Page 24 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son

“Guess we’ll never know. Unless you want to grow them and see if people start gifting you hats?”

“Let’s not test that theory.”

He picks up the marriage paperwork and I hold my breath. Will this be too real for him? Will he say, never mind, a marriage to you is not for me?

But he merely grabs a pen and starts filling in details with his precise handwriting. When he finishes, he looks up with a grin that makes my chest tight. I realize I still need to complete my portion.

He smirks. “Need help remembering your name?”

He grabs the paper and fills out everything for me. His nose wrinkles, and I have an odd urge to count each rarely seen crease.

“Oh, you are adorable.” A woman with fluffy hair and a sparkling cocktail dress says claps her hands.

The smile on Oskar’s face drifts away. He shifts from me slightly.

I squeeze his hand, because that seems to brighten him when he gets lost in thinking.

“Yes. He’s adorable,” I say firmly. “Come, Oskar. Let’s get married. Then we can relax and celebrate.”

The woman giggles.

“We had long flight,” I explain, drawing Oskar closer. “Boston to Vegas.”

“That is quite a trip.” She studies our paperwork. “And you only booked this today?”

“Yes.”

“I have to ask if you’re certain about the wedding...”

“Ah.” Relief floods through me at an easy question. “We’ve known each other long time. Oskar is my best friend.”

Her expression softens. “That’s sweet.”

I nod happily. “He’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Her eyes soften even further, as if she’s attempting to make hearts spring in her eyes like they do in silly cartoons, and she opens the door to the wedding chapel.

Oskar’s gaze darts around the space, which is as French-inspired and romantic as the rest of the hotel. Chubby cupids stare down from the ceiling, and the rounded walls in this circular room are adorned with ornate gold moldings everywhere.

“You like it,” I murmur to Oskar.

“How could I not?”

I grin. I’m happy that I convinced the hotel to arrange a last-minute wedding. I wasn’t going to marry Oskar in some grimy location. I can plan better weddings than Finn.

The woman explains the procedure to us, then we’re standing in front of the altar.

“Please join your right hands.” I link my fingers with Oskar’s.

Heat zooms through my body, even though the room seemed to be at a normal temperature before.

His eyes are wide, and I peer at the way his long lashes flicker upward and the slight part of his pink lips as he scrutinizes me.

He’s shorter than I am, shorter than the other guys on the team. He peers up at me, his gaze trusting, even when no one’s trusted me before.

God, I want this to be perfect for Oskar. I don’t want to disappoint him. He’s giving me so much. He’s giving me an opportunity to stay in the country I love. An opportunity to spend more time with him. An opportunity I don’t take for granted.

Maybe he senses my nervousness, because he squeezes my hand, and just like that, something in me settles.