Page 11

I woke disoriented, blinking at an unfamiliar ceiling. The bed was too soft, the room too large, the silence too complete. For a panicked moment, I couldn't remember where I was.

Then it all came rushing back. The courthouse. The vows. The kiss.

The kiss that had lingered in my mind as I'd tried to fall asleep, that had followed me into my dreams.

"It meant nothing," I whispered to the empty room. "A performance for the audience."

I glanced at the clock: 5:17 AM. Despite the early hour, habit had me sliding out of bed. I'd never slept past five since taking over the bakery.

"Sprinkles?" I called softly, noticing her absence from the foot of the bed. The connecting door to Jax's room was closed, but I had a sneaking suspicion where my traitorous dog had spent the night.

I dressed quietly in leggings and an oversized sweater, then tiptoed into the hallway. The house was silent, still wrapped in pre-dawn darkness. I made my way to the kitchen, drawn by the prospect of coffee and the comfort of doing something familiar in this strange new reality.

To my surprise, a light was already on. Jax stood at the counter in a t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair rumpled from sleep, measuring protein powder into a blender.

"You're up early," I said, hovering in the doorway.

He glanced up, seeming unsurprised by my presence. "Morning ice skate. You're up early too."

"Baker's hours." I gestured to the coffeemaker. "Mind if I make coffee?"

He stepped aside. "Help yourself."

We moved around each other cautiously, like wary animals sharing territory. I found coffee beans in a cabinet and began grinding them, the familiar sound offering small comfort.

"Your dog slept in my room," Jax said, breaking the silence.

"Sorry about that. She gets anxious in new places." I filled the coffee filter, avoiding his eyes. "I can keep my door closed tonight."

Jax shrugged. "It's fine. She stayed at the foot of the bed, didn't try to take over."

"Unlike human bed partners." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

His eyebrows shot up. "Speaking from experience?"

"My last boyfriend was a bed hog." I focused intently on measuring water. "He'd somehow end up diagonal across the mattress, leaving me clinging to the edge."

"When was this?" Jax asked, his tone carefully casual.

I glanced at him, surprised by the question. "About a year ago. It didn't last long." I hesitated, then added, "What about you? When was your last relationship?"

"Define relationship."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course. The playboy hockey star."

"That's not what I meant." He frowned. "I date. It just doesn't usually develop into anything significant."

"By choice?"

"My schedule isn't conducive to relationships." He poured his protein shake into a glass. "Road trips, practice, games—it's easier to keep things casual."

I nodded, understanding more than I wanted to admit. "The bakery's my relationship. Four AM to closing, six days a week doesn't leave much time for dating."

For a moment, we shared a look of mutual understanding. Then I remembered I needed to get to the bakery.

"I should go," I said, pouring coffee into a travel mug I'd found. "Chloe's opening, but I need to finish today's special orders."

"The team skate starts at two," Jax reminded me. "Leo will pick you up at the bakery at one-thirty."

The mention of the skating event brought back my anxiety. "I really can't skate, Jax. At all."

"I'll help you." He rinsed his glass in the sink. "Just wear jeans and bring gloves. Leo will have a jersey for you to wear."

"A jersey?"

"With my name and number. Standard for player's wives." He said it matter-of-factly, but the word "wives" hung between us, a reminder of our new legal status.

"Right." I nodded, suddenly eager to escape the intimacy of the early morning kitchen. "See you at two, then."

The drive to the bakery was a relief—twenty minutes of solitude to gather my thoughts. I'd left Sprinkles at the house, deciding she'd be happier there than cooped up in my small office all day. The thought of my dog and Jax alone together brought an unexpected smile to my face.

At the bakery, the familiar scents and sounds enveloped me like a warm hug. Chloe was already there, placing fresh pastries in the display case.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mrs. Harrison," she teased as I entered. "How was the wedding night?"

"Separate bedrooms, separate lives, just as agreed," I replied, tying on my apron. "Though Sprinkles betrayed me to sleep with the enemy."

"Smart dog. The enemy is hot."

I threw a dish towel at her. "Can we please focus on baking?"

