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MATTHIEU

Matthieu was stunned at the living conditions that Jeannie had – and knew deep in his heart that asking her to come with him was the right thing to do. The building was an older building… and while he didn’t have a problem with that in the slightest, the rest of the trip there was eye-opening.

“Don’t judge,” Jeannie said quietly and, in that moment, he knew she was proud as she put the key in the door lock and wobbled it several times to get it to open – without having to turn the key. The lock wasn’t holding the door shut, gravity and the building settling, was doing the job.

He bit back any comments and drew in his breath seeing her place. Heaven help her, she was trying to fork out a living on her own. She’d mentioned her parents were on the East Coast and that she wanted to be out here where all the developers, computer gurus, coffee shops, and fun places to hang out were located.

As he stared at her nearly empty studio apartment, he knew she’d never been to any of those places or hung out with those people because she couldn’t have afforded to.

Jeannie’s couch was a green leather couch that had seen better days. There was duct tape holding together a split, and she had a threadbare blanket tossed on the arm to make the place cozy. There was a glass milk bottle she had a few flowers sticking out of to make it welcoming, and it was sitting on the tiny yellow laminate breakfast bar. There was a 5x7 photo next to it of a teenage version of Jeannie and obviously her parents on a boat, about to go diving… and that surprised him. To go diving you had to be PADI certified – or you should be.

He saw in the open doorway a twin mattress on the floor and swallowed. She lived like this, worked her tail off in a crummy diner down the street, and existed in this little corner of the world with almost nothing to show for it.

He was trying not to judge… oh man was he trying… but it was unfurling slowly within him like a bomb about to detonate.

She lived like this.

She had nothing .

“Leave it,” he said hoarsely, his eyes touching almost every surface as her surprised face leaned back, appearing in the bedroom door… and then darkened.

“Don’t… judge,” she said firmly, frowning at him. “I moved out when I was eighteen, and I was making this place mine. It might not be your fancy style like that car obviously is, but it worked for me.”

“Jeannie, we’ll be leaving for Quebec. Bring only what is precious or sentimental to you… like this,” he said, grasping at the photo and holding it up – only to see her expression turn even more upset.

“That’s my reminder of why I work so hard.”

“Really?” he started, shocked. “It’s a nice photo.”

“I’m not going to spend money that I don’t have, kissing butts I don’t need to kiss in order to try to make a name for myself in politics,” she said angrily, not looking at him but shoving a few things in a ratty suitcase that was baby blue with a corner duct-taped. Everything she had, she had managed to scrounge together, repair, or did without… and that knowledge made him swallow painfully as he thought of his own loving home, his own upbringing.

Jeannie was obviously a fighter, a survivor, and extremely proud. He would not insult her further – even if the temptation to toss a match onto the couch and let it all burn was mighty. If something crawled across his foot, he might change his mind, though.

“Family comes first, not my boss or my reputation, and I’m sick of being second or third – so yeah – that’s my reminder of why I’m not in Philly or ‘working the polling phone banks’ to learn my way.” To his surprise, she paused and used finger quotes in the air to stress her frustration level with that sentence.

Maybe that was a discussion for another time.

“You’re right,” he replied quietly. “Can I help you?”

“I’m almost done,” she answered, hefting up the suitcase and putting it next to the bedroom door, moving to put a few things in her backpack now. The only thing she had of value here was that laptop she just slid into the backpack, and that was humbling.

He wanted to reassure her that he would take care of her, that he would provide for her and never leave her in this state, but he knew somehow it would only make her mad. She obviously came from money – and chose to live a life without it.

It wasn’t things she wanted but independence, respect, and freedom… and he was in the process of corralling her. That wouldn’t work, not for anything peaceful or lasting. She needed to choose, to decide, because while he might not know her very well at all… it was alarming to think that her family pushed her, so she ran – preferring this .

He jumped wildly as he heard a loud pop and saw Jeannie flinch before she paled. “What was that?”

“A mousetrap.”

