by Gina Azzi
Her eyes widen, recognition flaring in their black depths. “Why?” she asks slowly.
“I’m going to assume that we’re going to the Finals, that we’re going to win the Cup.”
She grins but her eyebrows dip in confusion.
“Afterwards, this summer, do you want to meet a not-so-sweet, little old lady?” I grin.
Rielle swears just as a knock sounds on the door. She moves to answer it, bringing her coffee with her.
The second she pulls open the door, mayhem ensues. Claire leads a freaking calvary into the space. There’re two women with massive trunks, a man wheeling in a dress rack filled with wedding gowns, and someone carrying a director’s chair and a light.
“What’s happening?” I ask, striding into the room, my coffee forgotten.
Claire gasps and clutches at her neck. “What are you doing here? You can’t see her!” She jabs a finger in Rielle’s direction. “It’s bad luck.”
I frown, ready to inform Claire that she’s taking this whole thing too far but then Rielle giggles. She giggles and I see the excitement in her expression. Her eyes soften, her mouth curls into a smile, and she even bounces on her toes.
I hold up my hands in surrender. “What do you need me to do?”
Claire grins. “Good answer, Big Daddy. Your husband game is strong.”
Rielle snorts. Indy comes barreling through the door, loaded with a massive brown paper bag. “I got bagels and all the spreads!”
“Champagne?” Claire asks over her shoulder.
“Duh,” Indy responds. “Everyone knows mimosas are a staple for the bride on the morning of her wedding.” She plops the bag down on my dining table and looks up. Then, she gasps and glares at me. “You need to leave.”
“He knows,” Claire reassures her.
Rielle glances at me, laughter and amusement in her eyes.
“I’m going, I’m going.” I move toward my bedroom.
“Pack up whatever you need,” Indy instructs me as she taps on her phone screen.
I enter my bedroom and hear her call after me. “Noah will be here in ten minutes to collect you.”
“To collect me?” I pop my head out of my bedroom.
The three girls and even the makeup artists and hair stylist glare at me.
“Chop chop.” Claire claps her hands.
“Don’t forget the rings,” Indy reminds me.
I laugh and move around my room, collecting everything I need. Less than ten minutes later, Claire is hustling me out the door. At the last moment, I turn to find Rielle. When our eyes collide, I smile. “See you at City Hall?”
She nods, tenderness sweeping her expression. “I’ll be the one in white.”
I chuckle, she smiles, and I have to fight the urge to stride across the room and kiss her in front of the entire circus unfolding in my living room.
Instead, Claire pushes me through the door and I reluctantly meet Noah.
I imagine that Bloody Marys, pancakes and eggs, and Xbox with the guys is less exciting than whatever Rielle’s getting into with her girlfriends.
“Dude, that’s the fifth time you checked your watch,” Panda, our team goalie, calls me out.
I slip my hand in my pocket.
“You nervous?” Easton asks.
“No. I just, I’m ready.”
“To get married?” Skepticism is still heavy in Panda’s voice. For years, Panda, Easton, and I were the Hawks who shut down clubs and got lost inside of women whose names we couldn’t recall the next morning. Then, Easton went to rehab and started dating Claire. Now, I’m getting married. By the confusion in Panda’s tone, I can tell he’s trying to keep up with the sudden changes and figure out who the hell is going to wingman him now.
I turn toward him but James, the other Hawks defenseman and one of my oldest friends, says, “When you know, you know. And when that happens, you don’t want to waste one more second without your woman tucked under your arm.”
I shoot him a grateful smile, happy he decided to come today. James’s wife passed about a year ago and I can’t imagine how difficult it is for him to attend weddings and recall his own trip down the aisle. I was nothing short of grateful when he walked into Easton’s Beacon Hill brownstone with a grin on his face, dressed in a sharp suit, holding a flower box with a boutonniere inside.
“Okay, boys,” Noah announces. “It’s time for us to head to City Hall. Let’s get Big Daddy hitched!”
Easton whistles loudly, James claps, and even Panda grins at me.