We fell into our usual rhythm, preparing the day's special orders. As we worked, I filled Chloe in on the wedding ceremony, the house, and the upcoming skate event.

"So he really kissed you?" Chloe asked, piping buttercream onto cupcakes. "Like, actually kissed you?"

"It was for show," I insisted, though the memory of Jax's lips on mine sent an unwelcome warmth through me. "We had an audience."

"Uh-huh." Chloe's tone was skeptical. "And how did this for-show kiss feel?"

I concentrated unnecessarily hard on the raspberry filling I was preparing. "It was fine. Brief. Professional."

"Professional." Chloe snorted. "Honey, I saw the photos Olivia leaked. That did not look professional."

"Photos can be misleading." I changed the subject quickly. "Did you see the bakery's social media numbers? They've tripled since yesterday."

"Leo texted me about it." Chloe's expression soured at the mention of his name.

I set down my piping bag and faced her directly. "What's really going on with you two? You're uncomfortable around each other!"

Chloe's shoulders slumped. "It's just ancient history."

"Not that ancient, judging by how you both react to each other."

She sighed heavily. "We dated in college. Briefly."

"How briefly?"

"Three months." She focused intently on arranging cupcakes. "It was intense. Then he got the internship with the sports agency and just... disappeared. No explanation, no goodbye, nothing. Classic ghosting before ghosting was even a term."

"And you never got closure?"

"What's to close? He chose his career over basic human decency." Her tone was light, but I could hear the old hurt beneath it. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now. It was years ago."

"But it still bothers you."

"It bothers me that he's acting like it never happened." She straightened, clearly done with the conversation. "Enough about my ancient drama. Let's talk about your modern one. Are you ready to be the hockey wife today?"

The morning passed quickly with a steady stream of customers, many mentioning they'd seen the wedding photos online. By noon, we'd sold out of almost everything—an unprecedented weekday occurrence.

At precisely one-thirty, the bakery door opened and Leo walked in, carrying a Seattle Kraken jersey. He nodded to me, then deliberately avoided looking at Chloe, who was helping a customer.

"Ready for your debut, Mrs. Harrison?" he asked with a grin.

"As ready as I'll ever be to publicly humiliate myself on ice," I replied, hanging up my apron.

Leo handed me the jersey. "Wear this. The wives and girlfriends all wear their player's jerseys at family events."

I held up the blue jersey with "JAX" and his number “27” emblazoned across the back. It felt strangely intimate, wearing his name.

"I should change," I said, retreating to the small bathroom in the back.

When I emerged wearing jeans and the oversized jersey, Chloe was locked in what appeared to be a tense conversation with Leo near the counter. They stood too close, speaking in hushed but heated tones. I cleared my throat, and they jumped apart like guilty teenagers.

"We should go," Leo said, checking his watch. "Traffic's heavy."

"See you tomorrow," I called to Chloe, who gave me a thumbs-up that looked more like a grimace.

In the car, I waited all of thirty seconds before asking, "What was that about?"

Leo kept his eyes fixed on the road. "What was what about?"

"You and Chloe, looking ready to either kill each other or tear each other's clothes off."

He choked slightly. "That's not—we were just—"

"Leo," I interrupted. "I know you dated in college. I know you ghosted her for your career. What I don't know is why you're both still so affected by it years later."

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "She told you that?"

"She's my best friend. Of course she told me."

He was quiet for a long moment. "It wasn't like that. I didn't ghost her, exactly."

"What would you call disappearing without explanation?"

"Self-preservation." His voice was uncharacteristically serious. "Look, Chloe was—is—brilliant. Top of our class, on track for a stellar business career. I was floundering, uncertain about my future, definitely not on her level. When I got the internship offer, I knew taking it meant dropping out, changing direction completely."

"And you couldn't tell her this because...?"

He sighed. "Because she'd just been offered an amazing summer internship with a top consulting firm. If I'd told her I was leaving school, that I was changing everything... she might have tried to follow me. Or worse, she might have tried to talk me out of it. And she would have succeeded."

I processed this. "So instead of having an adult conversation, you disappeared."

