Page 20 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son

“I’m not going to not hold your hand because you have a penis, Oskar.”

His mouth drops.

“I see many penises every day,” I remind him.

He swallows. “I-I guess you do.”

“Is not scary.”

He blinks, and I squeeze his hand, waiting for him to square his shoulders just like I know he will.

“Let’s go, Oskar.”

He nods desperately, then straightens his spine, and we enter the jewelry store as a bell chimes above us, sending us closer to our future.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Oskar

This is not strange. Not strange at all. Not even slightly.

Dmitri’s fingers still clutch mine when we enter the store, and the saleswomen’s expressions transform from brisk professionalism to open delight.

The women behind the counters beam at us.

“I want best ring in the store,” Dmitri announces, his tenor voice booming.

I tug his hand, and he turns his dark eyes on me.

“That could get expensive.”

Dmitri grins, as if I’ve said something amusing. “Tonight you will have millionaire husband. Not bad, huh?”

“There’s nothing bad about you,” I tell him, and he turns.

My pulse skitters, and a sour taste invades my throat.

“These are our newest engagement rings for men,” a saleswoman says, sliding open a velvet tray.

“Platinum,” Dmitri says. “Will look good with his hair.”

The woman nods. “Yes. He looks like a summer. He has a pink undertone. Silver will suit him.”

Dmitri smirks. “His skin is always turning pink.”

I go still, wondering if he’s cataloged every time I’ve blushed around him. Heat crawls up my neck at the thought.

Does he know I’m in love with him? Sometimes I think he’s completely oblivious. But then, is that why he picked me to marry him?

Here, away from everyone we know, I can pretend Dmitri actually wants to hold my hand. The store clerks coo over us, pronouncing us “adorable” and “cute.”

My gaze darts to Dmitri, because surely he can’t be okay with that. He only nods agreeably. Once he’s satisfied with the rings, we head to our next stop...the hotel.

The limo rolls down Vegas’s large roads, and I swallow down more champagne. The bubbles bounce against my heart, and my body is squishy by the time the limo stops.

The driver opens the door.

We sweep through the towering doors, and my breath catches when I enter the lobby.