“Seriously? Those are inhumane…”

“You think I don’t know that?” she snapped, looking green around the gills. “I tried the humane ones, and they didn’t work.”

“Whaddya mean ‘they didn’t work.’”

“The tar paper one I tried first, well … ‘Mickey’ was too strong and got away… and much too big for the catch and release box.”

“Wait, what? How big is ‘Mickey’?” he asked – and stared at her in shock as she held up her hands. “Mickey is… a rat ? That’s not a mouse, but a rat. We’re leaving.”

“Don’t judge me…”

“Not judging,” he shot back in disbelief, picking up her suitcase and pulling the backpack off her shoulder. “This is me, not judging you, but rather telling you that as my wife, you’ll pick whatever you want, wherever you want, and you’ll never have to live on a mattress on the floor again.”

“Fake wife,” she muttered under her breath and nearly collided with him as he came to a stop and turned around, looking at her in dismay. He was barely twenty-five years old as of last month and wasn’t ready to be tied down. He wanted to have fun, live his life, and celebrate the fact that he got paid to play a game he loved.

“We haven't even left for Quebec yet,” he whispered, searching her eyes and feeling dread in his chest, hot and heavy. “If you are scared, talk to me. If you are nervous, let’s take a moment and figure it out – but the last thing I want to do is for you to be miserable when all I’m trying to do is help and ultimately making me miserable, and I mean that in the best way possible.”

They stood there looking at each other with the hum of the window unit buzzing in the distance – and Matthieu fought back a shiver.

“I want to be your friend. You seem like a nice person; let me be one in return to a person that I believe is worthy of having some kindness thrown your way,” he said softly, his eyes searching hers. “If you want to skydive off a plane, say the word, and we’ll go. If you want to go skiing, again tell me. If we’re going to make this work and seem believable then we’ll need communication – and there might be a day that comes where you say ‘No more’… and I would honor that as your friend,” he whispered. “I’m trusting you to share my world, my life, and become a friend – can you give me the same chances in return, knowing we live different lives and come from different worlds? It’s not me judging, Jeannie – I swear it – it’s me wanting to provide better for someone I am choosing to place value in. Does that make sense?”

Her bright eyes glistened as she stared at him. It was that little wobble to her chin that was almost his undoing… only for her to hold out a hand to him, to shake. It was so darn cute that he couldn’t help the smile that touched his lips and shook his head.

“We’re pretending, remember?” he whispered and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “Thank you for jumping into this adventure with me.”

“Thank you for picking me to tag along.”

He straightened up, looked at her, and nodded. “Let’s go – and we can tell the office on the way out that you’re moving. I’ll pay out the remainder of your lease… oh, and where was the trap?”

“In the bathroom – why?”

“I’m gonna leave your stalker-buddy a present at his doorway. What floor is he on?” he chuckled, grimacing at the idea of touching some vermin-infested carcass the size of his hand. He heard Jeannie’s laugh as she put a hand on his shoulder, nudging him forward away from Mickey.

“Leave it, and let’s go.”

“As you wish, wife ,” he shot back playfully and shared a smile with her.

A n hour later, after dealing with the fiasco at the apartment manager’s office, Matthieu was ready to go inside and kick off his shoes. Fallon had called, verifying the details, and emailed him the contract, the houses, and other information he might need – and it was kinda nice to be listening to what his agent said with Jeannie there beside him.

Matthieu pushed the door open and turned slightly, waiting for her to step inside before following. He wanted to see her reaction—to watch the moment awe settled across her delicate features.

The apartment wasn’t extravagant in size, but it was refined, every inch exuding quiet luxury. Plush furnishings, rich wooden floors, and soft lighting created a warmth that contrasted with the cool, modern lines of the high-rise. But none of that compared to the view.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the endless stretch of ocean beyond, the moonlight kissing the waves, turning them into liquid silver. The city lights sparkled in the distance, a contrast of chaos and serenity. The first time he’d stood in this very spot, staring out at that horizon, he had felt something deep in his chest—an ache, a longing, and then, a quiet satisfaction. He had made it. He had reached a place where he could breathe. And now, he wanted that for her.

