Sealing the Deal

The click of my heels against the wet pavement outside the restaurant sounds like a countdown, each step bringing me closer to a precipice I’m not sure I’m ready to jump off. The air is crisp, carrying the sharp, metallic scent of a New York autumn, but the moment we step inside the venue Katya selected, the atmosphere shifts instantly.

It is much smaller, darker, and infinitely more intimate than I had anticipated.

I had envisioned a bustling, brightly lit corporate-style steakhouse, a place where we could hide in the sheer volume of a crowd. Instead, I am met with low-hanging amber pendant lights that cast long, flickering shadows across polished mahogany tables. The air is thick with the rich, comforting aromas of garlic, rosemary, and expensive red wine. In the background, a soft, slow jazz melody drifts from hidden speakers, hummed over the quiet clink of silver against porcelain and the low, collective murmur of couples tucked away in velvet booths.

It is, by all definitions, a romantic haven. And because this is my very first time dining out in public since my heartbreaking, soul-crushing breakup seven months ago, my stomach immediately ties itself into a series of tight, inescapable knots.

Katya doesn’t seem to notice my sudden paralysis. She waves off the hostess with a practiced, authoritative flick of her wrist, guiding us toward a semi-private booth in the back corner. As soon as we slide onto the leather seats, she dismisses the waiter who hovers near us, stating casually that we are still waiting on two more people.

I stare down at my hands, resting them against the cool wood of the table. My palms are damp. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to stand up, run out the door, hail a cab, and bury myself under my duvet for the next decade. The last time I sat in a restaurant was seven months ago. It was the night Brooks shattered my life into a million jagged pieces, leaving me sitting alone at a table for two, staring at a ring box that was never meant for me.

After that night, I had locked myself away. Every single time Katya tried to drag me out of my apartment, I shut her down with a ruthlessness born of pure self-preservation. She must have known, or at least suspected, the depth of the humiliation I was hiding from. But she had never pushed me past my breaking point. That quiet respect of my boundaries meant more to me than she would probably ever realize. But tonight, there is no hiding. The stakes are too high.

"You could at least try not to look like you're about to make a massive mess in your pants," Katya mutters, her voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. She picks up her glass of water, taking a slow, elegant sip.

I look up at her. She looks effortlessly, blindingly beautiful. Her dark hair is styled to perfection, her makeup flawless, her posture radiating the kind of easy confidence that I have spent the last ten years slowly shedding. A familiar, ugly pang of envy curls tight in my chest, but I force it down, swallowing the bitter taste of my own insecurity.

"I can't help it," I whisper, my voice trembling slightly. "My chest feels like it’s being squeezed by a vice."

Katya rolls her eyes, but her expression softens just a fraction. "It’s really just Reid," she says, her tone entirely casual, as if we are meeting up with an old high school classmate rather than one of the most famous, highly publicized athletes in the country. "Like, of all the people on this planet, he is the absolute last person you should be nervous about. Honestly, Adeline? You should be far more concerned about him trying to get into your pants than anything else."

I let out a sharp, breathless snort, but the joke doesn’t land the way she probably intended.

Instead, my stomach twists in a completely different direction. A cold, heavy weight settles in my chest. Perhaps Brooks’s sudden, devastating marriage to another woman has truly, deeply warped my mind. Perhaps those ten years of being told I wasn't enough, of being molded into a quiet, compliant shadow of a woman, have permanently broken my perception of myself.

The words slip past my lips before my brain can construct a filter to stop them.

"Should I be worried about him doing that with other women?" I ask, my voice barely audible over the jazz music. I pause, my eyes locked onto hers, before the real, ugly question slips out. "Or... even with you?"

Katya freezes. For a split second, she looks at me like I have just grown a second head. She is a PR expert, a woman who reads people for a living, and like a hound picking up a fresh scent, she hears the desperate, pathetic insecurity hidden beneath my question. She sees right through the armor of my white silk dress and red lipstick.

Then, she bursts into a fit of loud, coughing laughter.

