Page 44 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son

“Where should we start?” Noah asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dmitri says. “Everything will go.”

“You’re certain about this?” Finn asks. “Because if we pack everything, um, it won’t be easy for Oskar to come back when...”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Instead, his cheeks pinken, which is a rare occurrence for him.

Dmitri narrows his eyes. “Of course, everything must come with. Oskar needs to have his things.”

“But if you split...”

“I am not splitting from my new husband,” Dmitri says, steel in his voice. “Is outrageous.”

“Right.” Noah nods multiple times. “That’s nice.”

“It’s so great you’re married,” Luke says. “I wish you a very long and happy marriage.”

He shines a bright beam at me, and for a moment, I almost believe this is real, and that I am actually going to have an ongoing and happy marriage to Dmitri.

I glance at Dmitri, but he just sends me a blissful smile, and something catches in my throat.

The guys start packing my life into the boxes. Pillows and books and throw blankets disappear. They move into the bedroom, and I’m glad I already packed my intimate things, before they rifle through the rest of the room.

Later, we line the boxes against Dmitri’s gleaming walls. His apartment is glossy and expensive in a way that mine isn’t.

“Welcome home, baby,” Dmitri exclaims, slinging an arm around my shoulder, and laughing.

The other guys bounce their gazes away, but not before I see some of them look at me with pity.

Only Luke gazes at us happily.

I turn around and grab one of the boxes. I concentrate on unpacking it, moving things around Dmitri’s apartment, even though I feel that his sleek, modern furniture is screaming at me that my things don’t belong with his.

I inhale and exhale.

This is fine.

One year of pretending that I am not madly in love with him. It’s no big deal. I’ve been pretending this for the past three years. It’s definitely my area of expertise.

Finally, the guys say their goodbyes and offer additional congratulations about our wedding.

It’s all fake.

They know it.

We know it.

But Dmitri must have said something about how it’s important for us to pretend for the visa process, and thankfully, the guys play along.

“I’m so happy you guys finally got married,” Luke says.

“Oh, year?” Dmitri grins at him.

“Yeah, maybe something can be done about all your chemistry,” Luke says.

Dmitri’s smile falters as he glances at me.