Emotions I’m unprepared for wash over me. I remind myself that this isn’t real, that Rielle isn’t my forever woman, that today is a means to an end.
But as I follow my friends out to the parking lot, I can’t ignore the excitement that thrums in my veins, the expectation that hums in my temples, or the happiness that grips my heart.
Today, I marry Rielle Carter.
8
Rielle
My wedding dress is stunning. It’s exquisite. It’s exactly what I would have chosen if I was marrying for love, for real, and by the tears in Claire’s eyes, she knows it too.
“You look breathtaking, Rielle,” Indy whispers, tucking some flowers into my hair.
The stylists have all left, the penthouse is in disarray, and Claire and I polished off a bottle of champagne. Right now, it’s just the three of us, and the last year with all of its ups and downs, laughter and tears, triumphs and failures, slams into me as I meet their eyes in the reflection of the mirror. My friendships with these two women have been the one constant I counted on for the past year.
Now, today, I’ll be adding Torsten to that number. For two years, at least.
My stomach sours when I think of our expiration date.
“What’s wrong?” Claire frowns.
I shake my head, shake away the thoughts that don’t matter because today is my wedding day. “Nothing.” My hands smooth over my hair one last time. It’s been curled into big waves that cascade over my shoulders. The front pieces have been pulled back and blue hydrangeas hold it all together.
“Something blue,” Indy explains when my fingers delicately trace a petal.
I smile. “Do you guys think this is too much?” I tilt my head, studying my curve-hugging dress. The top is all lace, with capped sleeves and scalloped edges that dip low in the front. A huge lace band binds my waist before fanning out into delicate tulle that falls straight to the floor. I lift the skirt to peek at my heels, incredible Manolo Blahnik white satin pumps with a peep toe. A wedding gift from my besties.
Indy shakes her head as Claire nods. We all burst out laughing.
“It’s definitely too much for City Hall,” Claire explains, waving her arms up and down the length of my body. “You’re going to draw a lot of attention and turn a lot of heads. Just the way we like it!”
I laugh, nodding in agreement.
“But,” Indy adds, “we still thought it would be fun to go all out and have a real wedding day.”
“It is,” I agree, turning toward her. “Everything happened so quickly with Torsten, so unexpectedly. I can’t believe the team flies to Tampa tomorrow.” I shrug. “It’s kind of nice to get caught up in it all. The past year has been hell for me and this all seems like a too-good-to-be-true dream.”
“But you’re okay with it?” Claire asks, her blue eyes assessing as they search mine. “Because I know you feel like you have to do this but you really don’t.”
Indy wrings her hands. “Claire and I were talking and—”
I shake my head, cutting her off. “I love you both, very much, for looking out for me the way you have. It means more to me than you will ever know just that you would offer to bail me out financially. But I’ve seen more friendships and relationships ruined by money than anything else.”
Indy frowns. She knows very little about my family, and Claire, only a tiny bit more. But there once was a time when Dad and Jerry Jensen were like brothers, their relationship thicker than blood. Unt
il a deal went wrong, fortunes were lost, and their friendship was destroyed. I didn’t know any of these details when I accepted Jerry’s offer to help me with college. Up until that point, he’d been like an uncle to me. Sure, things seemed a little strained when Dad and Jerry were in the same room but I figured it was because of a stressful deal they were working on. Not because they carried blame and contempt for each other. Once I accepted the loan, Jerry hiked up the interest rate to ensure a Carter would be forever in his debt. In a way, he burned my last bridge home. But today is my wedding day and there’s no room for Dad or Jerry in my thoughts.
“I made a deal with Torsten, and I’m going to stick to it. Besides”—I give a little twirl, my dress flaring perfectly—“if this is how it’s kicking off, with all this glamour and perfection, it’s going to be great, right?”
Indy nods enthusiastically. Her brown hair is swept to the side in a complicated braid that hangs over her left shoulder. She’s got stars in her eyes, a common occurrence since she fell in love with Noah Scotch. Claire regards me a little more realistically but after a moment, she smiles. “I hope so, Ri. You ready to go?”
