Whatever you do… You are not allowed to fall in love with him.I tell myself.
Scottie is dangerous in a way my father never factored into any plan. With warmth. With consistency. With stupid jokes and thoughtful gestures and the terrifying possibility of choosing a life that’s one I pick for myself.
He makes it easy to forget that this is temporary. That eventually, I’m supposed to give this back. This apartment, this ring, and this man who texts me good morning and goodnight like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Who talks about honeymoon suits, and a sky full of stars… and fly-fishing, which I would never find appealing except somehow it does because I’d be doing it with him. How he seems excited to be taking me home to meet his family and friends. As if I’m not just a decoy to keep his mom off his case, but instead, someone he’s proud to show off.
That night, I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the city far below. My phone is dark on the nightstand, but my mind is anything but.
I keep seeing him on the ice, laughter in his eyes after the goal, my brother high-fiving him and patting him on the helmet. I keep hearing his voice in my head—text me if you needanything.I keep feeling his steady, strong hands on my feet, all that strength turned gentle just for me.
This is temporary, I remind myself.
A legal fiction we both agreed to walk away from once the danger has passed, but as my eyes finally close and sleep drags me under, another thought slips in, quiet and treacherous:
What if I don’t want to walk away?
Because, as terrifying as my father is, as real as his threats are, there is one thing I’m starting to fear even more than marrying a stranger. It’s the idea that I have no way of stopping the fact that I may very well be… falling in love with him.
Another ding hits my phone, and I practically pounce on it, thinking it’s going to be Scottie, but it’s not.
Maxim: I heard about your wedding to the hockey player. I hope that soon you will come to see that you and I are more properly matched.
Chapter Twelve
KATERINA
The flight into Kalispell is mercifully short. It’s just over two hours from Seattle, but my nerves make it feel twice as long.
Scottie dozes beside me for most of it, sprawled in a first-class seat in a way only a very large, very confident man can manage. His head tilts back against the rest, mouth slightly open, lashes resting dark against his cheeks. He looks younger like this. Lesslike the man who throws his body in front of pucks for a living and more like the boy his mother once put on a plane and trusted to chase a dream.
There’s something oddly private about watching someone sleep. I tell myself not to stare, but that’s impossible. The way his fingers occasionally twitch involuntarily, the way his lips almost seem like they want to mumble something from their dreams.
The captain announces our descent, and the shift in the engines jolts Scottie awake. He blinks, disoriented, then looks over at me and smiles like he didn’t just spend an hour snoring lightly through turbulence.
“Are we here?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.
“Yes,” I say. “We just landed.”
“Cool.” He stretches, arms above his head, the hem of his t-shirt riding up just enough to reveal a strip of warm, tan skin and the faint line of muscle leading down—
I look away so fast I almost give myself whiplash.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine.”
“Katerina.”
There’s a warning in the way he says my name, like he knows better than to believe that.
“What?” I ask, too innocent.
“You’ve been fidgeting since we took off.” His gaze drops to my left hand. “And you only fidget when you’re anxious. You twist your ring.”
I look down.
Sure enough, my fingers are worrying the band around and around, like I could spin away the nerves.
“I don’t fidget,” I lie.