She laughs so hard that a few people at neighboring tables turn to look. She clutches her stomach, her shoulders shaking, until she genuinely begins to choke on her own breath. I have to lean across the table, my cheeks burning with a hot, agonizing wave of humiliation, and pat her back until she finally manages to draw in air.

"Oh my God," Katya wheezes, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. She looks at my face, sees the utter mortification painted across it, and immediately tries to rein it in. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, babe. I shouldn't have laughed. But holy shit."

"Please stop talking," I groan, burying my face in my hands. The heat radiating from my cheeks is enough to singe my eyelashes.

I cannot believe I just said that. I cannot believe I have allowed myself to turn into this—this pathetic, deeply insecure mess of a human being. I am sitting here, jealous and paranoid about my own best friend, a woman who has done nothing but champion me and support me through the darkest period of my life. What the hell is wrong with me?

"Hey," Katya says, her voice turning remarkably soft as she reaches across the table and gently pats my shoulder. "Look at me, Adeline. Seriously, look at me."

I slowly lower my hands, peek through my fingers, and finally drop them to the table. Her eyes are still bright with lingering amusement, but there is an undeniable warmth in them.

"I said the guy was incredibly attractive, which he is," Katya says, her tone firm and reassuring. "But I wouldn't touch Reid Harrington with a ten-foot pole. He is a client, a friend, and a massive headache wrapped in a golden-boy package. He is all yours for this deal. Really. You have absolutely nothing to worry about when it comes to me."

I let out a long, ragged groan, dropping my forehead onto the cool mahogany of the table. "I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole. Right now. Just let me die here."

Katya chuckles, a softer, kinder sound this time. "No dying allowed. Not when you look that good in white."

I raise my head, taking a deep, stabilizing breath. I try to shake off the lingering fog of my own embarrassment. It is ridiculous, really. I am spiraling over a man I haven't even met yet, letting the ghosts of my past relationship dictate how I interact with the present. I usually keep the jealous, insecure parts of my personality locked away in a dark corner of my mind, especially around Katya. She has always been the effortlessly perfect, glowing star in every room, and I have always been... well, just Adeline. But lately, with the wedding announcement and the sheer pressure of this revenge plot, everything has felt far too loud, far too overwhelming.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, looking at her honestly. "I shouldn't have asked that. It was stupid."

Katya shrugs, dismissing my apology with an easy wave of her hand. "You don't need to apologize for anything. Your ex is a manipulative prick who spent a decade chipping away at your self-esteem. It's going to take more than seven months and a pretty dress to undo that. But that’s why we're here tonight. To start rebuilding."

Before I can respond to the unexpected depth of her words, her phone buzzes loudly against the wood of the table. She glances down at the screen, and a wide, predatory grin spreads across her face.

"They're here," she announces, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

My heart does a violent, uncomfortable flip against my ribs. *They?*

Before I can ask her to clarify, the heavy wooden door of the restaurant swings open, letting in a sudden draft of cool night air. I don't need Katya to point him out. Somehow, the very second he steps over the threshold, I just know it’s him.

Reid Harrington walks into the room, and it’s as if the low-energy atmosphere of the restaurant instantly recalibrates itself to revolve around him. He doesn't stride in with the arrogant, chest-puffing swagger that Brooks always used to mask his insecurities. Instead, Reid moves with a quiet, effortless grace, carrying himself like a man who simply belongs wherever he happens to be.

He is exceptionally tall, easily clearing six feet, with broad, powerful shoulders that stretch the fabric of his dark jacket. He has the lean, heavily muscled build of an elite athlete, but there is nothing brutal about his appearance. His blond hair is slightly tousled, looking as though he had run a quick, distracted hand through it right before stepping inside.

As his gaze sweeps the restaurant, his light blue eyes eventually land on our booth. The moment he sees me, his stride falters for a fraction of a second. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and his lips part before curving into a warm, genuine smile. The movement reveals a pair of deep, symmetrical dimples that makes my breath hitch in my throat.

He is hot. He is really, really, ridiculously hot.

