Page 20 of The Hockey Pact

The officiant led us through standard vows. I found myself meaning some of the promises, particularly the parts about respect and partnership. When it was time to kiss the bride, I cupped Riley's face gently, intending a brief, chaste press of lips—enough to be convincing without overstepping.

But as I leaned in, something shifted. Her lips were soft beneath mine, yielding slightly. The kiss lingered, my thumb brushing across her cheek as if we'd done this a thousand times before. When we finally parted, Riley's eyes reflected my own surprise at the unexpected connection.

The small crowd applauded, and Max whispered, "Either you just put on the performance of a lifetime, or I need to revisit the terms of your arrangement."

At the reception, Riley and I moved through separate conversations while maintaining casual physical contact—her hand on my arm as she laughed at something my sister said, my palm resting at the small of her back as we accepted congratulations. To my surprise, Riley fit against my side as if she belonged there, her hand finding mine at the perfect moments.

Our fabricated "how we met" story flowed naturally. The only truly difficult moment came when Whitman and Gloria cornered us to offer congratulations.

"Mrs. Matthews," Whitman said, testing the new title on Riley with obvious approval. "Gloria's been telling me how impressed she was with your catering at the charity event."

I felt Riley tense beside me. "Thank you. It was an honor to be included."

"Caleb tells me your restaurant has been struggling with the construction," Gloria said, her socialite's smile never wavering. "Such a shame. But I'm sure with Caleb's support, things will turn around."

"Caleb has been incredibly supportive," Riley agreed, casting me a look of genuine warmth that made my chest tighten unexpectedly. "Not just financially. He believes in what I'm building."

"You two are perfectly matched," Gloria declared, patting my arm approvingly. "A business-minded athlete and a creative culinary talent. Each bringing different strengths to the table."

As they moved away to mingle with other guests, I leaned close to Riley's ear. "You're remarkably good at this."

"Culinary school teaches you to perform under pressure," she replied with a small smile. "Though I don't recall 'Convincing Fake Marriage 101' in the curriculum."

Later, as we danced our first dance as husband and wife, I was conscious of the cameras capturing every moment, of eyes watching our every move. I pulled Riley closer than strictly necessary, inhaling the light citrus scent of her hair.

"Mrs. Matthews," I murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. "I think we've convinced our audience."

Riley's smile didn't quite reach her eyes as she nodded. "I think we have. Your mother has already asked about grandchildren."

"One step at a time," I chuckled, spinning her gently. "Let's survive the honeymoon first."

As the evening ended, we prepared to leave for a brief honeymoon—a weekend away deemed necessary for appearances. Stepping into the waiting car amid a shower of rose petals and well-wishes, I caught a last glimpse of our families: Ellen wiping away happy tears, Danny giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up, my mother looking triumphant, my father thoughtful, and Jim Caldwell watching us with an expression that reminded me this wasn't just a business transaction.

The theoretical arrangement we'd discussed over contracts and bourbon was now a legal reality. Riley Caldwell was now Riley Matthews, at least on paper. As the car pulled away, her hand still in mine, I wondered if we'd created a convincing beginning to our story—and what the middle chapters would hold before we reached our predetermined end.

Chapter 7: Riley

I stood frozen in the doorway of the honeymoon suite, staring at the king-sized bed adorned with rose petals in the shape of a heart. Behind me, Caleb cursed under his breath at the hotel staff's romantic enthusiasm despite his specific request for a standard room.

The weekend getaway to Cape Cod—deemed necessary to maintain our newlywed narrative—had already been awkward, with forced smiles for staff who cooed over the "perfect couple." This room setup escalated the discomfort exponentially.

"I'll call the front desk," Caleb said, reaching for the phone. "This isn't what I reserved."

I stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Wait. Wouldn't it seem weird for newlyweds to complain about a romantic upgrade? We're supposed to be madly in love, remember?"

Caleb hesitated, his gaze returning to the petal-strewn bed. "You're right. But this is..."

"Extremely on the nose?" I suggested.

"I was going to say 'a bit much,' but yeah." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I'd noticed he made when uncomfortable. "I can sleep on the couch." He nodded toward a small loveseat that would accommodate maybe two-thirds of his hockey player frame.

"Don't be ridiculous," I said with more confidence than I felt. "We're adults. It's a big bed. We can share it without making things weird."

Caleb looked doubtful but nodded. "If you're sure."

"Completely," I lied. "Now, are we going to stand in the doorway all night, or are we going to enjoy the 'complementary champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries' the concierge couldn't stop raving about?"

That earned a small smile. "Well, when you put it that way..."

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