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After Sienna left, I stood in my living room, strangely unsettled. Leo was reviewing the meeting notes, a satisfied expression on his face.

"That went well," he declared, closing his folder. "She's practical, sharp—I like her. And she didn't immediately reject the idea, which is progress."

"She hasn't agreed yet," I reminded him. "She still needs to review the contracts, consult her lawyer."

"She'll agree," Leo said confidently. "She's running out of options for the bakery, and she knows it." He checked his watch. "Olivia and I need to get going—we have to fast-track those marriage license arrangements if we're really doing this."

After Leo left with Olivia, I found myself wandering through my house, seeing it through Sienna's eyes. She wasn't wrong—the place did look more like an upscale hotel than a home. I'd never given it much thought before; I was rarely here except to sleep, shower, and occasionally watch game footage.

I ended up in the kitchen, recalling the way Sienna had examined the space, her expression softening with professional appreciation. It was the first genuine enthusiasm I'd seen from her during the entire meeting, and something about it had been oddly captivating.

Despite my usual need for absolute order and privacy, I found myself unbothered by the thought of her presence, her touch on my carefully maintained home.

At team practice the next morning, I couldn't focus. Coach Miller had us running passing drills, and I missed several obvious plays, earning his whistle-sharp criticism.

"Harrison! What's going on with you today? That's the third missed pass! Get your head in the game!"

I nodded tersely, refocusing on the drill. But my mind kept drifting to Sienna—her unexpected negotiation skills, her fierceness about her bakery, the way her eyes had lit up in my kitchen.

In the locker room after practice, Finn dropped onto the bench beside me.

"You look distracted," he observed. "Any progress with your baker girl?"

"She's not 'my baker girl,'" I corrected automatically. "But yes, we met yesterday to discuss the arrangement. She's considering it."

Finn raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? She might actually agree?"

"It looks that way," I confirmed, pulling off my practice jersey. "Leo's already preparing the paperwork."

"Wow." Finn studied my face. "You know, I was half-joking when I suggested the whole marriage thing. I didn't think you'd actually go through with it—or that any woman in her right mind would agree to marry you, even temporarily."

I shot him a look. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I just mean..." Finn hesitated. "Be careful with her, okay? This might be a business arrangement to you, but it's still marriage. Even a fake one has real consequences."

"We're both adults," I said, slightly irritated by his concern. "We know what we're getting into. It's mutually beneficial and temporary."

"If you say so." Finn didn't look convinced. "Just don't forget she's a person, not a contract clause. And living together tends to complicate things, even when it's supposed to be simple."

His warning stayed with me throughout the day, a nagging discomfort I couldn't quite shake. But it was too late to reconsider—Leo texted that afternoon confirming he'd sent the contracts to Sienna and her lawyer, and everything was proceeding as planned.

Later that week, I met Olivia at a high-end jewelry store on Fifth Avenue, to buy wedding rings for my fake marriage. The moment we walked in, a salesperson approached with a practiced smile.

"Welcome to Carlisle's. How can I assist you today?"

"We're looking for wedding rings," Olivia explained smoothly. "Something elegant but not ostentatious."

The salesperson beamed. "Congratulations! When's the big day?"

"Oh, we're not—" I began, but Olivia cut me off.

"Very soon," she said with a smile. "We're on a tight timeline."

I shot her a questioning look, which she ignored, following the salesperson to a display case.

"Why did you let her think we're the couple?" I asked quietly.

"Because it's simpler than explaining that I'm helping a hockey player buy a ring for his fake marriage," Olivia replied under her breath. "Now focus. The ring needs to look authentic but not over-the-top."

The salesperson presented several options, describing each in detail, while I tried to imagine them on Sienna's hand. Most seemed wrong somehow—too flashy, too modern, or too traditional.

Then I saw it: a vintage-inspired design with a center diamond surrounded by a delicate halo of smaller stones, the band intricately engraved with a subtle floral pattern. It reminded me of the vintage aesthetic of Sienna's bakery, elegant without being showy.

"That one," I said, cutting off the salesperson's description of another ring.

Olivia looked surprised. "Are you sure? I thought you'd go for something more modern."

"It's not for me," I reminded her. "It's for Sienna. And this seems like her."

Olivia studied me for a moment before nodding to the salesperson. "We'll take that one. And a matching band for him—something simple."

