The Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey)

by Gina Azzi

  She lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. “More like hammering out logistics. You can’t just bankroll my entire life.”

  I laugh. That’s what she’s worried about? Me paying for her lifestyle? “Okay, sweetheart. We’ll discuss details in a minute. But first, I want you to know that I can make this work for both of us. We’re friends, right?”

  She nods.

  “And I trust you, Ri. More than I trust most people.”

  “I trust you too,” she says.

  “Good.” I smile. Rielle smiles back and it’s like a storm cloud receding, making way for sunshine. Her brilliance shines through and blinds me. Because when Rielle smiles, she dazzles.

  I slip from my chair and get down on one knee beside her. Grinning up at her, I don’t care how goofy I am. Because I’m going to do this the right way. It’s most likely the only time I’ll ever do it and I’m already off to a shaky start.

  “Rielle Carter, will you marry me?”

  She rolls her eyes but a giggle escapes her throat. “Yes, Torsten. I’ll marry you.”

  5

  Rielle

  Marrying NHL legend Torsten Hansen may seem like a crazy idea but it’s a hell of a lot better than living in an alleyway, begging Claire for her family’s help, or, the worst-case scenario, calling Dad and apologizing for choosing my own path in life. Torsten’s proposal may be surprising but it’s hardly bad.

  As I stare into his deep blue eyes and get a glimpse of that dimple, it doesn’t feel as insane as it should. It feels…hopeful. Like a new beginning.

  Shacked up in my dilapidated apartment, agreeing to a marriage proposal with no ring, from a man I didn’t even consider a friend last week, should have me running for Merck. Instead, I feel relaxed, even a little bit excited.

  This is an amazing solution to everything.

  Torsten will get his green card and be able to stay in the US. I’ll pay back Jerry Jensen without the lingering fear of having to crawl back to Dad. And our marriage will be a business agreement.

  Arrangements and deals I can do. Relationships and giving up my freedom, I cannot.

  We’ll have an agreement, a contract. One that I’ll have a lawyer—Indy’s best friend Aiden Hardsin comes to mind—look over. In a few years, I’ll be divorced, with a couple of years of work experience under my belt, a savings account, and my whole future in front of me.

  Sure, it’s not the life I envisioned for myself. But all those old fairy tales—you know, happily-ever-afters and riding off into the sunset—fell in my rearview mirror the night I left Dad’s house. Since then, I’ve been focused on creating my own financial stability. On surviving.

  I glance at Torsten. He seems relaxed too, as if the weight of the world is no longer hanging around his neck. His eyes are brighter, his grin wider, his tone softer.

  “This is fantastic.” I smile at him.

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “It is?”

  I nod and eat a bite of pancakes. “You were right. These are phenomenal,” I tell him, eating another forkful. “Now, let’s talk terms.”

  “Terms,” he repeats. “Your conditions?”

  “Yeah. We need to hammer out all the details up front so there aren’t any surprises down the road.”

  “Right.” He nods, his eyes dimming a bit. “That’s a good idea.”

  “We marry for, how long? One year, two?”

  “Two at a minimum.”

  Two years. I’m nearly twenty-five. I’ll be divorced at twenty-seven. For a second, the realization leaves my stomach feeling funny, like it’s another failure to add to the top of my stack. But that’s ridiculous, right? I’m not setting out to make this marriage work, it’s only a contract, so it’s not going to fail. It’s just going to end, the way it’s intended to.

  Marriages of convenience fulfill a purpose and once Torsten and I fulfill ours, we should move on.

  “You’ll move into my place,” Torsten says.

  “Okay,” I agree, thinking over the logistics. Will I have my own room? Or share his? I try to envision Torsten’s bedroom and a masculine, moody, all dark wood and light gray, floats into my mind.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Huh?” I clear my head.

  “You just made a face.” He points at me, his expression growing serious. “You know we need to show that we’re a real couple, a couple in love, in order for you to sponsor me. We have to get married, take pictures, have a celebration, live together, and document it all. You’re going to be my wife, Rielle,” Torsten says slowly.