I nod, turning to cast one last look at myself in the mirror. I’m ready.
Our City Hall service takes a grand total of seven minutes. Claire was right, we garnered a lot of attention.
With the three of us girls done up like we’re headed to the Emmys and the guys all hulking and dangerously handsome in their suits and sports coats, even the judge raises her eyebrows when Torsten and I are called up. The process is easy and efficient. Given the magnitude of the decision, the legal implications, the significance of it all, I thought it would take longer.
Instead, we recite a few words, sign our names, and smile for the flash of a camera. Then, Torsten kisses me deeply in front of the entire room. I giggle, he grins, and then sweeps the group, all nine of us, to The Ivy for a celebratory lunch.
“Damn, he’s pulling out the big guns,” Claire murmurs to me as we enter The Ivy. It’s a swanky, downtown restaurant renowned for its creative menu and world-class mixologists. I used to think getting a reservation was nearly impossible, but since learning the ease with which Noah Scotch manages to obtain them, I’m beginning to rethink that assumption.
Today, we’re led to a private room in the back. When I step inside, my breath catches in my throat.
“Wow,” Claire breathes out.
“Stunning,” Indy agrees, stopping beside me.
The three of us look up, to where hundreds of flower petals hang on nearly invisible threads from the ceiling, down the entire length of the table. It gives the illusion that petals are being sprinkled from the heavens, floating gently to Earth at different speeds. Three big centerpieces with white roses, blue hydrangeas, and baby’s breath, dot the table, surrounded by tiny flickering tea lights.
The table is set for nine, with printed menus and name tags resting on each plate. Champagne flutes are already poured, waiting for a toast.
“Do you like it?” Torsten asks. His hand skates down my back, his fingertips brushing against my spine.
I shiver from his touch, my body going both hot and cold at his proximity. Just two nights ago, those fingers, that mouth, made me come undone. And now, Torsten is my husband, giving me a fairy tale wedding day that people dream about.
None of this is real, I remind myself. I need to remind myself.
Because when I turn around and fall into the shimmering, bottomless, blue pools of Torsten’s eyes, it sure as hell doesn’t seem fake. Not the worry in the tightness of his lips, not the hint of hope in the rings around his irises, and definitely not in his possessive touch as his arm wraps around my waist.
“It’s beautiful,” I tell him the truth. He smiles and it’s mesmerizing, hitting me straight in the chest.
How the hell did this beautiful man go this long without a serious female attachment in his life? Why did he choose me? Any woman would have leapt at the chance, with zero conditions, to be standing where I am right now, in his arms, under a freaking blanket of petals. Why would he ask me and voluntarily go half a million dollars into debt?
“You’re beautiful, Ri,” he murmurs, surprising the hell out of me when he leans forward and brushes a kiss over my lips. “Happy wedding day, sweetheart.”
My lips tingle and a jolt of desire shoots through me. I practically melt into Torsten, wanting more, wanting him. My head feels fuzzy, the room suddenly hazy. He grins, tips my chin up, and kisses me again. This time it’s long and deep, soulful and sensual. I grip his shoulders and press my breasts into his chest. It feels like I’m drowning and gulping oxygen at the same time.
The cheers and whistles of our friends ring out around us and I have the sudden urge to smile.
The flash of a camera way too close to my face pops and I pull back, dazed. Torsten swipes the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip, as if to wipe away my lipstick, before turning to have a few words with the photographer.
I feel lightheaded and unsteady on my feet. That kiss was all-consuming. It was intense and passionate and all. for. show. Of course Torsten hired a photographer; I saw him and his camera at City Hall. It’s all part of the act, all part of making this look real.
By the happy smiles of our friends, even the ones who don’t know the full story, Torsten and I are pulling it off. I should feel relieved. Not hollow. Or hurt.
Claire sets a glass of champagne in my hand and gives me a worried glance.
