Page 23 of Cold Feet
He was closer now, close enough that I could see my own reflection dancing in his eyes, the faint stubble along his jaw. For one breathless moment, I thought he might reach for my hand, might bring it to his lips in a gesture straight out of the romance novels I pretended not to read.
Instead, he stepped back, creating distance between us again. His hand moved as if to reach for me again, then dropped to his side.
"I should go," he said, glancing at his watch. "Early press breakfast tomorrow before the ceremony. Need my beauty sleep."
"You don't want room service?" I asked, confused.
"Actually…" he said, "I'm beat."
"Of course," I nodded, relief and disappointment mingling confusingly in my chest. "I'll see you tomorrow."
He nodded, already moving toward the door. "Goodnight, Lana."
"Cam," I called as he reached for the handle. "Thank you. For the ring. It's..." I trailed off, unsure how to express what I was feeling without making it weird.
He smiled, a flash of the carefree Cam I was more familiar with. "Just doing my part for the cause. Besides," he added with a wink, "now everyone will know you're off the market."
Before I could respond, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stood frozen for several long moments, the weight of the ring on my finger suddenly the only thing I could focus on. It wasn't excessively heavy – the design was too elegant for that – but its presence was undeniable. Impossible to ignore or forget.
Much like the man who had given it to me.
I moved to the bathroom, standing before the full-length mirror. The woman who stared back at me looked strangely transformed – still me in comfy loungewear with slightly damp hair, but my eyes were brighter, my cheeks flushed. And on my left hand, catching and reflecting the light with every small movement, was a ring that signified me as belonging to someone else.
As belonging to Cam.
My heart thudded heavily in my chest as I turned my hand this way and that, watching blue fire flash from the sapphire's depths. For one fleeting, dangerous moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would feel like if this were real – if tomorrow night wasn't a performance for sponsors and cameras, but a genuine celebration of love found and claimed.
I imagined Cam's arms around me, his voice low in my ear as we danced. Imagined the weight of the ring as I rested my hand against his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath my palm. Imagined what it would be like to return to this room afterward not as colleagues maintaining a professional deception, but as lovers with nothing between us but truth.
The fantasy was so vivid, so alluring that I physically shook my head to dispel it.
"Get it together, Lana," I muttered to myself. "It's not real."
I prepared for bed, setting the ring carefully on the nightstand for safekeeping, but I couldn't ignore the sudden emptiness I felt when it was no longer on my finger. Nor could I explain away the last thought that drifted through my mind before sleep claimed me:
The ring might not be real, but the way it made me feel – the way he made me feel – was becoming harder and harder to pretend away. Tomorrow, we would stand before the hockey world as a madly in love, newly engaged couple. I was no longer absolutely certain where the performance ended and the truth began.
Because the truth was, there was a teensy, tiny but very real part of me that didn't want it to end at all.
Chapter 6
"Stop fidgeting with your ring. It looks like you've never worn one before."
Monica batted my hand away as she made final adjustments to my hair, pinning the last strand into the elegant updo she'd spent forty-five minutes creating. I'd been unconsciously twisting the stunning mermaid sapphire ring on my finger – a nervous habit I'd developed in less than twenty-four hours since Cam had placed it there.
"Sorry," I murmured, forcing my hands to remain still in my lap. "Just…I don’t know…freaking out about tonight a little."
Monica stepped back, giving me a critical once-over before nodding with satisfaction. "You don't need to be. You look perfect."
“Thank you,” I smiled, taking deep breaths through my nose to calm my nerves.
“I could lower the neckline a bit for your big night if you want – what do you think? Professional boob? Or WAG boob?”
A short laugh bubbled up, despite the fact that I was trying to hold my breath in my belly. “Professional boob. I’d like to keep my job once all this is over.”
“Over? What do you mean? The announcement?”
