Page 27 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
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.”