"I was twenty-one and an idiot." He turned into the parking lot of the ice rink. "Anyway, it worked out. She got her business degree, I found my calling. Water under the bridge."

"Doesn't look like water under the bridge from where I'm sitting," I muttered as we parked.

The ice rink was buzzing with activity when we entered. Families milled around the lobby, children running in excited circles, adults chatting in groups. I felt immediately out of place in my borrowed jersey, an impostor in this established hockey community.

Leo guided me toward the rink entrance. "Jax texted that he's already here. Remember, you're madly in love, you've been secretly dating for months, and you're excited to join the Kraken family."

"Got it. Madly in love with Ice Man. Can't wait to break my ankles on frozen water. Living the dream."

"That's the spirit." Leo grinned, then his expression shifted as he looked over my shoulder. "Here comes your husband."

I turned to see Jax approaching, dressed casually in jeans and a Kraken sweatshirt. He looked different outside his usual suits or workout clothes—more approachable somehow. When our eyes met, his expression softened slightly, a barely perceptible change most people would miss.

"You made it," he said, coming to stand beside me. To any observers, we probably looked like a normal couple greeting each other.

"The traffic was terrible," Leo explained. "I should find Olivia. She wanted photos of the happy couple on ice."

As Leo walked away, I turned to Jax with undisguised panic. "I wasn't kidding about not being able to skate. I'm going to embarrass you in front of your entire team."

To my surprise, he smiled—a genuine smile that transformed his usually serious face. "Relax. I've got you. Let's get you some skates."

The rental skates felt like medieval torture devices on my feet. I wobbled even standing on the rubber mats beside the rink, clutching Jax's arm for balance.

"How do people do this voluntarily?" I hissed as he led me toward the ice.

"You get used to it." He positioned me at the entrance to the rink. "Hold onto the boards with one hand and my arm with the other. Small steps. I won't let you fall."

The moment my blade touched the ice, I knew I had made a terrible mistake. My feet slid in opposite directions, and only Jax's solid grip kept me from splitting like a wishbone.

"Easy," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle as he steadied me. "Find your balance first."

I clung to him, acutely aware of his strength as he supported me. Other players and their families glided past, some offering encouraging smiles, others watching with barely concealed amusement.

"Everyone's staring," I whispered, mortified.

"They're not," Jax assured me, though I could see his teammates nudging each other and grinning. "Let's try moving forward. Small steps."

Step by excruciating step, we made our way along the boards. Jax was unexpectedly patient, his large hand firm around my waist, voice calm as he offered instruction.

"You're doing great," he encouraged after we'd completed a quarter of the rink's circumference.

"I'm doing terribly and you know it," I gasped, clutching his arm as my feet threatened to slide out from under me again.

"For a first-timer, you're doing great," he insisted. "My nephew cried and refused to leave the boards his first time."

"I'm seriously considering crying myself."

That startled a laugh out of him—a deep, genuine sound I hadn't heard before. It transformed his face, softening the hard edges and revealing dimples I hadn't noticed.

"Something funny, Jax?" called a voice. A player skated up to us, moving with effortless grace. "Introducing the wife to the ice?"

"Sienna, this is Marco, left wing," Jax introduced. "Marco, my wife, Sienna."

"The famous baker," Marco grinned, eyes moving obviously from my face to my death grip on Jax's arm. "Jax didn't mention you couldn't skate."

"I wouldn't want to rob everyone of this entertainment," I replied, forcing a smile even as I felt my right foot slipping again.

Marco laughed. "She's got spirit. Good luck teaching her, Jax. Maybe next time find someone who can actually stand on ice?"

As he skated away, I felt Jax tense beside me. "Ignore him. He's an ass to everyone."

"It's fine," I said, though the comment had stung. "He's not wrong. I'm a disaster on ice."

"You're doing fine," Jax insisted, guiding me forward again. "Let's take a break by the players' bench. You can sit for a bit."

As we slowly made our way across the ice, a woman skated up beside us, moving with confident ease. She had short dark hair and a warm smile.