  “Your wife,” I repeat, a little dazed by the term. It slams into me like a grenade, blowing up the life I’ve been grinding for up until this point. All of my worries, about the loans, about my rent, about buying another super pack of ramen noodles, are going to cease to exist. They won’t even register on my radar.

  A flame of panic burns through me for a second. The water I’ve been treading grows choppy and a few waves slap me in the face. Because holy shit, I’m going to marry a professional hockey player who has enough money to pay off my loan. Enough money to take my freedom, curtail my choices, control me.

  I jump from the chair and begin to pace. For some strange reason, my reaction causes Torsten to relax even more. Was he waiting for an emotional outburst? Was he worried by how calmly I was taking it all?

  Maybe he should be.

  Because he is a man with money and means. I grew up raised in a circle of men like that and none of them turned out to be as trustworthy, as honest, as decent as they pretended. Sure, they looked the part, they even acted it, but away from prying eyes and whispering mouths, lurked something a hell of a lot more sinister.

  Torsten’s presence, his huge frame coupled with his larger-than-life personality draw my attention. My heart rate hammers and my breathing accelerates as his gaze holds mine. Ice blue to charcoal black. His gaze is heated, his expression intense. I feel drawn to him, a moth to a flame, a damaged soul to a compassionate one.

  The next realization rolls over me like a tidal wave. I like Torsten Hansen. I have real feelings for him. Maybe they’re shallow ones but given enough time, given the circumstances, they could grow into a black hole, one that swallows me up completely. My breathing stutters in my chest and I dig the heel of my hand to the center of my breastbone.

  Torsten catches the movement and concern rings his irises. He leans forward in his chair, ready to spring into action if I need him.

  And I do. I have. For five years, I didn’t rely on anyone but myself until now. Until him.

  “Torsten, I can’t live with you.”

  “What? Why not?”

  I draw in a shaky breath. “I, well, for starters, I could never afford half your rent.” I grasp at straws, especially since he already informed me he was taking over all the financial aspects of our life together.

  At that, he tosses his head back and laughs. It’s a deep, rumbly laugh. One that starts in his stomach and causes his chest to vibrate. It makes goosebumps break out on my skin and my stomach clench because it’s also the sexiest laugh I’ve ever heard in my life.

  And Torsten Hansen, with his golden hair and brilliant blue eyes, with his muscled torso and his strong shoulders, looks incredibly sexy doing it.

  I freeze. Watching Torsten laugh, I realize my assumptions are correct. Marrying him isn’t a problem at all. It’s the extricating myself from our marriage that’s going to destroy me.

  “We need boundaries,” I blurt out.

  “Boundaries?” he repeats, wiping the tears from his eyes.

  I nod and continue my pacing. He watches me with amusement that unsettles me further.

  “For example, I’ll need my own bedroom.”

  “Absolutely,” he agrees, sobering when he notes how serious I am.

  I force myself to sit back down but push the pancakes away. Tucking my hair behind my ears, I let out a shaky breath and ask the question that’s tearing me up the most. “What about dating?”

  Torste
n’s amusement slips away entirely.

  The gravity of what we’re agreeing to smacks us both in the face. Of course he’d be concerned about dating. He’s an NHL legend with legions of fans and a female following that rivals his male worshippers. For me, it’s a non-issue. I don’t date. I have one-night stands with no promises, no goodbyes, and absolutely no emotions involved.

  He clears his throat. “Tell me what you’re thinking. What you want?”

  I tap my fingertips against my lips. I think about us living together, about women with toned bodies and long, blonde hair flouncing out of his bedroom in the morning, giving me a pitying look. My chest squeezes painfully. I hate the idea of Torsten with other women. Not that I can tell him that. Instead, I settle on a safe, logical objection. “I don’t want to look stupid. I mean, if we’re married and you’re out and—”

  “It won’t happen,” he cuts me off. “We have to do this the right way or not at all.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him. “You’re going to marry me for two years and forgo sex?”