Jeannie stepped forward, her movements slow, reverent. She didn’t say a word at first, only stood in the center of the living room, eyes wide, lips parted in stunned wonder. The glow of the city reflected in her gaze, making her look even more ethereal. He watched her, drinking in every shift of emotion on her face—the disbelief, the amazement, the yearning she might not have even realized she was revealing.

He stepped up behind her, close enough that his breath stirred the strands of her hair as he lowered his voice to a murmur, intimate and filled with something deeper than just words.

“Keep that same feeling in mind when we look at the houses,” he breathed. “I want you to be amazed and happy existing there.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, tinged with awe. “That’s incredible…”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

But Jeannie didn’t answer right away. She swallowed, something flickering in her expression—something more than just wonder. Then, in a voice so soft it almost shattered him, she whispered, “It’s humbling.”

Her hand fluttered up, fingers trembling as they covered her mouth. His stomach tightened. The sharp stab of emotion in her voice, the way her body seemed to shrink in on itself—it hit him like a punch to the gut.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle but urgent.

Her exhale was shaky.

“I don’t think I would have ever had something like this on my own—and I see it now. I was trying so hard… and falling flat.”

His chest ached at her words. He turned to fully face her, his brows drawing together. “No. Never,” he said, firm but tender. “You were struggling and running in a cage that wasn’t meant to hold you.” His fingers brushed against hers, just a whisper of contact, grounding her, grounding himself. “I want to give you the keys for so much more.”

She let out a quiet, fractured laugh, her head dipping as she whispered, “I’m nobody.”

His breath caught. Without thinking, he reached for her, fingers skimming the tips of hers where her other hand hung at her side. A simple touch, but one that carried weight.

Meaning.

Devotion.

“Not to me, you aren’t,” he murmured, his voice low and certain. She finally looked up, and when their gazes met, something inside him settled.

“To me,” he continued, “you are the person who is giving me a chance to do more—and I promise, without you, I wouldn’t have qualified for this spot on the team.”

The truth lay bare between them, humming in the space where their hands nearly touched. The moment stretched, heavy with unspoken things. He just hoped—prayed—she could see herself the way he did. She was giving him the chance he needed, a shot for something more than what he had, and it was impossible without her help.

For that, he would always be grateful.

Clearing his throat, Matthieu carried her things off toward the doorway in the distance. There was a full-size bed and a twin bed in the spare room so when his family came to visit, they could stay with him. He set her things on the twin bed, treating them like they were precious, and set down her backpack. As he re-entered the living room, he saw her still looking out the windows and smiled.

He wanted their place in Quebec to have a view… as a ‘thank you’ to her. Giving her a little space, Matthieu went into the kitchen and filled the kettle to make some hot tea for her, hoping it made her feel welcome. This all felt so weird, so strange, and when it came down to facts – he’d just invited a stranger to come live with him.

Jeannie could rob him blind, invite others over to clean out his condo, and steal his car; but he’d been honest with her earlier – for this to work, they had to talk, give it a chance, and be open. He was letting down all of his walls, making the adjustments no matter how strange it felt, and making tea was something his father did for his mother without asking her. He would take those little nods from his youth and apply them, hoping it helped build their friendship.

“Do you want to look at the houses that my agent sent to me while I review the contract one more time?”

“Sure,” she said quietly, looking awfully intimidated. This had to be a different life for her, a different future than she expected, and if he felt nervous, he could only imagine how she must feel. No, he’d give her time to grow accustomed to him, his habits, and hopefully, they didn’t clash too badly – and if they did?

He wasn’t married.

Matthieu fought back a sigh of relief as he opened his laptop and slid it toward her, holding out a hand. He could have told her to grab her laptop, but a part of him wanted once again to impress her. Grabbing her tea, he set it beside the computer and gave her a quick smile before grabbing his phone, sitting nearby and poring over the contract once more.

