Page 67 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
Oskar’s skin pinkens. “We, um, don’t have to talk about that.”
“I’m being serious.”
He nods, but he looks away. The thing is, this night feels very much not like a lie.
I wish this night were actually real. I wish I were actually meeting my in-laws, knowing this was the first of many family dinners and holiday celebrations and all the things actual, happy families do together.
Because there’s no one better than Oskar.
And he is handsome, even if he’s surprised that I’ve noticed. I’m straight, I’m not blind. Oskar’s features are delicate. He’s beautiful. He’s fit, but his body is never going to bulge with muscles and he’s not going to spend his time defending a net from flying pucks.
I place my hand on his thigh, because I’m pretty sure that’s something that a husband might do.
Oskar’s mother leaps up. “Who wants dessert?”
A chorus of “yesses” ring out from around the table. Oskar’s mother starts clearing plates, and I stand to help her.
“You don’t have to do that, Dmitri,” she says.
“That’s okay.”
“You’re our guest.”
I stiffen. This was feeling like we were an actual family, but of course she’s correct.
Her eyes soften. “But I would be very grateful if you helped.”
I nod and clear the plates.
Oskar rises, confused.
“Sit down, Oskar.”
Oskar gives me a worried look.
“I’ll be back soon,” I promise him, then just because I lean over him and kiss the top of his head.
Oskar’s skin turns that pretty pink color again, and my chest tightens as I observe him.
Coach clears his throat, and I scamper to the kitchen with the plates.
“I apologize for asking so many questions about your family,” she says. “I think in the US they call that putting people on the spot.”
“Is fine.” I inhale. “Thank you for raising such a great son.”
“I always thought you would get together. I’m glad you finally are.”
I frown, because Coach had to have told her. “We’re not...”
She tenses, and guilt surges through me.
“He is special man,” I say finally, and when she nods happily, I’m sure I’ve said the right thing.
“Get back in here,” Coach hollers. “I need to take some pictures.”
“You have your phone at the dining room table!” Linnea exclaims. “I’m not allowed the phone at the dining room table. That’s unfair!”
“That’s right!” Olivia echoes. “That’s unfair!”
