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“Not really.”
“Bullshit,” Beck says, grinning. “You’re about to be Mr. Colby Pavlova.”
“Fuck off,” I say.
“Is she taking your last name?” Ford asks.
We never talked about it, so I go with the safe answer. “No, she’s keeping her name.”
“You okay with that?”
“Of course.”
“Which last name will your kids have?” Beau asks.
I check my watch, eager to end this interrogation. “Uh, mine. But no plans to have kids anytime soon.”
Or ever. This is just a business arrangement between two people. But it’s time for me to pretend I’m head over heels in love with my team owner.
“We need to go,” I tell my brother, who’s standing beside me in a tux.
He claps me on the shoulder. “Let’s do it.”
My heart races when Heath and I reach our places by Cal, the officiant marrying me and Mila. Quentin had the rooftop of this building transformed. There are flowers and potted pine trees very tastefully set up around the space, lights twinkling bright as the sun begins to set. The view of the mountains in the background is breathtaking from up here.
Heath is standing up with me and Quentin is standing up with Mila. We didn’t have time for bridesmaid dresses. We wanted this ceremony to be intimate, making it look like privacy is important to us. I invited around twenty people, all teammates and their wives or girlfriends, and Mila invited twelve friends.
She had everyone turn in their phones and sign NDAs to add to the illusion that we’re doing this in secret. In truth, Quentin tipped off a hockey blogger and I’m pretty sure the chopper circling in the distance has at least one photographer on it.
Mila wants news of our wedding to leak, and I have no doubt it will. She hired a photographer to take photos of the ceremony so we can release a statement and a photo after it leaks. All our bases should be covered.
Except this last formality—the vows. We decided to go with the traditional sickness and health, good times and bad ones, blah blah, because writing fake vows is a step too far.
The string quartet starts playing, signifying Mila’s walk down the aisle. She’s on Quentin’s arm, her eyes on me.
Everyone stands and turns around to see the bride and there’s a collective gasp. I can’t deny I gasp a little myself.
Mila is the most stunning bride I’ve ever seen. Her pale pink dress hugs every curve just right. Her dark hair is styled into big waves, some of it down around her shoulders and the rest styled inside what looks like a delicate tiara adorned with sparkling diamonds and pearls.
It’s her expression that gets me, though. Her trademark shrewd gaze is nowhere to be found. Everything about her is soft, sweet, and vulnerable. She missed her calling as an actress, because my heart’s hammering in my chest like all of this is real.
When they reach the end of the aisle, she takes my hands, her expression nervous and elated at the same time. Our bickering is forgotten as I gently squeeze her hands in mine.
As Cal starts the ceremony, Mila mouths “I love you” and I mouth it back. I find myself wishing like hell that it were true. That two commitment-phobes really did fall crazy in love and decide to get married even though she owns the team he plays for.
The fullness I feel as we exchange our vows is almost too much. This whole ceremony is everything I thought I was dead set against. My mother gave herself over to love and it cost her everything; I swore I’d never make the same mistake.
“Until death do you part?” Cal asks me.
The hope and love swirling in Mila’s eyes is messing with my head. This is all just for show, right?
She squeezes my hands, nudging me to get my shit together.
“I do.”
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Mila breaks into a huge smile as I reach for her, one hand on her hip and the other on her cheek. My lips meet hers for the first time and I taste a hint of the Stoli she must have taken a shot of before the ceremony.
That brings me back down to Earth. Happy brides don’t need a shot of vodka to get themselves down the aisle. She has a lot more on the line than I do; if it gets out that this marriage is fake, not only will she get sent back to Russia, her reputation and credibility will take massive hits.
When we pull away and I look out at our cheering friends, it’s all I can do not to laugh.
What the hell is happening here? Does no one else see that this isn’t real?
Quentin actually manages a couple of tears, which he wipes away with a cloth handkerchief. A helicopter flies by and Mila snuggles into my side, gazing adoringly up at me.
