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Chapter Thirty-One

Natalie

T he penthouse suite we're staying in is obscene .

Like, there’s rich… and then there’s whatever the hell Hunter Brody pulled off here.

I stare at the ridiculous floor-to-ceiling windows, the view of the Las Vegas Strip glittering below us, and wonder… is this my life now?

Marble floors. A ridiculous bathroom the size of my apartment. Hunter has hired a fucking glam team to help me get ready for dinner tonight.

I should feel out of place. I should be nervous.

Instead, I’m standing in front of a mirror, draped in the emerald silk dress Hunter insisted on buying back in that boutique shop in Boston, getting my makeup professionally touched up like I’m about to walk the damn Oscars red carpet.

Behind me, Hunter is sprawled across our massive king-sized bed, fully dressed, looking criminally good in a pressed black suit and tie, watching me get ready like a man obsessed.

" Ridiculous ," I murmur to myself, shaking my head at him.

Hunter hums lazily from the bed. "I agree."

I roll my eyes through the mirror. "You don’t even know what I’m talking about."

"I do, actually." His voice is deep, lazy, full of pure male smug satisfaction. "I'm staring at my gorgeous girl, getting ready for a night out in the most expensive suite in Vegas. Ridiculous is an understatement."

I grab a hairbrush off the vanity and chuck it at him. He catches it, grinning.

"This whole thing is unnecessary, you know," I say, gesturing to the glam squad still fussing over my curls.

Hunter smirks, lounging like a king.

"No, baby. This is very necessary. And totally worth it." He rises off the bed and moves behind me, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. "Tonight's all about you, baby."

I turn in his arms, careful not to wrinkle his shirt. "You trying to get lucky tonight, Coach?"

"Always." His hands slide lower. "But first, dinner. Then Cirque. Then..." He kisses just below my ear. "We celebrate properly."

The team is heading to Cirque du Soleil to celebrate yet another victory in the series.

One win away.

One. Win.

A three-nothing lead in the Finals. One step from lifting that trophy, from cementing this team’s name into the record books forever.

Everyone can feel it.

It’s in the way Blake and Logan carry themselves around the Strip, how even Connor—who is still clinically concussed, by the way—refuses to let the energy die down.

We’ve had images streaming in from Iron Ridge. The town is alive with celebration already. Ridgeview Tavern is packed. Fans are losing their minds.

And the man leading this team? The man the whole city is looking to for guidance, for strength, for that final push?

He’s currently standing behind me, distracted as hell, brushing my hair aside so he can kiss my shoulder.

Priorities.

The restaurant feels like something out of a dream. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over white tablecloths, and the wine... God, the wine…

The whole team is here, basking in the verge-of-history energy. Connor is animated, retelling a play-by-play of last night’s game. Logan is leaning back in his chair, his usual gruff self, but even he can’t fully hide his excitement.

And then there’s Hunter.

His hand is on my knee beneath the table, his thumb lazily stroking circles over my skin. His focus? Not on hockey.

On me.

"Should I be worried you're setting the bar too high?" I take another sip of the ridiculously expensive Bordeaux red. "This is all..."

"Sweetheart, I haven't even started yet."

Before I can press him on cocky grin that seems to hold a secret, he casually lifts a fork with a tiny bite of chocolate soufflé and holds it out to me.

His grin deepens. “Try it.”

I narrow my eyes. “This is a trick, isn’t it?”

I take the bite and, wow. It’s obnoxiously good.

And just as I’m settling into the warmth of it all—the wine, the candlelight, the ridiculous, all-consuming love I feel for this man—he presses a kiss to my temple and stands.

"I need to take care of something." Hunter stands suddenly, straightening his jacket. "In the meantime, don't let Connor order another bottle while I'm gone."

"No promises, Coach!" Connor calls out as Hunter disappears toward the front of the restaurant.

I watch him go, noting how suspiciously formal he seems tonight. But before I can dwell on it, Lucy scoots in closer, practically vibrating.

“So, Natalie…” She sips her drink, way too casual. “Totally unrelated question… do you like grand romantic gestures or are you more of a do it in private sort of gal?”

“OH LUCE, LOOK AT THAT MENU. THEY HAVE A WAGYU BEEF OPTION.”

Connor claps his hands together and grabs Lucy by the shoulders, twisting her around in her seat and giving her a hard look.

