Page 28

The hospital charity gala arrived on a perfect spring evening, the waterfront venue transformed into an elegant wonderland of twinkling lights and sophisticated decor. I'd been on-site since dawn, overseeing the installation of my dessert displays—an elaborate presentation featuring individual pastries, a signature cake with the hospital's logo rendered in handcrafted sugar work, and an interactive station where guests could personalize their selections.

Standing back to assess the finished display, I felt a surge of pride mingled with exhaustion. Weeks of preparation, countless test batches, sleepless nights of planning—all culminating in this moment. Grandma Rose would have loved this, I thought, adjusting a final decoration. She always said baking was about more than food; it was about creating moments of joy.

"It's breathtaking," a voice said behind me.

I turned to find Jax standing there in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, looking so handsome it made my heart stutter. Despite living together, we'd barely seen each other the past few days—his playoff schedule and my gala preparations creating a convenient buffer against addressing the looming decision about our future.

"You're early," I observed, suddenly self-conscious in my chef's coat and practical shoes. "The gala doesn't start for two hours."

"I wanted to see everything before the crowds." His eyes moved over the dessert display with genuine appreciation. "To see what you've created. It's impressive, Sienna. Truly."

"Thank you." I gestured to my appearance. "I need to change before guests arrive. My dress is in the staff room."

"I'll wait," he said simply.

Thirty minutes later, I emerged in the midnight blue gown I'd carefully selected weeks ago—elegant but comfortable enough to move through the event supervising my staff. Jax's expression when he saw me made the splurge worthwhile, his eyes darkening as they took in the way the fabric hugged my curves before flowing gracefully to the floor.

"You look beautiful," he said, his voice lower than usual.

"Not bad for a baker," I attempted to joke, though the charged atmosphere between us made lightness difficult.

Throughout the evening, Jax remained close, his hand often resting naturally at the small of my back as we navigated the crowded venue. He introduced me to influential guests with unmistakable pride in his voice, emphasizing my role as both his wife and a talented business owner.

"Sienna started baking with her grandmother when she was five," he told the hospital director, details I was surprised he remembered from our late-night conversations. "She's carrying on a family legacy while adding her own innovative techniques."

When Seattle Magazine's food editor requested an interview about the bakery's recent success, Jax encouraged me to share my grandmother's story, quietly stepping back to let me have the spotlight.

"Your husband is clearly your biggest fan," the editor observed after Jax excused himself to speak with teammates who'd arrived.

"He's been incredibly supportive," I replied, the truth of the statement existing independent of our arrangement's reality.

As the evening progressed, I caught glimpses of his interactions with others—the respect he commanded, the careful attention he gave to children attending the gala, the generous donation he made during the silent auction. This was Jax beyond the Ice Man persona, Jax as the man I'd come to know during our time together.

During a rare quiet moment, I spotted Leo and Chloe in a secluded corner, their heads bent close in conversation. As I watched, Leo reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind Chloe's ear—a tender gesture that made my heart twist with familiarity. Then, with a decisiveness that surprised me, he cupped her face and kissed her.

More surprising was Chloe's response—not pushing him away as I might have expected weeks ago, but leaning into the contact, her hand coming up to rest against his chest. When they broke apart, both looked slightly dazed before becoming aware of their public location and stepping quickly away from each other.

Their stolen moment highlighted the complicated feelings I'd been avoiding confronting in my own situation. How long could Jax and I continue this dance around what was developing between us?

The gala concluded successfully, with effusive compliments for my desserts and several substantial orders placed by influential guests. By the time we arrived home, well after midnight, I was physically exhausted but emotionally wired, too much unspoken tension vibrating between us.

"I'll make tea," Jax offered, loosening his bow tie as we entered the house.

I nodded gratefully, heading to my room to change out of my formal gown. On my dresser lay an envelope I didn't recognize, my name written in Jax's distinctive handwriting. Inside I found the bakery loan paperwork, officially marked "PAID IN FULL" in red stamp across the top.