But it’s a different kind of attractive than what I am used to. Brooks was polished, manicured, and wore his looks like a weapon to demand attention. Reid is a golden boy. He possesses an effortless, boy-next-door charm that feels entirely unstudied, yet so potent that it’s nearly impossible to look away.

As he gets closer, a strange sense of familiarity washes over me. I had thought Katya was just messing with my head when she claimed we had gone to the same college. But looking at him now, seeing the bright, blinding aura of familiarity that surrounds him, I realize she was telling the truth. I had seen him on campus. Everyone had. He was just always on a completely different planet than I was.

"Hey," Reid says, his voice a low, smooth rumble that vibrates pleasantly in my chest. He slides into the booth directly across from me, moving with a familiarity that makes it feel like we’ve shared this table a hundred times before. He locks his bright blue eyes onto mine. "Adeline, right?"

I nod, suddenly hyper-aware of everything. I am hyper-aware of the way I am sitting, the way my hands are resting on the table, the way the silk of my dress clings to my collarbones, and most of all, the intense, unwavering way he is looking at me.

"Yes," I manage to say, my voice steady, though my heart is hammering like a trapped bird. "Nice to meet you, Reid."

Before the moment can stretch any further, a second figure flops heavily into the empty seat beside Reid, letting out a theatrical, winded sigh that shatters the quiet tension.

"Okay, wow," the newcomer says, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjust to the dim light of our booth, eventually settling directly on me. "Nobody warned me that we were dining with an actual, literal goddess tonight. I feel wildly, offensively underdressed. Reid, why didn't you tell me to wear a suit?"

Katya snorts loudly into her water glass. "Adeline, meet Garrett, New York's semi-competent goalie and a professional pain in my ass. Garrett, this Greek goddess next to me is indeed my best friend, Adeline."

"I am going to pretend I didn't hear that middle part, Katie Misha," Garrett says, his eyes narrowing playfully at Katya before he turns his full attention back to me. He flashes a wide, easy grin, holding out a hand across the table. "It's just Garry, by the way. Let's just get the hierarchy out of the way before we order. I'm the funny, incredibly charming one. Reid over here is the golden boy who can do no wrong. And Katya, as you know, is the absolute source of all chaos in our lives."

"Obviously," Katya agrees smoothly, not looking bothered by the description in the slightest.

Reid slowly shakes his head, a mixture of fondness and sheer exhaustion crossing his handsome features. He doesn't look at Garry; instead, his focus remains entirely on me. He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, bringing himself closer.

"I am incredibly sorry about him," Reid says, his voice dropping into a lower, more private register meant only for my ears. "He doesn't have an off switch. He genuinely can't help himself."

I glance over at Garry, who has already picked up his menu and is currently studying the appetizers with an expression of intense, personal offense.

"I think I'll manage," I say, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The smoothness of my own response surprises me.

Reid’s smile deepens, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks, and a spark of genuine pleasure lights up his blue eyes. "Good. Because he only gets worse from here."

"And this is Reid, but I'm sure you already guessed that," Katya chimes in, her eyes glinting with a wicked mischief that tells me she has absolutely not forgotten our humiliating conversation from ten minutes ago.

I feel a flush creeping back up my neck and sink a little deeper into the leather booth. "I did. It's really nice to meet you, Reid," I say, keeping my gaze locked on his. I am privately proud of myself for not completely losing my train of thought while staring into eyes that look like a clear winter sky.

Beside us, Garry and Katya both snort simultaneously.

Reid looks back and forth between us, a faint crease forming between his brows as if he’s trying to decipher an inside joke he wasn't invited to. But he quickly brushes it off, offering me another dazzling, dimpled smile that makes my breath catch again. "I assume Katya has told you only terrible things about me?"

"Naturally," Katya mutters under her breath before I can answer.

I raise an eyebrow at her. Despite her cynical tone, it’s glaringly obvious to anyone with eyes that she has an incredibly high opinion of Reid. She wouldn't have brought him into this—she wouldn't have trusted him with me—if she didn't.

"So," Garry says, suddenly clapping his menu shut and leaning over the table, his eyes wide with mock seriousness. "What’s the actual game plan here? Are we sealing this fake relationship tonight with a dramatic, slow-motion hand-hold? Maybe we should practice some light, tender forehead kisses right now, just to make sure the chemistry is dialed in?"

