The Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey) by Gina Azzi (ink ebook reader .TXT) 📗

I mean, I still can. But my lawyer advised that if I start again, I need to stick around. And I can’t make that commitment.”

“But isn’t this where you want to be?” She narrows her eyes. “Why can’t you stick around?”

I roll my lips together and admit the truth. “My grandmother is ill.”

“Oh.” Rielle leans back in her seat, her expression thoughtful as she processes everything I’m saying. “So, you want to marry for the ability to stay in the US without having to go through the formal process that would restrict your movement?”

“Yes.”

“And in exchange—”

“I’ll pay off your loans. I’ll provide you with a good lifestyle while you figure out your next steps. Whatever you need, you’ll have. And you can take as much time as you need to find a job you love, one that doesn’t burn you out.”

She gasps. Disbelief ripples over her expression. “Just like that?”

“Yeah,” I say, watching her carefully.

“Torsten”—she shakes her head—“I can’t take advantage of your financial success like that.”

I snort. “That’s your takeaway? Rielle, you’re not taking advantage of anything. I’m taking advantage of your situation to try to circumvent the system.”

She wrinkles her nose and looks adorable. Innocent. It’s a glimpse of the girl behind the woman and it makes me smile, even though I’m in the middle of the most serious conversation I’ve ever had.

“Are you serious?” she asks.

“I am if you are. But, you have to know, this is illegal.”

She chuckles and I lean forward, drawn to whatever she’s going to say next. “Torsten, I spent the first eighteen years of my life following every rule you can think of. It left me miserable and hurt. Since then, I’ve broken a bunch just to survive. Trust me, I’m not judging you. Stan.”

I snicker. “So, you’re in?” My heart hammers in my eardrums.

She nods slowly, giving me another one of her smiles. “With conditions. But yes, I’m in.”

“Okay,” I whisper, grinning like a lunatic. “Tell me about your conditions.”

She lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. “More like hammering out logistics. You can’t just bankroll my entire life.”

I laugh. That’s what she’s worried about? Me paying for her lifestyle? “Okay, sweetheart. We’ll discuss details in a minute. But first, I want you to know that I can make this work for both of us. We’re friends, right?”

She nods.

“And I trust you, Ri. More than I trust most people.”

“I trust you too,” she says.

“Good.” I smile. Rielle smiles back and it’s like a storm cloud receding, making way for sunshine. Her brilliance shines through and blinds me. Because when Rielle smiles, she dazzles.

I slip from my chair and get down on one knee beside her. Grinning up at her, I don’t care how goofy I am. Because I’m going to do this the right way. It’s most likely the only time I’ll ever do it and I’m already off to a shaky start.

“Rielle Carter, will you marry me?”

She rolls her eyes but a giggle escapes her throat. “Yes, Torsten. I’ll marry you.”

5

Rielle

Marrying NHL legend Torsten Hansen may seem like a crazy idea but it’s a hell of a lot better than living in an alleyway, begging Claire for her family’s help, or, the worst-case scenario, calling Dad and apologizing for choosing my own path in life. Torsten’s proposal may be surprising but it’s hardly bad.

As I stare into his deep blue eyes and get a glimpse of that dimple, it doesn’t feel as insane as it should. It feels…hopeful. Like a new beginning.

Shacked up in my dilapidated apartment, agreeing to a marriage proposal with no ring, from a man I didn’t even consider a friend last week, should have me running for Merck. Instead, I feel relaxed, even a little bit excited.

This is an amazing solution to everything.

Torsten will get his green card and be able to stay in the US. I’ll pay back Jerry Jensen without the lingering fear of having to crawl back to Dad. And our marriage will be a business agreement.

Arrangements and deals I can do. Relationships and giving up my freedom, I cannot.

We’ll have an agreement, a contract. One that I’ll have a lawyer—Indy’s best friend Aiden Hardsin comes to mind—look over. In a few years, I’ll be divorced, with a couple of years of work experience under my belt, a savings account, and my whole future in front of me.

Sure, it’s not the life I envisioned for myself. But all those old fairy tales—you know, happily-ever-afters and riding off into the sunset—fell in my rearview mirror the night I left Dad’s house. Since then, I’ve been focused on creating my own financial stability. On surviving.

I glance at Torsten. He seems relaxed too, as if the weight of the world is no longer hanging around his neck. His eyes are brighter, his grin wider, his tone softer.

“This is fantastic.” I smile at him.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “It is?”

I nod and eat a bite of pancakes. “You were right. These are phenomenal,” I tell him, eating another forkful. “Now, let’s talk terms.”

“Terms,” he repeats. “Your conditions?”

“Yeah. We need to hammer out all the details up front so there aren’t any surprises down the road.”

“Right.” He nods, his eyes dimming a bit. “That’s a good idea.”

“We marry for, how long? One year, two?”

“Two at a minimum.”

Two years. I’m nearly twenty-five. I’ll be divorced at twenty-seven. For a second, the realization leaves my stomach feeling funny, like it’s another failure to add to the top of my stack. But that’s ridiculous, right? I’m not setting out to make this marriage work, it’s only a contract, so it’s not going to fail. It’s just going to end, the way it’s intended to.

Marriages of convenience fulfill a purpose and once Torsten and I fulfill ours, we should move on.

“You’ll move into my place,” Torsten says.

“Okay,” I agree, thinking over the logistics. Will I have my own room? Or share his? I try to envision Torsten’s bedroom and a masculine, moody, all dark wood and light gray, floats