Beneath it was a second document—a business development fund established in the name of Grandma Rose's Bakehouse, with a substantial sum allocated specifically for expansion and equipment upgrades. Far more than our agreement had stipulated.

My hands trembled as I read the details. This wasn't just fulfilling our arrangement; this was extending beyond it into genuine investment in my future—a future he wouldn't be part of once our three months concluded.

I found him in the living room, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up as he prepared tea with the careful precision he brought to everything.

"What is this?" I demanded, holding up the papers.

He turned, expression calm but cautious. "Exactly what it looks like. Your loan is cleared as agreed. The development fund is... additional."

"We didn't discuss a development fund." My voice wavered between gratitude and indignation. "This is way beyond our arrangement, Jax."

"I know."

"Then why?" I stepped closer, needing to understand. "Is this a way to ease your conscience about the divorce? A parting gift to the fake wife?"

His expression hardened slightly. "Is that what you think of me? That I'd use money to manipulate emotions?"

"I don't know what to think anymore!" The words burst out louder than intended. "You're sending mixed signals. The extravagant gifts, the surprise trips, the way you look at me sometimes... then you bring up the contract and the arrangement like you're counting down the days until it's over."

"That's not—"

"We kiss, Jax," I interrupted, tears threatening despite my best efforts. "We kiss, and then we never talk about it. We pretend for the cameras, but then you hold my hand when no one's watching. What am I supposed to think?"

He took a step toward me, his expression intense. "What do you want to think, Sienna? What do you want this to be?"

The direct question caught me off guard. What did I want? The answer was both simple and terrifying.

"I don't know how to separate the performance from reality anymore," I admitted, my voice breaking. "I don't know if what I'm feeling is real or just... a product of proximity and pretending."

Tears spilled over, tracking down my cheeks as weeks of confusion and suppressed emotion finally broke through my careful control. Jax moved forward instantly, his hands coming up to cradle my face, thumbs gently wiping away the moisture.

"This is real," he said softly, his eyes holding mine with unwavering intensity. "This—us—it stopped being pretend for me weeks ago."

Before I could process his confession, his lips were on mine, the kiss different from our others—raw, honest, born of genuine emotion rather than calculated performance. I melted into him, arms wrapping around his neck as his encircled my waist, pulling me flush against his solid warmth.

The kiss deepened, his tongue seeking entrance I willingly granted, the taste of him familiar yet thrilling. One of his hands tangled in my hair while the other splayed across my lower back, holding me as if afraid I might disappear.

When we finally broke apart, both breathless, he rested his forehead against mine, eyes closed as if gathering courage.

"I love you," he whispered, the words hanging between us like a fragile, precious thing. "I didn't expect it. Didn't want it. But it happened anyway."

I opened my mouth to respond—to echo his declaration, to confirm the feelings that had been growing inside me for weeks—when his phone rang with Coach Miller's distinctive ringtone. The sound shattered our bubble of intimacy, reality intruding with cruel timing.

"You need to take that," I said, reluctantly stepping back from his embrace. "It could be important with playoffs."

Conflict played across his features—duty warring with desire—before he nodded reluctantly and answered the call. His expression shifted immediately to concern.

"When did it happen?... How bad?... Yes, I'll be there in twenty." He hung up, frustration evident in the tense line of his shoulders. "Emergency team meeting. Nichols took a bad hit in training. They think his playoffs might be over."

The news was serious—Nichols was a key forward, essential to their power play. As much as I wanted to continue our conversation, to explore the confession he'd just made, I understood the reality of playoff hockey.

"Go," I said, managing a small smile. "We'll talk when you get back."

He stepped forward to kiss me once more—brief but full of promise—before grabbing his keys and heading for the door. The look he gave me before leaving conveyed everything words couldn't in that moment.

I stood in the suddenly quiet living room, heart racing, lips still tingling from his kiss, his declaration echoing in my mind.

I love you. I didn't expect it. Didn't want it. But it happened anyway.

My fingers traced the necklace he'd given me weeks ago—the gift I'd questioned but never returned, the symbol of something evolving between us long before either of us was brave enough to name it.