The Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey) by Gina Azzi (little red riding hood read aloud .TXT) 📕

My mouth opens and closes several times.

East shoots me an apologetic grin. “Take another sip of your wine, Ri.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna need it,” Claire advises.

I look up and see the confusion streak across Torsten’s face as his eyes scan mine. Then, he’s striding toward me. His expression is fierce, his body strong. A Norse Viking with the soul of an Ancient Greek philosopher. Until I met him, I didn’t think men like him existed. How could they?

He stops in front of me and East and Claire make themselves scarce.

“What’s wrong?” he asks me.

I gaze up into his pale blue eyes. “What’s right?”

A flicker of recognition ripples over his expression. “Ri—”

“I’m in love with you, Torsten Hansen,” I blurt out. “I know this isn’t the time to say it. I know tonight is your night. But before you hand me divorce papers and before I fly back to New York, I want you to know the truth that I am terrified to admit to you. I am in love with you. I have been for weeks. This past month was the best and worst of my life. I missed you so fucking much it hurt to breathe. But I learned a lot.”

He licks his bottom lip. His eyes bore into mine and his hands wrap around my upper arms. “What did you learn?”

I take a deep inhale. “I learned that your eyes are the same pale, sky blue as the sunrise in Manhattan in springtime. I learned that my default is to push people away, and it’s never too late to go home. You taught me that and after Oslo, I went to my brother’s house and met my niece. I learned that as much as I love caramel macchiato coffee drinks, I actually prefer tea parties in tutus. I learned that I’m a city girl through and through. I can get drunk off a pretty skyline and some gritty hustle. Photography is more than an interest, it’s my passion. And I learned that I don’t want to live my life without you in it. I want to be your wife, for real. Because what I feel for you…” I shrug, tears brushing the tops of my cheeks. “It’s not going away and I can’t make it. I know because I’ve tried.”

His hands squeeze my arms and his eyes blaze and swim and burn with thoughts and feelings and things. He shuffles closer until I’m inhaling his exhales, my heart racing in anticipation of whatever he’s going to say.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pulls me close and kisses me. It’s one of those all-consuming, reckless, intense, passionate kisses I used to dream of when I still believed in fairy tales. Torsten’s kiss eradicates my insecurities and fills me up with hope. He breaks our connection and smiles down at me. The room is too quiet but neither of us turns to look at the reactions at the free entertainment we’re providing.

It seems that Taps is our place and I need to rethink my stance on fairy tales because Torsten gets down on his knee for the third time in my presence and says, “Rielle Carter Hansen, I couldn’t let you go if I tried. I know, because I tried. Don’t hate me, sweetheart, but I’ve had eyes on you since you landed in New York. I spent every day we were apart thinking of you, missing you. I love you and I want you any way I can have you. I don’t care if we live in Boston or New York or Oslo. I don’t care if you wear pencil skirts and head to a downtown office or hang in ripped jeans with a camera around your neck. I just want you to be happy. I want all your dreams to come true. But you’re my dream. You are my home and we both know, there’s nothing like a homecoming.” He tugs something from his pocket and a gasp falls from my mouth when I recognize Farmor’s ring. He grins sheepishly. “I’ve been carrying it around in my pocket, as a reminder, hoping I’d find my way back to my love. To you.” He slips it on my finger and stands beside me. “Don’t take it off again, sweetheart. It’s yours and you’re mine.”

I laugh as Torsten’s fingers dry the tears on my cheeks and he brushes his lips over mine.

“A toast,” James calls out, raising a beer in the air. Everyone in the room follows suit. They watch us with interest and excitement, with goofy grins and knowing eyes. “To Torsten Hansen, a Hawks legend, a phenomenal teammate, a solid friend, a man we affectionately call Big Daddy.” A few titters sound out but James’s eyes are serious when they settle on mine. “To Rielle Hansen, the woman who made our guy whole. May your future be filled with love and happiness.”

The team and their loved ones drink to our happily-ever-after and I dip my head, in gratitude and a little embarrassed by all the attention. But Torsten wraps his arm around my waist, his hand splayed over my hip. “Enjoy it, baby. I never gave you a proper wedding.”

I glance up at him, incredulous. “You gave me a magical wedding.”

“That so?” He winks. “Then you’re not going to believe what’s in store for the honeymoon.”

I tip my head back and laugh. Torsten smiles. Our eyes latch and the world falls away, the way it always does when it’s us.

“Ours is my favorite story,” he murmurs, reading my thoughts.

Then, he kisses me and I fall even deeper in love with my husband.

Epilogue

Two Months Later

Torsten

August in New York City is sweltering. But since it means Rielle walks around our apartment in tiny shorts that show off her legs and barely-there slips of shirts that leave nothing to the imagination, I’m not in a hurry to get back to Oslo.

“What do you think of these?” she asks, clicking away at