Gloves Off: a marriage of convenience hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 4)

“Bella, where have you been, loca?” A man in his late forties approaches with a big smile—and vampire teeth. He wears a gray wool coat, button-up shirt, and jeans, but has pale makeup and silver glitter all over his skin.

“Dad. No.” My wife closes her eyes briefly, trying not to smile. “Your character doesn’t even say that.”

This is her dad? He’s so young.

“There’s my little troublemaker.” Her dad wraps her in a big hug.

I glance around the home, at all the Halloween decorations, the partygoers who look like average people.

“Shane.” A woman wearing a long brown wig with red contact lenses approaches. Also late forties. Also wearing the vampire teeth. “The line is, ‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella.’”

They both turn to me, smiling with their weird vampire teeth. My gaze snags on the woman’s smile, and I’m hit with the resemblance to her daughter.

“This must be our new son-in-law,” the guy says, beaming at me.

“Alexei Volkov.” My heart thumps.

“Oh, we know. I’m a huge fan. Shane Greene.” We shake hands, and I try to conceal my confusion. “And this is my wife, Georgia’s mom, Cece.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you.” Cece beams. I reach to shake her hand but she bats it away. “No way. I’m a hugger.”

She wraps her arms around me and squeezes. Emma’s parents never hugged me once. I don’t think they even shook my hand when they first met me.

“Georgia’s told us such nice things about you,” she says when she pulls back.

“Has she?” I give my wife an arch look. “That doesn’t sound like her at all.”

Cece cackles and Shane starts laughing.

“Well, Jordan told us you’re a good fit for our Georgia,” she says. “Congratulations. We’re very happy for you two.” Her mom steps back to look at me in approval. “The costume fits!”

“It does. Thank you?” I give her an odd look. Is it hers? Georgia didn’t say where it came from.

“I’m in film,” she explains. “Wardrobe department.”

She works. Of course she does, because these are clearly not those Greenes.

Fucking hell. Just another thing I’ve been so wrong about.noveldrama

Shane says something to Cece, who laughs. I’m not listening. I’m just confused, turning over the pieces of information I have about Georgia and her family, inspecting them for where I went so wrong. My eyes slide to my wife, whose mouth tilts in a smug expression, eyes sparkling.

A weird rush of adrenaline hits my bloodstream.

Cece lights up. “I almost forgot.” She reaches for my wife’s hand. “Let me see the—oh.” She stares at the plain ugly ring on Georgia’s finger. “Well. That’s very subtle.” She’s surprised, but not upset. Maybe a little confused, though.

Georgia gives her mom a tight smile. “I didn’t want anything too flashy. It would cut up the gloves at work.”

“That makes perfect sense,” Cece says.

I have to give Cece credit—she’s a lot more polite than my mom was. You want to keep her? my mom said. Spoil her.

That won’t be happening. Before, I would have said the doctor spoils herself enough, but now I don’t know.

I look around at this house. I don’t know anything anymore.

“Alexei, do your parents live local?” Shane asks.

I nod, trying to focus. “My dad’s a mechanic and my mom is a florist.”

Cece frowns. “Wait. What’s your mom’s name?”

“Maria.”

Her jaw drops. “Shut up.” She starts to grin, and again, I see resemblance to Georgia in her smile. “Shut up.” They even sound the same. “I know Maria. I go to her shop all the time.” She nudges Shane. “Maria’s Flowers.”

Georgia and I glance at each other with concerned expressions. “You know my mom?”

“She said her son was a hockey player and I didn’t put two and two together.” She gives me a good-natured shrug. “Shane’s the hockey fan. I don’t really follow it.”

Shane shakes his head. “What a small world.”

Georgia and I look at each other in shock. Our parents are already friends?

I don’t like this.

“We’ll have to all go to a game together,” her dad says, and her mom lights up.

The doorbell rings and her parents excuse themselves to answer it, leaving my wife and me alone. She leads me to the living room, where people are gathered. A few say hello and introduce themselves. Photos sit on shelves, hanging from the wall, and I have the urge to study each one, gathering more clues about the woman who I clearly don’t know anything about.

This doesn’t add up. I stare at her, as if her thick lashes and the freckles across her nose and cheekbones hold clues.

My hand comes around her waist. The leather is warm from her skin, and there’s a dip above her hip where my hand fits perfectly. Our eyes meet and we both look away fast.

“Did your parents have you when they were twelve?” I ask.

“Close. Seventeen.”

They had her at seventeen? My expression must show my disbelief because she tilts her chin at a nearby photo of a very young version of her father holding her. He looks like a teenager.

“You don’t have to keep a hand on me at all times, you know.”

“We need to look married,” I mutter. And I . . . just want to. I look around at their house again. “I thought you came from money.”

She snorts. “With two teenage parents trying to raise a baby and finish school?”

“So you’re not from those Greenes. Who’s the inheritance from?”

“My grandfather, one of those Greenes.” She presses her lips together, gaze darting to mine. “He cut my dad off when my mom got pregnant with me and my dad stayed with her,” she admits.

What an asshole. Between that and the clause in his will, no wonder she’s always calling me controlling.

The bad feeling intensifies. The spoiled, self-centered, superficial picture I’ve built of Dr. Georgia Greene begins to disintegrate.

“But your shoes.”

I’m scrambling for something, anything, that means I haven’t been treating her like shit for two years for no reason.

Yesterday, I caught a glance of her at the arena, wearing high, black velvet heels with little ankle straps. Her ankles looked so delicate, like I could wrap my hands around them, and the buckles were so tiny, I doubt I could even undo them.

I don’t know why I’m thinking about taking her shoes off.

“Yes, I love beautiful things. I love that clothes make me feel amazing, and I love quality fabrics and pretty, pretty shoes, but I don’t spend nearly as much money as you think I do.” Her eyes sear me, defiant and annoyed. “Besides, what’s wrong with spending money on myself? I work hard. I paid for school myself. So what if I want to buy myself things once in a while.”

“You didn’t pay for school yourself.” She couldn’t have.

Full scholarship, Dr. Joshi said at the benefit, about Georgia playing soccer in university. I’ve been so distracted, thinking about fucking her hard in the library, that I forgot.

“Why do you think I drive such a crappy car? I just finished paying off loans. I’m not about to jump back into debt.” At whatever my expression is, she smirks. “What’s the matter, Alexei?” She puts extra emphasis on my name, even though we’re speaking so quietly, we won’t be overheard. Her pink tongue flashes as she says the l. “Doesn’t match up with the spoiled rich-girl princess image you had in your mind?”

“You didn’t correct me.”

“Maybe you don’t know everything about me,” she adds, looking away, and there’s an ache in my chest.

In an instant, I hate myself.

I thought she was spoiled, selfish, and privileged, but she’s dedicated to her career, hard-working, and well-liked by her colleagues.

I thought she had everything growing up, but she may have had even less than I did.

I thought her parents would be conceited, insufferable snobs, but they’re warm, down to earth, and welcoming.

I thought I hated Dr. Georgia Greene, but I think I may have been very, very wrong.