their heads swivel in our direction. Smirks. Predatory grins. Shit-eating delight. They’re a bunch of sharks smelling blood.
“Easton!” JP crows. “There he is—the groom himself.”
“Here we go,” I mutter.
Olsen lifts his chin majestically. “Gentlemen, please refrain from mobbing the bridegroom. He is in a fragile emotional state.”
“I’m not fragile. I’m just—”
“Nervous?” Wolf offers.
“Terrified?” Trey adds.
“Thinking about the wedding night?” Aleksi grins with a wink.
They all ooooh like middle schoolers, jabbing each other with their elbows and laughing.
I close my eyes. “Jesus Christ.” This is going to be worse than the locker room.
Hunter claps me on the shoulder. “It’s okay, man. First-time jitters are normal. Do you want me to go over how it all works down there?”
“I’m not—” I stop, because this is a losing battle no matter what I say.
Wolf wiggles his eyebrows. “You know… dancers are flexible. The last ballerina I was with could put her leg behind her head, and then during sex she’d––”
Luka’s head snaps toward him so fast the air shifts.
“You finish that sentence,” Luka says slowly, “and I will remove your tongue.”
Wolf lifts both hands. “Hey. I am just saying she is a professional athlete. With an excellent stretch range. It comes in handy on more than just the stage.”
Luka takes one step toward him.
And Wolf stops talking.
“Damn, Luka. Possessive much?” Hunter snorts.
“Yeah, I was just trying to say that ballerinas are all about core strength. Man’s going to die. She’ll fold him like laundry.”
“He wishes,” JP mutters with a chuckle.
“I give him five minutes before he taps out,” Hunter adds.
Wolf nods. “I’d say that’s generous.”
Luka just points at me. “Touch my sister, and I’ll kill you.”
“Do I need to remind you that it’s part of the marriage vows?” Trey says, who might be the only one not scared to piss off Luka.
Luka glares.
I decide my best bet to get through today is just to ignore them all. I have other issues on my mind anyway, like my mother, the forty-two text messages she’s definitely going to send when our wedding photos hit social media, Katerina looking terrified in that private airfield hangar last night.
It’s a lot.
But the second I put the tux on?
Everything stops.
I look in the mirror and I look like… a groom. Someone who has to protect the woman who’s depending on him.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, because of this? This just got real.
The tailor takes a look at the suit, walks around me with a confirming nod. “The wedding planner on the other side of the salon said that she wants to see the tux on you to confirm she’s happy with it.”
I nod and then head towards where the tailor told me that Juliet would be. Anything to get me out of this room for any length of time.
Juliet is my saving grace.
KATERINA
I hear a knock on the penthouse door.
Juliet Haynes, the Coach’s wife, our last-minute wedding planner, and the woman my brother is subleasing this penthouse from, is here to pick me up for a dress fitting. My brother told me that I’d meet the other girlfriends and wives of the players as they are all getting fitted as bridesmaids.
Is my brother going over the top with this wedding? Yes, yes, he is.
And to be honest, I think I’m more nervous to meet these women today than I was on the opening night of my first performance. What if they don’t like me? What if I don’t fit in with them?
I walk to the door and open it, a wardrobe bag in hand with my dress inside.
“Hi, Katerina. I’m Juliet. Are you ready to go?”
Getting across town doesn’t take as long as it would have if we had been in New York, but the traffic is still bumper-to-bumper in some places.