I instantly choke on my own saliva, letting out a violent cough. *Forehead kisses?*

Reid lets out a low, pained groan, bringing a broad hand up to rub slowly down his face. From the sheer weariness of his reaction, I gather that this kind of behavior is a daily occurrence between them.

"For the love of God, Garry," Reid mutters into his palm, his voice muffled but lethal. "Stop talking. Just stop."

Garry completely ignores him, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "I'm just saying, if we're going to commit to the bit, we need to commit 100%. We need public displays of affection. We need ridiculous, sickening pet names. Oh! And Reid is actually top-tier at the whole 'protective, possessive boyfriend' routine. Adeline, you should absolutely let him do the arm-around-the-shoulders move. He’s got the wingspan for it."

"I am going to physically throw you out of this restaurant," Reid threatens. Despite the words, his tone is filled with quiet exasperation rather than actual malice. He looks like a man who has accepted his fate but still feels obligated to protest.

Garry grins, completely unfazed by the threat of physical violence. He turns his head back to me, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Pro tip from a teammate: he is fantastic at pretending. Absolute boyfriend material. He’ll even text you a sweet 'good morning' text every day and make you believe he actually means it."

I tilt my head, studying the two of them. The easy, natural banter between them is infectious, and for the first time in seven months, the suffocating weight of my anxiety begins to lift, replaced by a strange, bubbling amusement.

"Should I take that as a warning, then?" I ask, my eyes flitting between Reid and Garry. "Is he 'most likely to make me fall in love and then break my heart right after'?"

"No," Reid says instantly, his voice sharp and firm.

"Definitely," Garry says at the exact same moment.

The look Reid shoots his teammate is so incredibly dark, so intensely warning, that Garry immediately raises both hands in a gesture of mock surrender.

"Fine, fine! I'll behave. For now," Garry says, though the twinkle in his eyes suggests otherwise. He lowers his hands, leaning forward again, his expression shifting to something slightly more curious. "But seriously, Adeline. What do you actually get out of this deal? Because from where I’m sitting, Reid is scoring major points just by being allowed to be seen in public with you. I just want to make sure this is a fair trade."

I blink, the sudden shift in the conversation catching me off guard. "Um..."

I look to Katya for help, but the absolute traitor is currently sipping her water with an expression of pure, unadulterated delight. She looks like she’s watching the season finale of her favorite reality television show.

I struggle to find a coherent answer. How do I explain to a stranger that I am doing this to survive? How do I explain that I need to walk into my ex-fiancé’s wedding with a man so incredibly out of his league that it will retroactively rewrite ten years of feeling small and insignificant? How do I say out loud that I want to break Brooks’s ego the way he broke my heart?

Before the silence can turn awkward, Reid steps in. He doesn't take his eyes off me, his gaze quiet, steady, and incredibly intense.

"We don't have to talk about that right now," Reid says. His voice is soft, but it carries a firm, unyielding authority that brooks no argument. He looks directly into my eyes, offering me a lifeline. "There's no pressure, Adeline. We have plenty of time."

An incredibly strange thing happens in that moment. As I look into his clear blue eyes, surrounded by the warm, dim light of the restaurant and the low hum of the crowd, I actually feel myself let out a long, slow exhale. The tight knot of tension in my chest loosens just a little more. I barely know this man—he is a stranger, a famous hockey player with a complicated reputation—but something about the steady, protective way he says those words makes me believe him. It makes me feel safe.

But, of course, Katya is not one to let a tender, silent moment linger.

"Actually, we are sealing the deal legally tonight," she says, popping the quiet bubble that had formed between Reid and me.

With a smooth, practiced motion, she reaches into her designer bag, pulls out two stapled, white paper documents, and slides them across the polished mahogany table. They land with a soft thud directly between Reid and me.

Reid and I exchange a brief, silent glance before we both reach out and pick up a copy. The paper feels heavy, official, and terrifyingly real.