As the salesperson boxed up our selections, my phone rang. My mother's name flashed on the screen.

"Hi, Mom," I answered, stepping away from the counter.

"Jax, sweetheart, I've just seen the strangest thing on Emily’s social media post. Aren't you friends with her husband?"

Emily was a social media influencer married to one of the Kraken's corporate sponsors. "We're acquainted, yes. Why?"

"Well, she posted a video from Carlisle's Jewelry, and I could swear I saw you in the background, looking at wedding rings. With a very stylish young woman."

I froze, spotting Emily across the store, her phone still raised as she examined a necklace display. Perfect. Just what I needed. More social media attention.

In a split-second decision, I said, "Yes, that was probably me."

"Are you shopping for wedding rings?" My mother's voice rose with excitement. "Jackson Harrison, is there something you need to tell your father and me?"

I closed my eyes, immediately regretting my impulse. But now that I'd started, I couldn't walk it back. "Yes, Mom. I'm getting married."

The shriek that followed was loud enough that Olivia heard it from across the store, shooting me an alarmed look.

"Married? When? To whom? How long have you been seeing someone? Why haven't you told us about her? Is she nice? What does she do? When can we meet her?"

The questions came rapid-fire, my mother's voice vibrating with emotion.

"It's recent," I hedged. "Very recent. And yes, she's wonderful. Her name is Sienna, and she owns a bakery. It's all happened quickly, but when you know, you know."

I couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth, clichés I'd always mocked in others, now my own cover story.

"A baker? How lovely! Your father and I want to meet her immediately. We can fly out next weekend."

"No," I said too quickly. "I mean, not yet. We're still settling into things. Planning a small ceremony soon. I'll let you know when it's a good time to visit."

After several more minutes of deflecting questions and promising details soon, I finally escaped the call. Olivia approached with our purchases, one eyebrow raised.

"Problem?"

"My mother saw us on someone's social media post. I may have... told her I'm getting married."

Olivia's eyes widened. "You weren't supposed to tell family yet! We haven't finalized the timeline or story!"

"I know," I grimaced. "It just came out. Now she wants to meet Sienna."

"Well, you'd better hope Ms. Williams agrees to this arrangement," Olivia said dryly. "Or you'll have a very awkward conversation with your mother."

Back home, the weight of what I was doing finally hit me. This wasn't just a simple business arrangement anymore. I'd dragged my family into the lie, complicated things in ways I hadn't anticipated. Finn's warning echoed in my mind, that even a fake marriage has real consequences.

That evening, I texted Sienna about the marriage license appointment the following day, keeping my message businesslike:

Appointment at county clerk's office tomorrow at 10 AM for marriage license. Leo will pick you up at 9:30. Let me know if that doesn't work.

Her reply came minutes later, equally formal:

That works. I'll be ready. Also, does your kitchen have a stand mixer? And if so, what brand?

The unexpected question about kitchen equipment made me smile for the first time that day. I replied:

I have no idea. I'll check when I get home and let you know. Planning to bake already?

Her response came quickly:

A baker without a mixer is like a hockey player without skates. Just preparing for married life, handsome!

The teasing tone caught me off guard, as did the unexpected warmth that spread through me at her playful message. I found myself typing:

Should I be preparing for flour in unexpected places, sweetie pie?

I hesitated before sending it, surprised by my own impulse to engage in this pretend-couple banter. But it felt right somehow, a practice run for the role we'd soon be playing.

Her reply made me laugh:

Only if you're naughty, sweetheart. But don't worry, I'll make sure you're thoroughly dusted off before your big important meetings. We can't have the CEO of Perfect Home Furnishings thinking you're not perfectly put together, can we?

We continued back and forth for a while, the conversation veering between practical questions about living arrangements and this strange flirtatious parody of marital affection.

Later that night, I found myself in my rarely-used kitchen, opening cabinets to check my baking equipment. I did indeed have a high-end stand mixer, still in its original packaging, a housewarming gift from my parents that I'd never used. There were other appliances too, equally pristine—a food processor, a blender, even a bread maker.

As I cataloged these unused tools, I realized I was actually looking forward to Sienna's arrival, to watching her bring life to this sterile space. The thought should have alarmed me. But somehow, the prospect of Sienna disrupting my carefully ordered existence didn't feel like a threat. It felt like possibility.