Page 43 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
“Yes, but that...”
Noah shoots Finn a look, and Finn laughs and pulls Noah closer to him and gives him a noisy smack on the lips. “Well, I love Vegas. It is great for weddings.”
I nod. “Yes. We stayed at Paris Hotel. Then went to Eiffel Tower. Very romantic.”
Finn’s forehead creases.
“We took limo. Very nice people there.”
“Well, no surprise they’re nice to the guy in the limo,” Noah says.
“So you and Oskar really...” Finn keeps squinting at me like my words are in Russian.
“We are married couple.”
“For your visa...” Troy asks.
“No,” I say carefully. “That would be visa fraud.”
I emphasize those words. They need to understand.
These are my friends. They do.
“Well, congratulations on your marriage,” Finn says.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Oskar
“Is good you’re here,” Dmitri’s voice booms from the next room.
Muffled, masculine voices sound, followed by stomping.
I leave the bedroom to find Dmitri’s best friends trampling around my room. Their smiles are awkward, their gazes confused.
Finn holds up a bottle of champagne. “For the newlyweds!”
“Thank you,” I say, though my voice sounds more like a squeak. My skin flames, and I feel their curious gazes on me, as if to wonder how I managed to end up married to the guy I was so obviously crushing on.
Dmitri takes the bottle of champagne. “Is good for packing. Makes the boxes less heavy.”
The others laugh, and I do too, because Dmitri is charming.
He navigates my tiny kitchen with familiar ease, pouring champagne into glasses.
Troy’s eyes narrow. “You know your way around Oskar’s kitchen.”
“Of course. Is my best friend.”
“Yes, but....”
The others shake their heads. Dmitri pulls me toward him, and gives me the first glass. “Happy wedding, husband.”
“Happy wedding,” I stammer out.
“Right. Let’s get packing!” Noah lurches for the cardboard boxes lined in one section of the room, as if touching them will dissipate the awkward energy around us.
Finn grabs some masking tape, and in the next moment they are turning the cardboard into actual boxes, cavorting into all manner of positions.
