Page 10

The silence in the car was deafening. Sienna sat beside me, staring out the window, absently turning her wedding band with her thumb—a nervous gesture I'd noticed during the ceremony. Neither of us had spoken since we'd pulled away from City Hall, leaving behind the performance we'd put on for her aunt and my teammates.

I cleared my throat. "Your aunt seems nice."

Sienna kept her gaze fixed on the passing scenery. "She is. That's why lying to her feels awful."

Her bluntness caught me off guard. Most people in my world—agents, managers, teammates—cushioned difficult truths with platitudes. Sienna just stated facts, uncomfortable as they might be.

"I'm sorry about that," I said, surprising myself with the sincerity in my voice. "I didn't expect we'd have to involve family so soon."

She finally turned to look at me. "There are a lot of things we didn't anticipate, aren't there?"

Like that kiss. The unspoken thought hung between us. I hadn't planned to really kiss her—just a quick peck for appearance's sake. But something had happened when I'd leaned in, some inexplicable pull that had made me linger, made me want to taste her properly.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. "We should establish some ground rules. For living together."

"Fine," she agreed. "Rule one: this is temporary. Three months, then we go our separate ways."

"Agreed. Rule two: we keep our personal lives personal. What you do in your time is your business, what I do in mine is my business."

She nodded. "Rule three: we're honest with each other about the arrangement. No pretending when it's just us."

"Reasonable." I hesitated. "Though we should probably be civil. For sanity's sake."

A small smile tugged at her lips. "You're capable of civility? That's news."

"I'm a delight," I deadpanned. "You're the one who dumped coffee on me."

"You walked into me!"

"You weren't looking where you were going."

"Because you were barreling down the sidewalk like you owned it!"

The familiar argument had somehow lightened the mood. By the time we pulled into my driveway, the tension had eased slightly.

Sienna's eyes widened as she took in the house. "It looks... bigger than the last time I visited."

"It's just a house," I said, suddenly self-conscious about the modernist mansion with its wall of windows overlooking Lake Washington.

"Said no normal person ever." She unbuckled her seatbelt. "Do you have a staff or something?"

"Just a housekeeper who comes twice a week and a landscaper." I got out and opened her door, an automatic courtesy my mother had drilled into me. "I'm not really here enough to need more."

A joyful bark from inside the car interrupted us. Sprinkles, Sienna's golden retriever, had been patiently waiting in the back seat and now stood with her front paws on the center console, tail wagging furiously. I had almost forgotten about her as she had been silent during the entire drive.

"Yes, you can get out too," Sienna laughed, opening the back door.

The dog bounded out, immediately racing across my meticulously landscaped lawn. I watched in mild horror as she lifted her leg on an expensive decorative shrub.

"Sprinkles!" Sienna called. "Not the fancy plants!"

Too late. The dog trotted back, looking enormously pleased with herself. She sniffed my hand curiously, then jumped up, placing her paws on my chest and leaving muddy prints on my suit jacket.

"Down, Sprinkles!" Sienna pulled her away. "Sorry, she's friendly to a fault. We're still working on manners."

I brushed at the paw prints, oddly unbothered. "It's fine. The house could use some... life in it."

The words surprised me as much as they seemed to surprise her. She tilted her head, studying me with those expressive eyes. "That's unexpectedly philosophical of you, hockey man."

"I have hidden depths," I said dryly. "Let me get your bags."

I carried her suitcases inside while Sienna followed with Sprinkles on a leash, the dog straining to investigate every new scent. Watching Sienna step into my home—our home, at least temporarily—was surreal. She seemed so out of place in my minimalist space, with her colorful dress and vibrant energy.

"Well." She stood in the entryway, looking around uncertainly. "It's very... homely compared to the last time."

"The tour's this way." I gestured down the hallway, suddenly eager to move past this awkward moment to give her a tour for the second time.

I showed her the living room, with its wall of windows overlooking the lake, then the dining room I rarely used, the home office, the gym, and finally, the bedrooms.

"This will be your room, like I've shown before," I said, setting her suitcases down in the largest bedroom. "It has its own bathroom, but it also connects to the my room through this door." I nodded toward the door that joined the two rooms. "We can keep it locked if you prefer."

Sienna eyed the door warily. "Definitely locked."

"The closet's empty, and I've cleared space in the bathroom for your things." I showed her the spacious walk-in closet, now half-empty, and the adjoining bathroom with its dual sinks and large shower.

She ran her hand over the marble countertop. "This bathroom is pretty big."

"It's excessive," I admitted. "The whole house is. But it was a good investment."

Sprinkles chose that moment to leap onto the king-sized bed, turning in circles before flopping down with a contented sigh.

"Sprinkles!" Sienna looked mortified. "Off the bed!"

I shook my head. "It's fine. It's her home now too, I guess."

She gave me a curious look. "You're being suspiciously accommodating."

I shrugged, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. "Would you like to see the kitchen? I added some new equipment."

Her face lit up. "Yes!"

The change in her demeanor was immediate. In the kitchen, Sienna transformed from hesitant houseguest to confident professional, opening newly built cabinets and examining new equipment with obvious excitement.

"A six-burner stove? And a double oven?" She ran her hand reverently over the stainless steel. “You didn’t have to renovate your kitchen for me!”

"Who said it's because of you? It's for me too!" I teased.

"Oh really? I bet you can't even cook!"

"I can cook sometimes," I defended. "Some basic things."

"Protein shakes and grilled chicken don't count." She opened the refrigerator, which contained little besides protein drinks, eggs, and vegetables. "Just as I suspected. Criminal waste of a beautiful kitchen."

Before I could respond, my stomach growled audibly.

