Page 40 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
“I suggest that we get as many details about the wedding as possible,” Vince says. “The immigration lawyers love pictures. They need to see that this wasn’t just a drunken escapade.”
“We did intentionally fly to Vegas from Boston,” Oskar says.
“We got married in the afternoon,” I continue, “no minibar enhancements.”
“Well,” Oskar says. “There was champagne in the limo.”
“There was?” Vince leans forward. “That’s great!”
“My son having access to alcohol was great?” Coach says, still glowering.
“I am twenty-three,” Oskar says tersely. “Don’t embarrass me.”
“All the details are important for immigration officers,” Vince says. “Your green card interview will be very important.”
“We’ll need everything to be expedited,” Daniela says. “We play in Montreal and Toronto next month.”
Vince nods. “So, um, do you have the photos?”
“Well...”
He raises his gaze from his notepad. “Well?”
“We didn’t actually take any photos,” I say.
“None?”
“None.”
My heartbeat pounds. They were just beginning to go along with this. But I ruined it. Somehow, I ruined it all.
“Dmitri has receipts,” Oskar says smoothly.
I nod hastily, pulling out my phone to forward everything to Vince: limo, hotel suite, restaurant.
“You know hockey players are very protective of their privacy,” Oskar continues.
“So no pictures,” Vince says miserably.
I already have Vince’s e-mail address on my phone and I forward him receipts quickly: of the limo, of the hotel room, of the restaurant.
“A two-bedroom honeymoon suite?” Vince mutters. “Just like any newlyweds.”
I’m pretty sure Vince thinks this is going to explode in pieces around us.
He might be correct.
Intelligence has never been my strong suit. It’s never mattered before. Hockey has always been everything. So much of my life has been spent practicing hockey. Watching games to imagine scenarios but also making myself stronger and faster.
God, if only I’d picked another agent. If only I hadn’t picked the one agent who was going to spend his time not doing paperwork. And now he’s sitting on a beach in Mexico somewhere.
I’m not going to let my life be destroyed because of something out of my control.
“I got a large suite in Vegas,” I say, “because it was the most important day of my life.”
I look to Oskar for support, but he’s studying the table’s wood grain. He’s been quieter since I proposed this plan.
Finally he nods. “The room was beautiful. Honeymoon package. Red petals everywhere.”
