“Your brother seems charming. Can’t wait to bond with him.”
She has the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips, like she’s trying not to laugh.
“I’m glad you find this funny.”
The smile drops instantly. “Cain’s only concern is getting your case dropped and protecting our reputations.”
Yeah, I don’t think that’s his only concern.
“You know,” I say, rubbing my jaw as I rise to my feet, “the dancer you reminded me of—her stage name was Rose. I find it funny thatyourname is Rosie. That’s quite a close match, don’t you think?”
Her smile falters for the briefest moment before she straightens her posture, lifting her chin slightly as she meets my gaze. “Funny,” she says, her voice even and giving nothing away. “Must be a coincidence.”
I lean across the table, not willing to drop things that easily, "No, I really don't think it is a coincidence at all."
She shrugs, not meeting my gaze as she continues to shuffle some paperwork and slides her tablet into her briefcase with a click.
"You’re telling me you don't have a sister who lives in Hoboken?"
"No. It's just Cain and me."
“And you’ve never been to Hoboken to visit?”
“I never said that.”
My eyes narrow. "Ever danced on a pole while visiting the city?"
"Are you asking me if I've swung around a metal pole? Because if so, I do that every time I see a streetlight in New York City. I swing around it like I'm in a Hallmark movie with a smile on my face while singing a song."
My eyes narrow as I glare. She rolls her eyes and lets out a soft sigh.
“I think you should give this whole thing a rest. It’s a common thing for someone to have a look-alike. Also, the women who work in places like that prefer the termdancers, not strippers asyou so lovingly called me a few minutes ago when I first walked into the boardroom.”
I straighten, eyes narrowing as I study her. She meets my gaze confidently now, not willing to crack.
“Okay then.” She rises to her feet. “We have a plan for this weekend. We’ll meet Saturday at your game, have dinner afterward to show the world that we’re married and in love, and then follow it up with a few more public appearances and outings while Cain works on your case behind the scenes. By the end of March, we’ll divorce publicly and all should be well with your reputation and career with the Mayhem. Any last questions?”
Yeah, I’ve got questions.
Like how the hell are you able to treat all this so casually? So… robotically.
And why won’t you admit to me that you’re Rose?
And why does it even matter to me that you’re the same woman from that night?
But instead of voicing any of those, I say, “No. I’ve got it.”
She smiles, nodding like I’ve just given the correct answer on some test, then extends her hand across the table.
I shake it, my palm engulfing hers, and for the second time today, I’m struck by how soft and smooth her skin is. She’s left-handed—something I’d noticed earlier—and so am I so weirdly this works. It’s a great trait for a hockey player, but right now it means I get the full feel of that wedding ring on her finger.
I hate it.
The ring doesn’t fit her at all. It’s too gaudy, too impersonal, and something about seeing her wearing it grates on me in a way that I can’t explain.
Maybe that’s why she doesn’t seem to like it either. Or maybe she does, and I’m just projecting because I always imagined I'd be the one to put the ring on my wife's finger not her.
Hell, I have no clue. All I know is that if it were up to me, I’d have picked something completely different for her. Something softer and much more unique. Perhaps, even something with a bit of color like her.
