Page 16 of Offside Bride

It was like we’d lived inside pristine marble walls, then someone came over with a sledgehammer and broke them down,piece by piece, until the only thing standing was the ugly thing my parents hid from us our whole lives.

I suppose I don’t blame Mom for sheltering us from Dad’s lifestyle. But did she think we’d never find out?

Anyway, now Dad’s in prison for being stupid with someone else’s money, which I soon found out was not the worst crime he’d committed. In short, I came to the realization I could never bring another human being into this family. Yet, lo and behold, I find myself doing exactly that.

Married (as far as the media is concerned) to the one person I didn’t want to drag into my mess.

My sister, Siobhan, called me yesterday, demanding answers and basically chewed me out, having learned about my marriage online. Even though she’s a couple years younger, she’s so intense, she puts the fear of God in me. I panicked and didn’t tell her the marriage is fake.

Instead, I lied, telling her it was a crazy whirlwind decision, and I’d explain it the next time I saw her in person. Not my finest moment.

I check the time on my phone. She’s late.

I wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t come, though. In fact, I’m surprised she changed her mind in the first place. She was one hundred percent against this, as was I. But a few hours later, I got a call from Owen. Maggie was on board. Emily already found her a dress. Hendrix secured a discreet judge. Griffin arranged a fake honeymoon photoshoot with Hannah. Everything was in motion, like a hurricane of wedding planning all around us. All we needed were rings, which Owen said he’d take care of. But I want to pick them out myself. If I have to wear something for a year, or however long this is going to last, I want a comfortable fit.

I know a couple of guys in the NHL who take off their wedding rings, saying they can’t play with them on. Especially at away games.

I’m not going to do that.

I’m trying to decide if I should be ‘that guy’ and call to see if she’s actually coming, when I hear Maggie’s distinct, sassy footsteps behind me.

She’s rounding the corner of the alley looking as stunning and bored as a runway model. She’s wearing hot pink lip gloss today, which further accentuates her intense frown. She’s all fierce and angular. The precise way she stands there. The bold femininity. The lazy contempt.

It’s a fashion statement with her. She’s a Paul Nagel painting in the flesh.

All I can muster upon seeing her is, “You came.”

She snorts, taking off her sunglasses to look me up and down. “Words I never thought I’d hear you say.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind.” She inclines her chin to the rusty back door to the jeweler. “Is this the place?”

I swallow hard as the crazy hits me.

We’re doing this.

“Mr. Sorokin is waiting inside,” I say, opening the door for her. She walks in casually, which is the opposite of how I feel right now with my heart pounding out of my chest.

“I still don’t know why we have to sneak in the back like you’re some celebrity,” she mutters.

“I have fans,” I say defensively as my eyes adjust to the dark hallway.

“Puhlease. Cereal boxes don’t count.”

“Anyway, we’re sneaking in because you’re supposed to already have the ring on your finger. What if someone postsphotos of us going in the front door? The internet is going to wonder why we’re just now getting around to ring shopping.”

She stops at the end of the walkway and glares at me over her shoulder. “You are so paranoid.”

The jeweler, Mr. Sorokin, must have heard us come in and calls to us from the front of the shop with a strong Russian accent.

“Hello, hello O’Malleys. I’ll be right there. Just locking up shop. I’ll only be moment, all right?”

“He’s locking up the shop?”

“I was told he always locks up for an hour at lunch.”

When Mr. Sorokin gets to us, he claps his hands together and looks between us.

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