Sienna raised an eyebrow. "When did you last eat?"

I tried to remember. "Coffee this morning?"

She shook her head in exasperation. "Sit. I'll make something."

"You don't have to—"

"I'm not having my fake husband faint from hunger on our fake wedding day. It would look bad for my baker reputation." She was already pulling out eggs and vegetables. "Besides, I need to familiarize myself with the kitchen if I'm living here."

I sat at the kitchen island, oddly content to watch her work. She moved with confidence, chopping vegetables with practiced efficiency. Within minutes, the kitchen filled with the savory scent of a vegetable omelet.

"Hope you like spinach and feta," she said, sliding a perfect omelet onto a plate.

The first bite was revelatory. "This is really good."

She smiled, seeming genuinely pleased. "It's just an omelet."

"Still." I took another bite. "Thank you."

An awkward silence fell between us. This simple domestic scene—her cooking for me in my kitchen—felt strangely intimate, more so than the kiss we'd shared at City Hall.

I cleared my throat. "We should discuss schedules. The team has a family skate tomorrow afternoon. As my wife, you'd be expected to attend."

Sienna paused in washing the pan. "A family skate? As in, on ice?"

"That's generally where skating happens, yes."

She turned to face me, anxiety clear in her expression. "I should probably mention that I can't skate. At all. I've never even been on ice."

I stared at her in disbelief. "You live in Seattle and you've never been ice skating?"

"Some of us prefer activities that don't involve potential concussions." She crossed her arms defensively. "Is this going to be a problem?"

I considered the implications. My teammates' wives and girlfriends usually skated comfortably at these events—many had grown up around hockey. Sienna's complete inexperience would definitely be noticed.

"It's not ideal," I admitted. "But we can work with it. I'll help you. Most of the time is just socializing anyway."

"Great." She sighed. "My first public appearance as Mrs. Hockey Star, and I'll be clinging to the boards like a terrified toddler."

"Mrs. Hockey Star?" I raised an eyebrow, amused despite myself.

"Would you prefer Ice Queen? Since you're the Ice Man?"

I winced at the nickname. "Let's stick with Jax and Sienna."

Our conversation was interrupted by both our phones buzzing simultaneously. I checked mine to find a barrage of text messages from teammates who had seen the wedding photos Olivia had strategically "leaked" to social media.

Happy for you bro! Can't believe you actually got married! – Marco

Congratulations on your fake marriage! She seems great, treat her like you would treat a real wife! – Finn

Did hell freeze over or did Jax Harrison actually get married? – Reynolds

Sienna was similarly occupied with her phone. "Apparently we're trending locally," she said, looking stunned. "The bakery's social media followers have doubled in the last hour."

I scrolled through the notifications, including several missed calls from my parents. That conversation would have to wait. Watching Sienna, I noticed her fingers trembling slightly as she typed responses to friends.

"Overwhelming?" I asked.

She nodded, setting her phone down. "I didn't anticipate the public interest. I'm just a baker."

"Who married a professional athlete after a supposed whirlwind romance. It's gossip fodder." I hesitated. "If it gets to be too much—"

"I can handle it," she interrupted firmly. "I agreed to this. I just need to adjust to the attention."

The evening progressed with us awkwardly navigating shared spaces. We established a bathroom schedule, kitchen use protocols, and where Sprinkles would sleep – officially in Sienna's room, though the dog seemed to have other ideas. Our differing habits became immediately apparent—I was methodical and neat, while Sienna left a trail of possessions behind her like breadcrumbs.

By eleven, exhaustion had set in. Neither of us had slept well the night before, and the day's emotions had taken their toll. We stood awkwardly in the hallway between our bedrooms.

"Well," Sienna said finally. "Goodnight, husband."

The word sounded strange coming from her lips—formal and intimate at the same time.

"Goodnight, wife," I replied, the term equally foreign in my mouth.

She smiled tiredly and retreated to her room, Sprinkles following dutifully. I entered my own bedroom, closing the door with a sense of relief. Alone at last, I could drop the performance.

I stripped off my suit and stood under the shower for a long time, letting hot water wash away the tension of the day. As I dried off, I caught sight of my reflection in the steamy mirror—same face, same body, but legally, fundamentally changed. I was a married man, at least on paper.

The house settled around me as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Just as I was drifting off, a scratching sound at my door pulled me back to consciousness. I ignored it at first, but the scratching persisted, followed by a pitiful whine.

With a sigh, I got up and opened the door to find Sprinkles sitting there, tail wagging hopefully. I glanced toward Sienna's closed door, debating whether to wake her.

"This isn't becoming a habit," I warned the dog in a whisper, then stepped aside to let her in.

Sprinkles trotted happily into my room, jumped onto the foot of my bed, and settled in as if she belonged there. I stood watching her for a moment, then gave up and returned to bed.

Lying in the darkness with a dog snoring softly at my feet, I listened to the unfamiliar sounds of my house with someone else in it. Through the wall, I could faintly hear Sienna moving around, the creak of her bed as she settled, the soft sound of her breathing eventually evening out into sleep.

For years, I'd cultivated solitude like a prized possession. Now that silence was broken by the presence of a woman I barely knew and her boundary-challenged dog.

The strangest part? I didn't entirely hate it.

That thought was more unsettling than anything else that had happened on this bizarre day. As sleep finally claimed me, my last thought was of Sienna's face as she'd explored my kitchen—bright with genuine enthusiasm, momentarily unguarded.

Three months, I reminded myself. Just three months of pretending, and then things could go back to normal.

But as Sprinkles shifted position, pressing her warm body against my legs, I wondered if "normal" would ever feel the same again.