"Ow! What is wrong with you?" Lucy tries to twist free, but Connor's grip tightens.

His eyes are wide, almost panicked, like that time he let in three goals in the first period against Chicago.

Sophia suddenly finds the way her engagement ring sparkles against her freshly manicured fingernails fascinating, and Blake's eyebrows have climbed so high they're practically in his hairline.

Something's definitely up.

Hunter's been weird all evening - checking his phone, fidgeting with his tie, barely touching his food. And now the whole team's acting like they're hiding something?

Has Hunter accepted the job? Is this all part of buttering me up like I thought he was when he revealed my newly renovated apartment?

I reach for my wine glass, then pause. The room's already spinning a little, and Hunter might have a point about cutting myself off. Last thing I need is to start interrogating everyone about their suspicious behavior. Though the way Connor keeps redirecting Lucy's attention every time she opens her mouth is pretty damn obvious.

"The wagyu does look amazing," I say, deciding to throw Connor a lifeline. His shoulders relax slightly. "Though I think you're going to break Lucy's collarbone if you don't ease up there, Walsh."

"Right! Sorry!" He releases her so fast she nearly falls off her chair. "Just... really excited about beef."

The lights in the theater dim, and a hush falls over the crowd as the opening music swells.

Cirque du Soleil performers emerge, twisting, spinning, defying gravity in ways that don’t seem remotely human.

The entire room is captivated… except me.

Because Hunter still isn’t back.

I shift in my seat, pretending to be invested in the show, but my brain is fully elsewhere. He’s been gone for over thirty minutes now. Exactly long enough to sign a four-year-commitment to the Olympic team.

Fuck. What am I going to do?

The team seems entirely unbothered. Blake and Sophia are leaning close, flirting with each other and whispering between kisses. Logan is watching the aerial acrobats with the intensity of a man studying game footage. Lucy, on the other hand, keeps stealing glances at me, like she’s waiting for me to react.

I finally lean toward her. “Okay, seriously. Where is he?”

Lucy clears her throat aggressively. “So, hey, did you know the Bellagio fountains are one of the top romantic destinations in Vegas?”

I squint at her. “What?”

Sophia's mouth finally leaves Blake's and she nods solemnly in our direction. “Totally. The ambiance. The lights. The music.”

Lucy waves a hand. “Yeah, and it’s just beautiful at midnight. You have to see it.”

Before I can question what the hell is happening, Lucy and Sophia both latch onto my arms and start physically hauling me out of my seat.

“What—hey! What are you doing?!”

“Taking you somewhere magical , ” Lucy sing-songs, ignoring my protests.

“Is this about Hunter? Because if it is—”

Sophia grins. “You’ll see.”

My stomach flips as they guide me out of the theater, down a set of hallways, and straight toward the Bellagio fountains.

I don’t know what I was expecting when Lucy and Sophia dragged me through the casino, but a private section of the Bellagio fountains—complete with velvet ropes and a literal champagne setup—was not it.

I stop short at the red rope. “What is this?”

Lucy grins, far too wide. “Just a casual midnight fountain viewing.”

Sophia nods. “Totally normal. Nothing weird.”

I squint. “Um, disagree. You two are acting very weird.”

Lucy gasps dramatically and holds a hand to her chest. “Us? Weird? No way! Drink your champagne!”

Before I can argue, she shoves a glass into my hand.

The music starts up, and the first streams of water shoot into the air, lights shimmering across the surface of the fountain. It’s breathtaking. Stunning.

But, like the show in the restaurant, I barely register it. Because something is definitely going on.

The rest of the team have appeared out of nowhere and they're all pretending to be casual.

Connor is failing spectacularly, standing way too stiffly near a potted plant, hands in his hoodie pockets like that makes him blend in. Blake is lurking near the railing, very obviously fake-texting.

And Logan is whistling. Whistling!

I narrow my eyes. “Okay. What the hell is going on?”

Connor immediately ducks his head and scratches his beard. Lucy chokes on her champagne. Blake turns away like that’ll save him.

And that’s when my heart stops.

Because, from the corner of my eye, I see…

Standing at the edge of the fountain, the lights and water reflecting off his sharp suit, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s got all the time in the world…

"Hunter?"

He smiles at me.

That devastating, melt-your-knees, I love you more than anything smile.

And suddenly, I know.

Oh my God.

This is happening.