Page 16 of Gloves Off

She snorts, unamused. “I would never beg, Volkov.”

My groin tightens, and my watch starts beeping again. I turn off the program that monitors my heart rate outside of training and games. When I’m not exercising, I need to be resting and recovering, but being around the doctor torches all of that.

“Besides, you’re controlling enough that demanding I marry you is actually believable.”

I ignore the dig. “We didn’t tell anyone because I’m private. I don’t like people knowing my business.”

Against protests by the Storm publicity department, I don’t have my own social media. I’m rarely photographed except with the team, and I never do postgame press because they’re always asking about my fucking retirement.

The amusement falls from her expression, and her delicate fingers toy with the stem of her wineglass. “We’re really doing this, huh?”

My gaze snags on the pinch between her eyebrows. “No one can suspect a thing. If people find out this isn’t real and the government thinks people are lying for us, they could get in trouble. My parents could be deported. If you’re not in, tell me now.”

“I’m in.” The long line of her pale throat works as she swallows, and our eyes meet. “We’ll fake it and fool everyone. No one will know but us,” she adds. “And Jordan.”

We both know she won’t say anything, though.

There’s a steel edge to her voice I haven’t heard before. She never takes anything seriously, but this, she cares about.

For shoes, though? This doesn’t add up.

I gesture to the server for the bill. “We’ll get married tomorrow.” I got the license this afternoon, as soon as we talked in her office. “Courthouse. Two pm.”

The doctor’s eyes flare with surprise. “Tomorrow?”

“I want this process started as soon as possible.”

Her gaze flicks to my bad shoulder. If anyone should know I’m on a ticking clock, it’s her. My gut knots. I hate that she knows all my weaknesses. I hate that I wasn’t worth her time as a patient.

I don’t know if I expected her to fight me on this, to insist on a big, flashy, expensive wedding, but she just nods, frowning to herself.

“Tomorrow.” She stands, and puts her coat on. “See you there, Volkov.”

She walks off without a second look. I watch her leave, my gaze catching on the flutter of her light jacket, the flash of her heels, before she’s gone, and the realization sinks in.

The doctor and I are getting married.

CHAPTER 8

GEORGIA

The next day,I stand outside Vancouver City Hall under the cool September sunlight, questioning my life choices.

It’s a beautiful day to get married. My hair and the wedding dress I found last minute flutter in the light breeze and I take a deep breath. September is the best month in Vancouver, still warm from the summer but before the rainy winter season starts. I always tell people to visit in September.

If I wanted to get married, I’d get married in September.

“Congratulations,” an older man says as he walks down the steps.

“Thank you.” I clutch my small bouquet, hold my smile until he passes, before I let out a long breath and glance around.

If this were a real wedding, I’d get married under that big tree over there, the one that looks about fifty years old, solid and steady, branches reaching up to the sky. On the grass beneath it, sunlight dapples through the leaves. I’d stand under that tree and hold the hand of my dream man, gazing up into his eyes in adoration.

In another lifetime, maybe.

Inside city hall, more people give me encouraging, friendly smiles. Everyone loves to see couples getting married. When I reach the floor where they do the wedding ceremonies, I spot him immediately. Hard not to, with a guy his size.

He’s wearing a suit, arms folded, shoulders tense, impatientenergy radiating off from him. Clean, tailored lines and rich, dark gray fabric. The way the suit fits him is a strange contrast to the brutal lines of his face.

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