  He stares at me for a long moment. His gaze searching, his eyes hard. “I’ll be faithful to you, Ri. I won’t step out on you. You won’t find yourself in any compromising situations. When I give my word, I mean it. I’m taking vows and even though it’s not for the right reasons, we’ll be husband and wife.”

  Surprise rushes through me. I fall into the bottomless pools of Torsten’s eyes. He’s serious. My fingers tremble at the intensity in his expression, my heart rate spikes at the truth in his voice. My entire body tightens and hums with an awareness, an approval, that is too hard to ignore.

  We’ll be husband and wife.

  I smile at him. He smiles back. And my world tilts a little bit on its axis, making me question everything I thought I knew about Torsten Hansen, Hawks heartbreaker and perpetual bachelor.

  I force my attention back to the conversation. This is still a negotiation and when you make emotional decisions, you end up on the losing side. I clear my throat. “Okay, good. So, separate bedrooms, no cheating, anything else? I’m happy to sign a prenup, obviously. You’ll be traveling with the team over the next two months so we’ll have a chance to settle in without everything being awkward.”

  Torsten blows out an exhale and leans back in his chair. He raps his knuckles against the table. “I’ll have my lawyer draw everything up. I’ll hire you a lawyer too or you can just send me the bill for whoever you’re most comfortable working with. There’s one more thing we need to discuss.”

  “What?” I narrow my eyes.

  “What are we going to tell people? Obviously, we can’t really share our story or we’ll end up—”

  “In jail,” I snort.

  Torsten takes a gulp of his water. “Exactly. But, there’s no way we can pull this off without being honest with Easton and Claire.”

  “Or Indy and Noah,” I mutter, knowing he’s right.

  “Austin,” he adds. “I’ll talk to the guys before our team meeting tonight. We’re going over video reels.”

  “Okay. I’ll message Claire and Indy and see if we can meet for coffee.” I tap my fingers against the table, thinking of all the ways this is going to blow up in my face. There’s no way in hell that Claire’s feelings aren’t going to be hurt when she realizes the scheme I’m about to pull off. She won’t buy that I’m just getting married to help out Torsten. Besides, I can’t tell her he’s not re-signing because the team doesn’t know yet. Shit, am I going to lose my best friend’s trust?

  “What is it?” Torsten asks.

  I lick my lips. “I don’t know what to tell Claire.”

  His expression softens. “We’ll tell them a variation of the truth. That six weeks ago, I helped you home after you drank your face off with Claire.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And that we’ve been talking since then. Hanging out as friends.”

  “As friends,” he agrees. “And that when I mentioned my predicament to you, you offered to help me out because—”

  “Because I needed out of my job. Away from my boss.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Don’t think we’re not going to address what really happened last night.”

  I lower my gaze.

  “Just tell me, Ri. Who bruised you up? Someone related to the loan, your ex-boss? I need to know. I need to make sure whoever the hell he is, he won’t ever put his hands on you again.”

  I sigh. “It was Stu, my ex-boss. But we don’t have time to get into everything right now.” I flick my wrist, desperate to keep us on track. “I’ll explain to Claire that I agreed to move in with you and take some time to explore my career path without the financial pressure I’m under. I mean, Claire and Indy know I have loans. They just don’t know the whole story.”

  “What is the whole story?” he tries again.

  I flash him a quick grin. “Not going there, Torst.”

  “Ri, I’m in the middle of playoffs. My contract is up at the end of June. In order for this to work, it’s going to happen fast. Real fast.”

  “Okay,” I agree.

  He searches my eyes, as if looking for confirmation to match my words. “So, we have a deal?”

  I take a deep breath and look around my shitty apartment. When my eyes latch onto Torsten’s again, I nod. “We have a deal.”

  6

  Torsten

  I wasn’t kidding when I told Rielle we’d have to move fast. By the end of the night, I’ve confided in my closest friends and teammates, bought Rielle a ring, and scanned the papers Bill sent over. I’m changing into sweats for the night, when I glance at the clock. It’s nearing midnight and Rielle still isn’t home.

