Page 8

The image of Sienna sliding that ring onto her finger played on repeat in my mind as I drove home. There had been something unexpectedly satisfying about seeing my ring on her hand—a primal, possessive feeling I hadn't anticipated and definitely didn't welcome.

"It's just business," I muttered to myself, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "A mutually beneficial arrangement."

But the memory lingered, her small fingers, the slight tremble as she slipped on the ring, the way it had glinted under the courthouse lights. Perfect fit. Something about that felt significant in a way I couldn't—or wouldn't—articulate.

When I pulled into my driveway, three unfamiliar cars were parked outside my house. For a moment, I considered driving away. The last thing I needed was more people in my space, scrutinizing my life. I'd had enough of that at the courthouse.

Inside, I found a cleaning crew bustling around my usually silent home. A woman with a clipboard approached me immediately.

"Mr. Harrison, we're almost finished with the reorganization. We've cleared half the closet space in the master bedroom as requested, and we're preparing the guest room as a secondary option per Ms. Olivia's instructions."

I frowned. "Ms. Olivia?"

"Your endorsement manager?" The woman's concerned look bordered on incredulous, as if Olivia managing my personal life was the most natural thing in the world. "She was very specific about making space for your... new wife." She said the last two words with a slight lift of her eyebrows.

"Right. Of course." I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly feeling like a stranger in my own house. They'd moved things around, rearranged furniture, opened windows. The sterile perfection I'd cultivated was being systematically dismantled.

I retreated to my office and closed the door, leaning against it and taking a deep breath. This room, at least, remained untouched—a sanctuary of order within the chaos. My phone buzzed with a text from Leo: On my way with documents. Everything went perfectly!

Twenty minutes later, the cleaners were gone, and Leo was spreading documents and proposals across my desk, the Perfect Home Furnishings logo prominently displayed on each page.

"This is impressive," I said, flipping through the detailed endorsement terms. "Three million for a three-year contract?"

Leo grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Told you it would be worth it. They love the whole package—hockey star with the hometown baker. It's marketing gold."

I studied the fine print while Leo fidgeted with his phone, uncharacteristically distracted.

"What's going on with you?" I asked without looking up.

"Nothing. Why?"

"You haven't mentioned the contract value three times or made a joke about buying a yacht." I set the papers down. "And what was that at the courthouse? Between you and Sienna's friend?"

Leo's face flushed—something I'd never seen before. "Chloe? Nothing. Just someone I knew in college."

"Right. And I'm just casually getting married." I raised an eyebrow. "The tension between you two was more intense than during playoff season."

"We had a... thing. It didn't end well." He straightened his tie, a nervous tell I recognized from years of friendship. "Can we focus on tomorrow? The ceremony is set for eleven. Just a civil service, but we've arranged for a few strategic leaks to the press."

"Leaks?" I frowned. "I thought we were keeping this low-key."

"Low-key doesn't sell home furnishings, Jax." Leo shuffled the papers together. "Don't worry, just enough to get the narrative going: hockey bad boy finds love with sweet local baker. It's perfect."

My phone rang suddenly—Finn's name lighting up the screen.

"Captain calling," I said, holding up the phone.

Leo stood. "Take it. I need to make some calls anyway." He paused at the door. "Jax? This is going to work. Just... don't overthink it."

I answered as Leo closed the door. "Hey, Finn."

"So it's true?" Finn's voice held a mixture of disbelief and concern. "You're seriously considering marrying the bakery girl?"

I sighed. "News travels fast."

"I'm coming over. This isn't a phone conversation."

Before I could object, he'd hung up. Thirty minutes later, my doorbell rang. When I opened it, I found not just Finn but Anders standing on my doorstep. The expression on our usually stoic goalie's face told me this wasn't a casual visit.

"Come to stage an intervention?" I asked, stepping aside to let them in.

Finn whistled as he entered. "Place looks different. They're really selling this whole domestic bliss thing, huh?"

I led them to the living room, where houseplants I hadn't purchased now sat on my previously bare shelves. "Olivia’s idea. Said the place should look lived-in for tomorrow."

Anders remained silent, his eyes scanning the room as if analyzing game footage. That's what made Anders such a great goalie—he noticed everything, processed constantly, spoke rarely.

"So," Finn dropped onto my couch, "married. To a woman you threw coffee on, what, two weeks ago?"

"She threw coffee on me," I corrected automatically. "And it's a business arrangement. She needs money for her bakery, I need the endorsement deal. We both get what we want, then we quietly divorce in three months."

Finn exchanged a glance with Anders. "And you’re fine with this plan? Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have suggested it at all."