It was all there – just like Fallon said.

One million a year, for five years, starting goalie, endorsement with an energy drink who was looking for an up-and-coming athlete for their commercials – which was a different way to look at it. Usually places wanted a well-known athlete, but maybe this way, they got someone fairly cheap. That contract was in another email he hadn’t looked at yet. There were clauses in there for moving expenses, allowances for language tutors, recommendations where to purchase a car in the area because discounts had been arranged by the owner of the team… yep, it was all there. He didn’t hesitate – he signed immediately, scribbling across his phone screen, and glanced at Jeannie.

She was sitting beside him, chewing on the side of her lip and scrolling through the screen looking concerned. Fallon usually had pretty good taste and had recommended this spot when he didn’t want to go into a major purchase at twenty-three years old, but as he got a little older, he needed the tax break and realized it now. Yeah, last year’s tax bill with Uncle Sam hurt quite a bit.

“Do you see anything?”

“Oh, um, well… maybe?” she hedged and turned the screen to him. “They're really… ah, big. They are huge houses with backyards for families or dogs, and it’s a bit much for two people.”

“True,” he admitted. “It would be nice to have plenty of space or…”

“Seven bedrooms, though?” she interrupted pointedly, looking at the screen and clicking on one of the listings. “This one has seven bedrooms, two kitchens, and two decks. I guess it would work since we’re living on opposite sides of the house, but I didn’t think we needed six thousand square feet. I mean, Matthieu, my apartment was five hundred square feet, and that is probably the size of the master bedroom.”

“Okay,” he hesitated and looked at her, pulling her hand away from the computer and holding it gently. She was scared about the size of the houses and the finances – and he could appreciate that. “I get that this is different from what you had before, but do not look at the cost…”

– And she reared back, looking at him like he was insane.

“B-But…”

“Do not look at the costs,” he stressed gently, holding her gaze. “Look at the house and see what you like – or don’t like – and imagine what Christmas would look like there. Picture cooking in the kitchen, winter in front of the fireplace, or a foggy morning. When I picked this place, all I could see in my mind was waking up, having a cup of coffee, and seeing the fog over the bay before the sun cleared it. That was my deciding factor,” he said softly, seeing the understanding in her eyes, and turned to point at the screen where the living room was pictured. “Can you see a Christmas tree in there?”

“No,” she whispered guiltily, giving him a side look of apology. “I like the bathroom but hate the living room. There are no windows.”

“Perfect,” he nodded. “Then we look for a place with a big window in the living room – and Jeannie? If none of these are good, that is okay too.”

“They’re expensive ,” she drew out painfully.

“I want a safe, nice area – and a condo in a metropolitan area can be just as pricey or more, so please stop looking at the numbers and…”

“You might as well tell me to stop breathing,” she retorted under her breath, making him laugh easily as she continued. “It’s not funny, and obviously, you have no inkling at the cost of a dollar. I mean, you are talking about getting rid of the Bentley – which was too expensive to begin with – and just buying a car or two when we get to Quebec. Now you are looking at massive houses with all these bells and whistles and we need a place to sleep and live. That’s it. You need to watch your money so it lasts, Matthieu and…”

He held up a hand, smiling at her.

“Obviously, in this pretend marriage – you’ll keep the checkbook,” he said gently, admiring how worked up she got about finances. That was a good sign that she wasn’t after him for money and once again – felt better about this whole farce. “I’ll tell you what,” he offered, “You help me pick a place for us to live so we can get started in Quebec – and then you are in control of the money.”

“What?!”

“I don’t want you fretting like we’re broke, so if it makes you better to see the finances, you can keep the checkbook and veto everything else.”

“That’s not necessary, but you understand what I’m saying?”

“I do – and I respect the fact that you are looking out for me already. It shows that we’re going to work well together as roommates and partners. You have my back; now let’s house yours.”