"I kept the language of the contract as simple and straightforward as possible," Katya continues, her voice shifting effortlessly into her professional, no-nonsense PR executive tone. "But let me give you the highlights so we're all on the same page."

She leans back, her eyes tracking our reactions. "Brooks Sinclair’s upcoming wedding and the subsequent cruise are going to be extremely high-profile events. The media coverage is going to be massive."

She doesn't use the words *your ex*, and while I deeply appreciate the professional courtesy, the omission doesn't do much to soften the sharp blow of hearing his name. Reid was Brooks’s former idol, his teammate. Of course Reid knows we dated. And from the quiet, serious way Reid is looking at me right now, he knows exactly how horribly that relationship ended. He knows I was discarded.

"While we are on the cruise, public displays of affection are not legally mandated," Katya explains, tapping her manicured finger against the table. "But they are highly, highly encouraged. The more convincing you two look, the better the fallout will be. There won't be any mainstream media or paparazzi allowed on the cruise itself, which means our primary audience will be the guests. We need every single person on that ship to believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that you two are head over heels in love."

She pauses, letting the weight of her words sink in.

"The arrangement is set for a strict one-year duration," Katya says. "Though it can be terminated earlier if, and only if, both of you agree that you have gotten what you need out of the arrangement. The dynamic is simple: Reid attends this high-profile cruise with a gorgeous, captivating new girlfriend on his arm—"

"Why, thank you," I mutter, a small, sarcastic smile playing on my lips.

Katya smirks, entirely unfazed. "—and Adeline, in turn, makes him look like a heartbroken heartbreaker. We want just enough public sympathy on Reid's side to completely shift the current media narrative surrounding his personal life."

I arch a single, questioning brow at the man sitting across from me. "A heartbroken heartbreaker, huh?"

Reid grins back, his dimples flashing in the dim light, effortlessly charming. "Tragic, isn't it? Truly devastating."

Katya claps her hands together, a sharp sound that brings our focus back to her. "After the cruise is over, you will both be expected to keep up the happy couple act in public until the one-year contract officially expires. This includes selective public outings, social media engagement, and occasional appearances at team events. You will also both be signing a strict Non-Disclosure Agreement. This means absolutely no spilling the details of this arrangement to anyone outside of this table and the necessary logistics team. No friends, no family, no exceptions. Any questions?"

Reid and I look at each other. The silence between us is charged, filled with a sudden, heavy weight of reality. This isn't just a crazy idea we talked about in my living room anymore. This is a legal document. This is a commitment that will tie my life to his for the next twelve months.

We both slowly shake our heads.

"Great!" Katya beams, her face splitting into a wide, triumphant smile. "Take a few minutes to read through the actual text, sign the papers, and hand them back to me. Then we can actually enjoy our dinner."

Reid and I both look down at the documents in our hands.

I flip through the pages, my eyes scanning the neat black text. Just as Katya promised, it is remarkably short and to the point. There are no confusing legal loopholes, no tiny fine print hidden in the margins, no traps. It outlines the timeline, the expectations of public behavior, the strict NDA guidelines, and the terms of termination. It is a clean, simple, fake relationship with a clear expiration date.

I look up. Reid is already holding a heavy black pen. He catches my eye, offering me a small, encouraging nod. Without a hint of hesitation, he presses the pen to the paper and signs his name in a bold, sweeping cursive script at the bottom of the page.

My hand shakes slightly as I pick up my own pen. I stare at the blank line next to his signature.

*This is it,* I think to use. *There’s no turning back.*

I press the tip of the pen to the paper. I think of Brooks’s smug, arrogant face. I think of the ten years I wasted trying to be small enough to fit into his world. I think of the white silk dress I am wearing, and the fire that Katya ignited in my chest before we left my apartment.

With a swift, decisive movement, I sign my name.

The ink is barely dry before Katya snatches both documents off the table, her eyes scanning the signatures with a look of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. She tucks them carefully away into her bag, zipping it shut with a definitive click.

She looks up at us, her grin wide and wicked.

"Congratulations, lovebirds," she says, her voice dripping with amusement. "You are officially dating."