"Not at all. The plan is already in motion, we signed the marriage license today." I crossed my arms defensively. "Look, I know it's unorthodox—"

"It's insane," Finn interrupted. "You're marrying a complete stranger to sell furniture."

"When you put it that way—"

"That's exactly what you're doing." Finn leaned forward. "Have you considered what happens when feelings get involved? Because they will, Jax. You're going to be living together, appearing together, pretending to be in love."

I scoffed. "I'm not going to fall for her. This is strictly business."

Anders, who'd been silently observing until now, finally spoke. "I was an actor before hockey." His quiet statement surprised both of us into silence.

"In college," he continued, "I played Romeo. The woman playing Juliet and I had to rehearse the love scenes for weeks. We were both seeing other people, both insisted it was just acting." He met my eyes directly. "Three months later, we were together. Broke up with our partners, couldn't explain it. The lines blurred."

I shifted uncomfortably. "This isn't Shakespeare."

"No," Anders agreed. "It's real life, with real consequences. Just be careful, Jax. The heart doesn't always know what's real and what's pretend."

After they left, my phone lit up with notifications. Teammates sending congratulatory texts, some with suggestive emojis, others with genuine questions about why they hadn't been invited. Coach Miller called, his gruff voice barely concealing his concern.

"Harrison, I need your head in the game. Playoffs are coming, and I can't have my top defenseman distracted by honeymoon plans."

"It won't affect my performance, Coach."

"See that it doesn't." He paused. "And Harrison? Congratulations. I guess."

The call that hit hardest came just after ten, my parents' number flashing on the screen. I briefly considered not answering, then sighed and picked up.

"Jackson?" My mother's voice sounded small. "Your father and I think you're rushing very fast into this marriage. We don't even know anything about the girl, and you haven't even invited us to the wedding!"

"Mom, it happened fast. I was going to call—"

"Your cousin saw a post online." Her voice wavered. "My own son getting married, and I find out the details about the girl through social media posts because you haven't told us anything about her."

I heard my father in the background, his deep voice asking for the phone.

"Jax." Dad didn't waste words. "What's going on? This isn't like you."

"I met someone special." The lie tasted bitter. "It's been a whirlwind, but when you know, you know."

"You don't know anything after two weeks," Dad said flatly. "Is she pregnant?"

"What? No!"

"Is she blackmailing you? Does she have dirt on you?" Dad asked, anger filling his voice. "Just say the word. I have connections so deep in police, she'll never see daylight for the rest of her life."

Somehow my father implying Sienna could do such malicious acts made me angry, but I tried my best to contain it. "No, Dad. It's not like that. She would never do that!"

"Then is this about the endorsement deal Leo's been talking about?"

I hesitated a fraction too long.

Dad sighed heavily. "Jesus, Jax. A marriage isn't a business transaction."

"It's not like that," I lied again. "I really care about her."

"Enough to build a life with her? Have children with her? Grow old together?"

Each question felt like a body check into the boards. "Can you just... be happy for me?"

"We want to be," Mom said, having reclaimed the phone. "But this feels wrong, honey. At least let us meet her before—"

"I have to go," I interrupted. "Early morning tomorrow. I'll call you after the ceremony."

I hung up before they could say more, their disappointment lingering in the silence of my living room.

Sleep was impossible. At midnight, I headed to my home gym, cranking the music loud enough to drown out my thoughts. I pushed through rep after rep, punishing my body, trying to exhaust myself into thoughtlessness. It didn't work. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Sienna's face—her expressive eyes, the defiant lift of her chin when she argued with me, the surprising softness of her expression when she'd slipped on the ring.

At three in the morning, drenched in sweat and still wide awake, I wandered through my house. It already felt different—pillows rearranged on couches, unfamiliar throws draped over chairs, those houseplants everywhere. Small changes that somehow transformed the space.

I stopped outside what would be Sienna's bedroom. The door was open, revealing the freshly made bed with new linens, the cleared surfaces of the dresser and nightstand. For a bedroom that had never seen a guest, it looked surprisingly inviting now.

The reality hit me then. Tomorrow, a woman I barely knew would be my wife. She would sleep here, live here, share my space, my kitchen, my bathroom. The careful isolation I'd built around myself would be shattered.

I'd spent years cultivating this controlled existence—no entanglements, no complications, nothing to distract from hockey. Now I was voluntarily inviting chaos into my sanctuary, all for an endorsement deal.

As I stood in the doorway, staring at the room that would soon belong to my wife, Anders' words echoed in my mind, "The heart doesn't always know what's real and what's pretend."

I shook my head, banishing the thought. This was a transaction, nothing more.

So why couldn't I shake the image of her hand wearing my ring?