“Can we look at something with a little more character? A little smaller than seven bedrooms?”

“Of course – but remember, we need a guest room for when my family or yours come to visit.”

“Won’t be mine,” she muttered under her breath, causing him to hesitate in surprise once more. “But I understand. We need a bedroom for each of us, a guest room, and I’d like an office – if we are picking from a wish list.”

That surprised him, too.

“Perfect,” he said sportingly, watching her profile. “An office for you – and I’d like a fireplace.”

“Two full baths.”

“Two-car garage…”

She opened up a different tab, selecting features, and then moved to adjust the dollar amount range – only to have him playfully swat her hand as it hovered over the keyboard, and Jeannie jumped, glaring at him.

“Leave it and let’s see what comes up in the search before you start ‘cheaping-out’ on me,” he chided.

“I’m not ‘cheaping-out’. I’m being realistic.”

“I’ll tell you if we can’t afford something.”

“Fine. Whatever. Let’s do this your way, Mr. Moneybags,” she retorted and clicked search. Less than a second later, the screen loaded, and it was almost comical, the way they both turned slowly toward each other, their eyes locking the instant the first listing appeared on the screen.

Matthieu felt something shift in the air between them, an unspoken recognition that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. The house was stunning—almost surreal—with a stone facade that exuded old-world charm and a striking red front door framed by a graceful archway. It looked like something pulled from the pages of a fairytale, the kind of home where whispered secrets and stolen kisses might linger in the walls.

His fingers twitched, drawn to the screen, compelled to click—but before he could, Jeannie’s hand shot out, stopping him.

“I don’t want to like that one,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. There was something nervous, almost fragile, in the way she said it. “Skip it.”

“No.”

Her frown deepened, a furrow forming between her brows. “Matthieu, it’s too expensive.”

“You’re not buying it,” he countered easily, watching the way her lips parted slightly in protest. “Let me decide what’s in my price range. Let’s just look. Looking is free.”

His finger pressed the trackpad before she could argue further. The listing opened, filling the screen with images of warmth and possibility. He tossed her a quick glance, catching the way she exhaled sharply, her resistance crumbling in real time.

“See?” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Free to look…” Then he paused, breath catching in his throat. “Oh…”

Beside him, Jeannie inhaled a sharp, breathy sound that sent a ripple of something electric down his spine.

This was the house.

The photos unfolded like a dream. The living room, with its honey-warm wooden floors, drew them in first. A grand fireplace stood as its centerpiece, flanked by an entire wall of windows that stretched to the ceiling, flooding the space with golden light. Beyond the glass, a tiny backyard spread out in perfect serenity—brick pavers forming a quaint seating area, a low stone wall encircling it like an embrace. And just past that…

A breathtaking drop.

A cliff overlooked a winding river below, its waters glistening under the light. It was the kind of view that made a man stop and wonder if he had been searching for something all along, only to find it waiting for him in a photograph.

Matthieu barely noticed Jeannie inching closer, her shoulder brushing against his as he scrolled.

The kitchen was an extension of the old-world charm, a perfect blend of rustic stone and sleek modernity. An island divided the space, beckoning for quiet mornings and late-night conversations over cups of coffee. Stainless steel appliances gleamed, but it was the character—the soul of the house—that called to him.

He clicked through each photo slowly, methodically, searching for something—anything—to be wrong with the place. But every new image only solidified the feeling that had begun to take root inside him.

And then?—

The library.

The moment it filled the screen, Jeannie stiffened beside him. He could hear the way she swallowed, the near-silent hitch of breath she was trying to hide.

It was magnificent. Dark wooden shelves stretched floor to ceiling, lined with intricate moldings, waiting to be filled with stories and secrets. A ladder on brass rails stood ready to glide across the space, a single inviting chair positioned near the tall window that overlooked the river. It wasn’t just a library. It was a sanctuary.

Matthieu turned his head slightly, watching Jeannie from the corner of his eye. “What do you think?” His voice was quiet, probing, heavy with meaning.