I take a sip, savor the taste. It tastes expensive, one of the finer things in life I haven’t had in a long time.
“You okay?” Claire whispers.
I nod, taking another sip. My gaze flits to our friend group, laughing and talking. Everyone has a drink in hand. The atmosphere is jovial; it feels like a true celebration.
“That looked intense,” she adds.
“Felt intense,” I admit.
Claire’s hand wraps around my wrist and I look at my best friend.
“You sure you know what you’re doing, Ri?”
I shake my head, keeping a small smile on my face in case anyone, such as the photographer, looks over. “Not a goddamn clue.”
Claire squeezes my hand and I smile for the camera.
Flash.
It’s not late when we get home, barely 7 p.m. But it feels as if I’ve lived a hundred days today and the fatigue of it all—the marriage, the celebration, the champagne—hits me hard. My eyelids are half closed by the time I step into the penthouse.
A week ago, I was fighting off Stu’s wandering hands, wondering what life in an alleyway would look like.
Now, I’m stepping out of shoes that cost almost as much as my old car in a luxury penthouse. Talk about a twist of fate.
On some level, I know it should bother me that I’m doing something highly illegal. I’m sure I should have some moral qualms about the whole arrangement. Maybe the past year, of trying so damn hard to just survive, has warped my thinking. Because right now, I’m so happy to be full and warm and safe, I could weep tears of joy.
“You have fun today?” Torsten asks. His voice is all rumbly and deep.
God, he’s sexy. His blue eyes blaze as he unbuttons the neat row of his dress shirt. I watch as he undoes his cuff links. They’re shiny and look heavy, expensive. Like him.
What does he think when he looks at me?
Torsten tilts his head, studying me. “You okay, Ri?”
I nod. Torsten Hansen is now my husband. Husband. My heartbeat races at the thought. I’m falling a little bit in like and lust for my husband. But not in love, right? No, never in love.
The weight of an important decision settles around my neck. In many ways, it seems heavier than the decision over whether or not to marry Torsten in the first place.
“If we sleep together…” I say and Torsten’s eyebrows jump to his hairline. I clear my throat. “If we sleep together, it will complicate things.”
He nods slowly.
“But if we don’
t, we’ll just be celibate for two years…”
He nods again, frowning. He takes a step closer and his big hand envelops mine. It’s warm and strong, reassuring and tempting.
I lick my lips and Torsten’s eyes focus on my mouth. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Rielle.”
“If we do this, it’s just about sex. We both have physical needs; there’s no point in going without for two years when we’re here, right?”
He frowns, his eyes flashing with a burst of anger. He shuffles closer, his hand squeezing mine.
“No messy emotions, no complicated expectations. It’s easy to get carried away after a day like today.” I force a smile and unzip the back of my dress. I shimmy out of the top and push it down to my waist. It falls to the floor like a waterfall, rippling and rushing down my body.
Torsten takes a step back, his eyes scanning my curves. He closes his eyes for a moment, as if in pain. “Rielle, we could try—”
“No,” I cut him off. I don’t want to hear whatever he’s going to say. Because any words from him right now will make me yearn for the fairy tale that doesn’t exist. He’ll make me crave the happily-ever-after that isn’t in the cards for us.
I know better than to hope for things like that.
I step out of my dress, my hands dangling at my sides. I force myself to say the words I need to believe. “Tonight, going forward, this”—I gesture between us—“is just sex.”
His eyes are narrowed as they study my face. After a moment, he nods. “Just sex.” His tone is clipped.
I swallow and step forward, my hands finding his shoulders, my body pressing into his. I kiss him hard, hunger and hurt on my lips. His hands find my hips and squeeze. He meets me kiss for kiss, our teeth clashing, our tongues dueling.
Torsten Hansen fucks me fast and furious on his living room floor hours after he kissed me under a sky of rose petals. He takes me like a savage and I revel in it, in him. Afterwards, when we’re both sated, he storms to his bathroom to clean up and I retreat to my bedroom so I don’t have to witness the hurt and confusion in his eyes.