  You’re not her keeper.

  Still, a flicker of worry flares in my chest. I still don’t know the full story about her student loans. I don’t know the full story with the fuckhead ex-boss who touched her. I don’t know any of Rielle’s full stories and I have no clue where she is. With each minute that passes, my nerves jump and my concern increases.

  What am I doing? Two nights ago, I didn’t think twice about Rielle Carter unless I was picturing her plump lips closing over my cock and how sweet it would feel to sink inside of her. Now, I’m stressed because a handful of hours have passed and she hasn’t checked in.

  Is this what marriage is like? Constantly worrying about someone?

  I sigh and tug on my sweatpants. Pausing, I take in my room, as if I’m seeing it through new eyes. The mahogany furniture, the sturdy, boxy bed frame, the gray and black comforter. Everything about it screams bachelor and for years, I reveled in that. But now, I wish it was a little softer. I wish it had a woman’s touch. Rielle’s.

  I’m reaching for my T-shirt when the apartment door latch catches. I hear a burst of giggling. Grinning to myself, I toss my clothes in the hamper and make my way out of my bedroom.

  Then, I freeze. Because Rielle is standing in the center of the living room. Her arms are raised over her head, her expression, cast in moonlight, is dreamy. Her eyes are closed, her body swaying to whatever music she’s turning over in her mind.

  But that body. I work a swallow. She’s dressed in skintight leather pants and a cropped top. The sexiest boots I’ve ever seen mold over her knees. Her hair is a wild tangle of curls, tumbling down her back.

  She must feel my gaze because she stops moving and turns to glance at me over her shoulder.

  Black eyes that glint and burn. A lush mouth that’s sinful in its ability to tempt. Curves my hands are desperate to feel. My throat dries, my eyes widen, and I take a tentative step closer.

  “Rielle.” My voice is raspy, deep.

  Rielle grins and it hits me straight in the chest. “Hello, soon-to-be husband.”

  Husband. It’s the one word I focus on and I like the way it sounds coming from her mouth. A hell of a lot more than I’m supposed to.

  I grin and close the space between us. She’s obviously tipsy. “How much did you drink?”

>   “More than I meant to.” She wrinkles her nose and it’s adorable.

  “You know we were supposed to look over papers tonight, right?”

  She nods, her mouth pushing into a pout. “I know. And I swear I didn’t set out for this.”

  “Trouble just finds you?” I tease.

  She winces. “It’s a byproduct of being best friends with Claire.”

  I laugh and sit down on the couch. Even though I shouldn’t, I pull her into my lap. She doesn’t shift to move away so I wrap my arms around her casually. “How did Claire take the news?”

  “Not very well,” she whispers, her expression serious.

  Shit. My heart sinks a little at her words.

  “Hence the drinks,” she adds.

  I nod, frowning.

  “But once I told her the full story about Stu, she came around.”

  “I still want the full story about Stu.”

  She blushes and dips her head. “After we talked, she insisted on an impromptu bachelorette. Indy was our DD.”

  Of course she did. Claire Merrick is the life of any and every party. But she’s also a loyal friend, protective and caring of those she loves. And I know she adores Rielle. Some of my worry recedes knowing Claire is supporting Ri in this decision.

  Rielle’s hand trails down my bare torso, her touch light.

  “You definitely don’t look thirty-seven,” she murmurs.

  I chuckle, fighting the urge to flex for her like a twenty-year-old punk. “That’s cause I’m practically thirty-eight.”

  She snorts.

  “We can look at the papers and sign tomorrow morning. I have to be at the arena at two for a team meeting and to get ready for our game tomorrow night. If all looks good, we’ll be getting hitched in two days. Right before I leave for Tampa.”

  Her eyes snap up to mine, wide and brimming with more emotion than she usually shows.

  “You really want to be my husband, Torst?”

  She asks the question softly, as if she’s unsure of the answer. As if she wants the answer to mean more than just some contract we both sign. And God, I want it to mean more than that too.