"You must be Sienna," she said. "I'm Willow, Finn's girlfriend. Need a hand? I remember my first time on ice."

"Was it this traumatic?" I asked, grateful for the friendly face.

"Worse," she laughed. "I fell so many times I couldn't sit comfortably for a week. Finn still teases me about it."

"Sienna's doing better than that," Jax said, with what sounded like pride in his voice.

"Only because I haven't let go of you," I pointed out.

Willow smiled. "That's the secret—don't let go of your hockey player. They're basically human stabilizers on ice." She skated backward in front of us. "The team barbecue starts in about fifteen minutes. I'll save you seats."

As she glided away, I felt a wave of relief. "She seems nice."

"Willow's great," Jax agreed. "She runs a children's literacy nonprofit. She's been with Finn for about three years."

"Do all the wives and girlfriends skate like competitive figure skaters?"

"Most grew up around hockey, so they're comfortable on ice." He guided me to the bench and helped me sit. "But no one expects you to be an expert overnight."

I watched as players and their families moved around the ice. Children zoomed past with fearless abandon, couples skated hand in hand, a pregnant woman glided gracefully while her player husband skated backward in front of her, hands protectively extended.

They all looked so... legitimate. Real families, real couples, real relationships.

For the first time, the magnitude of our deception hit me. These weren't just Jax's colleagues—they were a community, a family of sorts. And we were lying to all of them.

"What's wrong?" Jax asked, noticing my expression.

"Nothing," I said quickly. "Just resting before round two of humiliation on ice."

He studied me for a moment, then extended his hand. "Come on. One more lap, then we can head to the barbecue."

The second attempt went marginally better. I still clung to Jax, but with slightly less desperation. By the time we completed a full circle of the rink, I felt a small sense of accomplishment.

"See? You're getting it," Jax said as he helped me off the ice.

My legs felt like jelly as I stepped onto solid ground. "I wouldn't go that far, but at least I didn't fall on my face."

In the locker room area, tables had been set up for the team barbecue. Willow waved us over to where she sat with Finn and several other players and their families.

"The ice survivor returns!" she called cheerfully. "Come sit—I want to hear all about how you two met. The official version is way too boring."

As we joined them, I caught Jax's subtle nod—permission to embellish our rehearsed story. I launched into the tale of our coffee collision, painting it as a meet-cute rather than the hostile encounter it had actually been.

"He was so focused on getting to his meeting that he didn't even see me until my latte was all over his jacket," I explained, surprised by how easily the altered version flowed. "I was mortified, but also a little irritated because he was texting while walking."

"I wasn't texting," Jax defended, falling naturally into the revised narrative. "I was checking game stats."

"While walking in a crowded area," I added, earning laughs from the group.

"So how did you go from coffee disaster to dating?" Willow asked, leaning forward eagerly.

Jax surprised me by taking over. "I came back to the bakery to buy her a coffee as an apology. Ended up staying for hours."

"Hours?" I raised an eyebrow at this embellishment.

He met my gaze steadily. "Felt like it, anyway. Time moves differently when you're with the right person."

The simple statement, delivered so naturally, caught me off guard. For a moment, I almost believed him myself.

"And now here we are," I finished lamely, suddenly flustered.

"It's adorable," Willow declared. "And refreshing to see Jax with someone who humanizes him. Before you, he was basically a hockey-playing robot."

"He still is," Finn joked, earning a light punch in the arm from Jax.

The conversation flowed easily after that, with Jax's teammates sharing embarrassing stories about him while I collected them like ammunition for future use. To my surprise, I found myself genuinely enjoying the company. These people were welcoming, funny, and remarkably normal despite their extraordinary lives.

As I watched Jax interact with his teammates—laughing at their jokes, joining their banter—I glimpsed a side of him I hadn't seen before. Here, surrounded by his hockey family, he seemed more relaxed, more authentic somehow.

And when his hand casually settled on the back of my chair, thumb occasionally brushing my shoulder, I didn't pull away. It was just part of the performance, I told myself. Just maintaining our cover.

But the warmth that spread through me at his touch felt alarmingly real.