Page 14 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
I shudder. “Then Oskar, what do you say, it’s that or me poisoning? I hear poisoning is painful.”
“Bad dreams for the rest of your life, then you die.”
“You wouldn’t want that for me.”
He shakes his head, his eyes soft.
I take the bear and put it in the suitcase.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Is just overnight trip, Oskar” I say. “I don’t want you to be lonely.” I smile. “They put big beds in our suite. California King. Extra wide.”
“Oh. Space for both of us.”
“Space for you and the bear. I have my own room.”
“Right. Of course.” He blinks, and his cheeks pinken more. I wonder if there’s a vitamin deficiency that causes frequent blushes. Lately, Oskar seems to be suffering more from it. Maybe I can ask Finn. He talks about vitamins on his social media channel a lot.
I zip up the suitcase then carry it from the room, Oskar trailing after me. I type into my phone and book a ride-share for the airport.
Oskar still looks stunned. I enter his bathroom and remove his toiletries, grabbing the pomade he likes. I knew he was going to forget it.
“You want to pack your laptop?” I ask.
“I guess.”
“Is good for watching movies.”
“Yeah.”
He scurries away, finally packing something himself.
I then take his shoes from the shoe cupboard, kneel down, and put them on him. I stop and grab his dress shoes. “And fancy shoes for the wedding.”
“I’ll, um, get a plastic bag.” He scurries away, still looking bewildered as I order a car.
“Is okay,” I say. “Is overwhelming news. I only just found out too.”
He snorts, and when he reappears, I take his things and lead him to the waiting car.
CHAPTER SIX
Oskar
“Are you okay?” Dmitri asks, his dark eyes rounded with something like worry. In the dim dawn light, his features look softer than usual.
“Um, I’m okay.” My voice comes out embarrassingly high, more teenage boy than Harvard graduate.
He pulls out his phone, the blue light casting shadows across his sharp cheekbones. I think he’s done talking and checking sports scores, but then he turns the screen toward me. “These are the seats. They’re pretty comfortable.”
A laugh bubbles up despite my nerves. “Did you think I was nervous about the flight? We take, like, a million of those a year.”
“Not million,” he says, his accent thickening with mock seriousness. “You should know. You book them.”
“Trust me, if you booked them, they’d feel like million too.”
He smiles, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Maybe.” He scrunches his lips together. “But we normally fly private.”
