Page 79 of The Hockey Contract

"We've been sworn to secrecy about your designs until the official gala," Chloe said, coming to hug me. "But I can tell you right now, you're going to blow everyone away."

I looked from the beautifully arranged desserts to my friends to Jax, who was watching me with that intense focus I'd come to recognize—as if gauging not just my reaction but every micro-emotion crossing my face.

"You did this for me?" I asked him softly.

"You needed objective feedback," he replied simply. "And a break. You've been working yourself to exhaustion."

The thoughtfulness of the gesture, the effort it must have taken to arrange everything while I was working late—it broke something open inside me. For weeks, I'd been holding emotions at bay, trying to maintain the professional distance our arrangement required. Now, faced with such genuine care, tears welled despite my best efforts.

"Thank you," I whispered, blinking rapidly. "All of you."

My friends offered honest feedback, constructive suggestions, and generous praise. Wine flowed, laughter filled the room, and for a few hours, I forgot about the exhaustion and pressure of the upcoming gala.

Throughout the evening, I couldn't help noticing how Leo and Chloe gravitated toward each other—sitting closer than necessary, finding excuses for casual touches, sharing private smiles during group conversation. Whatever was happening between them had clearly evolved beyond tentative texting.

As the night wound down and guests prepared to leave, Chloe lingered, helping clear dessert plates while Leo made a show of checking messages on his phone.

"Need a ride home?" Leo asked Chloe with forced casualness when she finally reached for her coat.

"I can call a rideshare," she replied, though she made no move to do so.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm heading that direction anyway."

From the kitchen doorway, I watched their fingers brush as they walked out together, neither pulling away from the contact. Something like envy twisted inside me—not of Chloe specifically, but of the possibility she was allowing herself to explore. The courage to risk heartbreak for potential happiness.

"They're figuring it out," Jax observed, coming to stand beside me as the front door closed behind them. "Slowly. Stubbornly."

"At least they're trying," I replied, more wistfully than intended.

He turned to face me fully. "Sienna, about the equipment—"

"It's amazing, Jax. Truly. You have no idea how much easier it's made the gala prep."

"I wanted to help." His expression was earnest, unguarded in a way I rarely saw. "You've done so much for me, for this whole..." he gestured vaguely between us, "arrangement. I wanted to do something meaningful in return."

Without thinking, I moved forward and hugged him, arms wrapping around his waist, face pressed against his chest. His body stiffened in surprise before his arms came around me, holding me with a gentle strength that felt like security, like home.

The embrace lingered, neither of us pulling away. His chin rested atop my head, one hand moving in slow circles against my back. I could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, beneath my ear.

When we finally separated, he kept me close, one hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The gentle gesture felt intimate enough to steal my breath, his fingertips grazing my cheek with a tenderness that made my heart ache.

The moment stretched between us, loaded with unspoken feelings and possibilities. I found myself leaning slightly toward him, drawn by something stronger than conscious thought.

His phone rang, shattering the moment. Leo's name flashed on the screen, the call undoubtedly about the endorsement given the late hour.

"You should take that," I said, stepping back to create necessary distance. "I'm going to finish cleaning up."

Jax looked torn, but nodded, answering the call as I retreated to the kitchen, emotions in turmoil.

Later, alone in my room, I pulled out the wedding planner notebook I'd been using to maintain our fiction. On a fresh page, I drew a line down the center, creating two columns: "Reasons this marriage needs to remain fake" on the left, "Reasons I wish it were real" on the right.

The left column was easy to start:Business arrangement only. Temporary by design. Fulfilling our individual goals. Professional boundaries. Practical solution to mutual problems.

But the right column flowed even more readily, my pen barely keeping up with my thoughts:The way he remembers details about my preferences. His surprising gentleness with Sprinkles. How he listens—actually listens—when I talk about baking. The rare smile that transforms his entire face. The quiet strength he offers without demanding acknowledgment. How safe I feel in his arms. The pride in his voice when he introduces me to people. The way he's opened his life to me without reservation.

I stared at the completed lists, the right column spilling onto a second page while the left remained sparse and clinical. The evidence was overwhelming, impossible to ignore any longer.

Somehow, between the business meetings and photoshoots, between hockey games and midnight baking sessions, between performed affection and genuine care, I'd fallen completely, irrevocably in love with my fake husband.

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