Page 116 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
But it’s the right thing to do. I need to protect Oskar. He matters more than anything.
I pull away. “I can’t let you do that, baby. Russia doesn’t approve of gay relations. I don’t want to move you away from your home, your job for me. We can pretend to be roommates, but we’re already in the news there. It’s not safe for you.”
I drop my hands. “I love you so much. Please know that.”
“Actually...” Oskar smiles. “Actually, I had something else in mind.”
I stare.
He stares.
“I’m a Swedish citizen, Dmitri. And you’re my husband. You have a right to accompany me there.”
“Oh.” I blink. Hope starts to fill me, but I gaze at him uncertainly, too scared that I’m building a future in my head with him that he doesn’t mean to give me.
“You’ll still need a visa and residency permit.”
“Oh.” I force the hope building in my chest away.
“But it’s a straightforward application.”
“The US government didn’t think we were a real couple.”
“We are though,” Oskar says. “We can live there. Together. If you, um...”
“But your job is here. Your family is here. Your friends.”
“You’re my best friend, Dmitri. I-I know it sounds crazy. It’s a new language for you to learn, and um, maybe it’s too much— “
“It’s not too much,” I say quickly. “I want a life with you. If you don’t mind...”
Oskar smiles. “I grew up in Sweden. It would be nice to return. Maybe later we can move to the US or something. I wouldn’t give up hope. But I can’t offer you the NHL. Or even a similar spot on a Swedish team—”
“Hey.” I take his hands in mine. “I have some skills. I bet I could do coaching. And I have savings.” I tuck a strand of hair over his face. “If you are really up for doing that—”
“I am. You’re my husband, Dmitri. I want to be where you are.”
“Good.” We stare at each other. “How long does it take for me to get a residency permit in Sweden?”
His face pinkens. “So, um, I actually had another idea.”
“I like your ideas so far.”
“I bought us tickets to Turkey.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Turkey?”
“We don’t have to go. At least I got to talk to you in person.”
I smile. “Why did you buy us tickets to Turkey, baby?”
“They have visa on arrival for Russians,” Oskar says. “I did research in the Uber. There’s a flight in an hour. We can go to Istanbul, see the sights, and apply for your residency permit to Sweden. I-I know it’s crazy...”
I pull him toward me. “Is genius. Absolute genius.”
He grins happily.
I take his hands in mine. “I love you.”
