Page 114 of Sin Bin

“Then she won’t be my future wife,” Dmitri said unequivocally. “The woman I marry has to be Russian.”

Sergei chuckled. “I thought the same thing. And then I met Jenna, and all bets were off.”

“No shit,” Dubinski joked. “Jenna is hot as fuck. I woulda made an exception for her, too.”

“Watch it,” Sergei warned mildly. “That’s the mother of my children you’re talking about.”

Everyone laughed and reached for more appetizers. At the other end of the terrace, Viggo was speaking rapid-fire Swedish into his phone.

Dmitri jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Another reason not to get married. You see all the trouble he’s having with his wedding?”

Sergei chuckled. “Reid doesn’t seem to be having any problems.”

“That’s because we hired a wedding planner who knows how to put my bossy mother in her place,” Reid asserted with a satisfied grin. “Scarlett’s mother is handling most of their wedding planning and she doesn’t want to offend Viggo’s mom, so she’s letting him deal with her.”

An angry exclamation from Sandström had everyone cracking up and shaking their heads.

“Uh, yeah, I think I’m good on marriage for a while. In the meantime,” Dmitri said wickedly, “I’m just gonna act like I’m at a twenty-four-hour ice cream shop enjoying all the different flavors of pussy on display. Right, bro?” he cackled, elbowing Logan.

“Right,” Logan said with a halfhearted grin, trying to play along. He didn’t miss the knowing smirk Hunter gave him.

Viggo stalked back across the terrace looking thoroughly frustrated.

Dmitri grinned at him. “More wedding drama?”

“Ja! Min mamma är galen! Hon bjöd in—” Viggo broke off sheepishly, remembering to revert to English. “Sorry.”

Everyone laughed.

As the Swede plopped down on the couch, Reid clapped him consolingly on the back. “What’s going on?”

Viggo puffed out an aggravated breath. “My mom’s driving me crazy with this fucking guest list. Every time I talk to her, she’s adding someone else. I just found out that she invited a member of the royal family—”

“Holy shit,” Dubinski interrupted. “The Swedish Royal Family?”

“Um. Yeah.” Viggo rubbed his golden beard, looking slightly embarrassed. “We met the family several years ago when my grandfather received some prestigious award from the king. During the ceremony at the palace, my mom and Crown Princess Victoria sorta hit it off—”

“No fucking way!” Dubinski exclaimed in disbelief. “Your mom is besties with the heir to the Swedish throne?”

“Not besties. Friendly acquaintances. Anyway,” Viggo continued irritably, “my mom took the liberty of inviting the crown princess to my wedding. She says she did it on a whim and she never expected Victoria to accept the invitation. So she was flabbergasted when she checked her mail and saw that Victoria had RSVP’d for herself and her husband. So now my mom is totally freaking out and telling me that we need to talk to the palace’s security team to coordinate heightened security measures for the wedding, and it all sounds like one big fucking headache.” He scowled. “As if Scarlett and I haven’t made enough concessions already. I mean, I agreed to have the family crest printed on the invitations, we’re doing a Viking wedding ritual, we’re having horse-drawn carriages—”

Dubinski whistled. “Holy shit, Sandström. Your wedding just got a helluva lot more interesting. Not that it wasn’t pretty awesome before. I mean, you’re getting married at a castle, your woman is gorgeous as fuck and your sister’s supermodel friends will be there.” He paused. “I’m still invited, right?”

“Still?” Viggo raised one eyebrow. “When were you ever invited? Have you received an invitation in the mail?”

“Well, no, but…I just assumed—”

“That was your first mistake. Never make assumptions.”

Dubinski looked around at everyone and let out an uneasy laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

Viggo’s face was deadly serious. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“C’mon, Sandström,” Dubinski whined protestingly. “How can you invite the whole team and not me? That’s really messed up! What am I supposed to—”

Viggo broke into a chuckle. “Relax, man. I’m just fucking with you. You’re invited. Scarlett insisted.”

Dubinski laughed with relief. It was a running joke on the team that he acted like Viggo’s little bitch, always craving his approval and acceptance. Sometimes it was hard to argue with the evidence.

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