Page 56 of The Hockey Pact

What Vincent failed to understand—what I was only beginning to fully comprehend myself—was how profoundly things had changed since we'd signed those papers.

"Our marriage began as a business arrangement," I acknowledged. "But it hasn't been just that for months now."

Vincent scoffed. "Save the romance for your post-game interviews, Matthews. We all know what this really is."

"Do we?" I challenged quietly. "Because I'm not sure I do anymore."

Riley finally spoke, her grip tightening around my hand as her voice rang out clear and unwavering. "I'm not giving you my restaurant, Vincent. And I'm not afraid of the truth anymore." She glanced at me, her eyes raw with both vulnerability and resolve. “Whatever that truth may be.”

Vincent's confidence wavered visibly as Diane shifted to aggressive legal counterattack.

"Let's discuss what you're actually proposing here, Mr. Carelli," she said icily. "Blackmail and extortion, for starters. How exactly did you obtain these images? Because unauthorized access to private security systems is a federal offense."

She leaned forward, every inch the shark I knew her to be in negotiations. "Then there's harassment, attempted coercion, potential tortious interference with business relationships..." She looked pointedly at Andrew. "Your client is exposing himself to significant legal liability. I'd advise reconsidering his position."

The attorney shifted uncomfortably, whispering something to Vincent, whose expression darkened.

"Perhaps we've been hasty," Vincent said finally, the bluster fading from his voice. "I'm merely a businessman seeking investment opportunities."

"Then I suggest looking elsewhere," Diane replied smoothly. "This meeting is concluded."

Vincent gathered his photos with poorly concealed frustration, his earlier confidence evaporated. As he and his attorney left, the tension in the room eased like air rushing from a punctured tire.

Once we were alone, Diane studied us thoughtfully. "How much of what you just said was truth?" she asked finally.

"Does it matter?" I countered.

"It matters considerably for how we handle what comes next," she said pragmatically. "Vincent may back off temporarily, but those photos still exist. We need to prepare for potential exposure."

I glanced at Riley, finding her already watching me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. "We're done letting the contract define whatever this is between us," I said quietly, as much to her as to Diane.

Diane sighed, gathering her files. "I'll develop contingency plans for public response if needed. In the meantime, maintain normal appearances." She paused at the door. "And perhaps figure out what you're actually doing here, because that was either award-worthy acting or something else entirely."

After she left, Riley and I sat in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us.

"We should head home," she said finally. "It's been a long day."

The drive back to the penthouse was quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I kept replaying the moment in Diane's office when I'd realized with sudden clarity that I would sacrifice anything—my captaincy, my reputation, even my career—before I'd let Riley lose her restaurant.

It wasn't just about honoring our arrangement anymore. It was about her—her dreams, her happiness, her future. Somewhere along the line, those things had become as important to me as my own.

The realization was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

At home, Riley headed straight for the kitchen—her refuge when processing complex emotions, I'd learned. I watched as she methodically prepared tea, the familiar routine apparently calming her.

"Did you mean what you implied today?" she finally asked, her back still turned as she waited for the kettle to boil. "That this isn't just a contract for you anymore?"

I accepted the mug she offered, our fingers brushing in a contact that sent awareness through me. "Yes," I said simply. "I think it stopped being just a contract months ago, but I was afraid to acknowledge it."

She studied the steam rising from her tea. "Feelings weren't supposed to be part of the arrangement."

"No," I agreed. "But they are. At least for me."

Her eyes lifted to mine. "For me too," she admitted softly.

The admission hung between us for a heartbeat before I set my mug aside and closed the distance between us. My hands framed her face as I kissed her—gently at first, then with increasing urgency as her arms wound around my neck.

When we finally broke apart, both breathless, I rested my forehead against hers. "So where does that leave us?"

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