Page 105 of Faking It For Real

As we clinked glasses, I was struck by how much had changed since the beginning of the year. Back then, I'd been desperate for financial stability, viewing Ethan as nothing more than an entitled jock who'd nearly injured himself yelling at me. Now, somehow, he'd become the center of my world, and these people around the table had become family.

The night before graduation, Ethan surprised me with dinner reservations at an upscale restaurant overlooking the city that normally required weeks of advance booking.

"How did you manage this?" I asked as we were led to a prime table on the terrace, twinkling lights illuminating the spectacular view.

"I might have mentioned to the owner that I scored the winning goal in our University's first-ever hockey championship," Ethan admitted with a slight smirk. "Turns out he's a massive hockey fan."

"Shameless exploitation of your local celebrity status," I teased. "I approve."

Under the stars, with the city spread before us, we savored both the excellent food and the significance of the moment—our last night as college students, poised on the brink of our professional lives.

After our meal, Ethan reached into his jacket pocket, producing a small box tied with a silver ribbon. "I have something for you."

"Ethan, you didn't need to—"

"I wanted to," he interrupted gently, pushing the box across the table. "Open it."

Inside, nestled on velvet, was a delicate silver necklace with a tiny camera charm. The detail was exquisite, down to the miniature lens that actually moved. Accompanying it was a card in Ethan's distinctive handwriting:

For the woman who saw me—really saw me—when no one else did. Carry this reminder that your perspective has changed my world. All my love, E.

My throat tightened with emotion. "It's perfect," I whispered. "Will you put it on me?"

Ethan moved behind my chair, his fingers warm against my neck as he fastened the clasp. The small charm rested perfectly in the hollow of my throat, catching the light as I turned.

"I have something for you too," I said when he returned to his seat. I reached into my bag, pulling out a carefully wrapped frame. "It's not as portable as yours, but..."

He unwrapped it slowly, his expression softening as he revealed the contents—a framed print of my favorite photograph of him in mid-game, expression intense but joyful, completely in his element on the ice. Like his gift, mine came with a note:

To remind you why you play, when the pressure gets too much. This joy is your true power. Love always, M.

Ethan stared at the image for a long moment, running his fingers lightly over the glass.

"This is who you are," I said quietly. "When you're most authentically yourself."

He reached across the table, taking my hand in his. "Thank you. Not just for this—" he gestured to the photograph "—but for everything. For seeing past the hockey captain, for calling me on my bullshit, for agreeing to a ridiculous fake dating scheme that somehow led to the most real thing in my life."

"You're welcome," I replied, my voice teasing but my eyes serious. "Though technically, you should be thanking Vanessa. Without her, you never would have proposed our arrangement."

Ethan laughed. "I'll send her a fruit basket.'Thanks for being so clingy that I had to fake-date a beautiful photographer who ended up changing my life.' Think that would fit on a card?"

"Might need a bigger basket," I suggested solemnly.

Under the stars, with the city lights twinkling below us, I realized how beautifully unexpected life could be. For me, who began this year focused solely on surviving financially and advancing my career, finding love was never part of the plan. Yet sitting across from Ethan, his face illuminated by candlelight, I understood that sometimes the most beautiful photographs are the ones you never planned to take.

Chapter 25: Mia

One year later.

"You're going to wear out your lens cap if you keep fidgeting with it," Olivia observed from beside me on the press platform overlooking the university hockey rink. "He's played hundreds of professional games this year. This alumni exhibition doesn't even count."

"I know," I admitted, forcing myself to stop the nervous adjustment of my equipment. "But this is different. This is where it all started."

The arena buzzed with familiar excitement during alumni weekend, students and graduates mingling in the stands. I shifted my professional camera—now emblazoned with theSports Illustrationslogo—ensuring I had the perfect angle for when the players took the ice.

"Hard to believe it's been a year," Olivia mused, glancing around the packed arena. "Feels like yesterday we were rushing across campus to cover our first hockey practice, and you were ranting about entitled athletes."

"Please never repeat that rant to Ethan," I groaned. "He already teases me enough about my initial opinion of hockey players."

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