She hesitated. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than before. “It’s lovely—because it’s expensive.”

“That’s not the reason it’s lovely,” he chuckled, shaking his head at her stubbornness. There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but also something else—something heavier.

She wasn’t wrong. This was a house that could change things.

“Can you see us celebrating Christmas there together?” he asked, testing the waters, watching her closely.

Jeannie pressed her lips together, something guilty flickering across her face.

Matthieu’s chest tightened.

“Is that a yes?” He smirked, trying to keep the moment light even as his pulse quickened. “Because I like it. And it’s in the location we were already looking at.”

“Matthieu…”

“Would you like to live there—with me?”

The question hung between them, weighty, undeniable.

Jeannie inhaled, eyes searching his. “Can I pay you rent so I can help with the cost?” she countered warily.

His brow furrowed. Of all the things she could have said, that was not the response he had expected.

“No.” His answer was immediate, firm. Then, softer, almost disbelieving, “My wife isn’t going to help pay the rent.”

“I’m not your wife. We barely know each other.”

The words hit him like a slow-moving impact—soft, but unshakable in their truth.

Matthieu swallowed hard.

She was right. It was easy to forget, to lose himself in this moment, to slip into the illusion of familiarity that shouldn’t have existed between them. In reality, they had met today—mere hours ago—and yet here they were, picking a house, aligning their lives, setting the foundation for something neither of them fully understood yet.

It was reckless. It was terrifying. And yet…

He exhaled, choosing his words carefully. “No,” he admitted. “You’re right. We’re not married, and that’s not changing anytime soon.” He hesitated, then continued, voice steady. “But while I’m buying a house, I want your input. As a friend—since we’ll be living together.”

She said nothing, just listened.

“You aren’t my wife on paper,” he continued, leveling her with a steady gaze, “but for this to work—to not slip up—you might as well start referring to yourself as my wife.”

Jeannie nodded slightly. “I’ll be careful.”

“I know.”

Silence stretched between them. Then, finally?—

“Jeannie,” his voice was lower now, his words careful, weighted with meaning. “Do you like this house? Yes or no?”

A pause. And then?—

“It’s breathtaking,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s perfect.”

Matthieu exhaled slowly, his grip tightening slightly on the laptop.

Yes. It was.

“Then that’s the one,” he agreed, fighting the urge to jump for joy. For him to make this transition, Fallon had taken the lead in finding a few places with quick move-in possibilities, and she’d just need to work her magic on this place, too. He clicked on the button to notify the realtor of his interest, took a screenshot, and sent it to his agent with an email.

Fallon – I want this one.

Make it happen - Cash offer.

I need it empty and ready to go when the announcement for the Wolverines hits the news. I’ll be flying out from Seattle the next day to rendezvous with the team. If you need anything, call me or my wife, Jeannie.

Thanks!

Matthieu

Clicking send, he looked at Jeannie.

She looked completely befuddled, watching everything he’d just done, and a myriad of emotions crossed her face.

“So… just like that?”

“Yup.”

“You tell her what to do… and she’ll just do it?”

“We run in different circles now,” he said gently. “I meant it when I said that I would take care of us, and there would be no more worries.”

“B-But…”

“Jeannie,” he chuckled softly, smiling at her. “I’m a pretty selfish guy, and I like nice things – but make no mistake – we’ll have a very nice time existing together during this whole thing. If you see something you need, just ask or better yet? Get it – and know that I’m good with it.”

She just sat there, blinking in shock, and hesitated before laughing nervously and waving her hand beside her head.

“I’m sorry,” she began. “I’m trying to comprehend all of this, and for a girl who has twenty dollars in her checking account, lives off her tips, and is waiting for a paycheck on Friday that will probably get lost in the mail with the way I quit today… I’m having a hard time swallowing all of this.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” he smiled easily. “I kinda like that about you – how you’re real and down-to-earth. Don’t change that.”

And Matthieu realized it was true.