Page 12 of Saving Forever
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to pay someone for the privilege of getting married.
I pull on jeans and a cute top. High-heeled boots. The incredible engagement and wedding rings he bought me.
“You are now NHL wife,” he said quietly. “You must have big ring or people will know this is not real.”
I was uncomfortable at first but it’s gorgeous—a four-carat princess cut pink diamond set in platinum. My wedding band is also platinum, with a row of diamonds. His is black titanium with our names engraved on the inside—exactly what he said he wanted—and it’s striking.
We’re leaving in a few hours so I do my hair and put on light makeup. Then I pack up my toiletries, put everything in my suitcase, and zip it up. Our forty-eight hours in Vegas are almost over. Time to face reality.
I walk out into the living room and find him dressed, drinking a cup of coffee.
“Breakfast come while you are in shower,” he says, almost apologetically. “You say you do not eat in the morning?”
I told him that, and it’s true.
“As long as there’s coffee,” I say with a smile.
He nods and pours me a cup. I take it gratefully and then sit down on the couch, right where we sat last night.
“Uh, thank you for putting me to bed,” I say. “I guess I drank more than I thought.”
He smiles. “Is okay. I sleep good too.”
We’re quiet for a little while, and it’s interesting because it doesn’t feel awkward. We’re just two people trying to sort out a complicated situation. Nothing more, nothing less.
“You are always quiet?” he asks after a bit.
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m pretty extroverted, but…I guess I don’t know what to say to a husband I barely know.”
“We must not be so…cold when we are around others.”
“I know.”
“Maybe we practice.” He turns to me, a question in his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
He holds out his hand. “We can hold hands. This will…” He scowls and opens his phone, types something in, and waits. “It will desensitize us. So touching is more natural.”
“Oh. Okay.”
That sounds smart.
And holding hands is no big deal.
I reach out my hand and he wraps his around it. It’s warm and firm, a little calloused. Like a man who uses his hands.
For a moment, I wonder what, exactly, he uses his hands for outside of hockey. Are they gentle? Is he a fighter? Does he bite his nails? So many things I don’t know about my husband. Things I’m going to figure out, I guess.
And we just sit there, hands linked between us, sipping coffee.
Sweet Jesus, what have I gotten myself into?
This whole thing seems ludicrous.
Before I can stop myself, I start to snicker.
“Holding the hands—this is funny?”
