Page 25 of Cold Feet
As my hand settled into the crook of his elbow, the sapphire on my finger caught the light, sending blue reflections dancing across the polished marble floor. Cam's eyes followed the movement, his expression softening into a smile that made my heart triple axel in my chest.
"Let's give them something to talk about," he said, leaning down until his lips nearly brushed my ear, sending tingles racing down my spine. "I promise to behave... mostly."
The ten-minute drive passed in a blur of last-minute preparations – Cam confirming which reporters we should prioritize, me reviewing potential questions and optimal responses. It was familiar territory, the kind of strategic planning we'd done together dozens of times over the years. Only this time, we were the subject, not some player needing guidance.
"Remember," I said as our car approached the venue, "we're not explicitly claiming to be engaged. We're just..."
"Not correcting anyone who assumes we are," Cam finished, his knee brushing mine as he shifted in his seat. "I know the plan, Lana. Trust me, okay?"
Trust. Such a simple concept, yet so complicated between us. I'd trusted him once, with my body and my heart, and had woken to an empty bed and ten years of wondering what I'd done wrong. Now I was trusting him again. But this time with my career, my reputation, and if I was being honest, something dangerously close to my heartagain.
"I do," I said softly, surprised to find I meant it. "Butpleasedon't fuck this up."
The car slowed to a stop. Through the tinted windows, I could see the flashbulbs already popping, the crowd of reporters and photographers lining the red carpet. My pulse quickened, adrenaline flooding my system – that familiar mix of anxiety and excitement that came with any high-stakes public appearance. It was fine. I had a lifetime of training to look relaxed and happy on the outside. The usual,just happy to be here for the team.
Cam reached across the seat, his fingers finding mine and squeezing gently. "Ready?"
I took a deep breath, centering myself. "Ready."
The driver opened the door, and we stepped into the chaos.
The red carpet was a gauntlet of lights, cameras, and shouted questions, but with Cam's hand holding mine, I navigated it with practiced ease. We paused for photos, him tall and devastating in his tuxedo, me smiling my carefully calibrated PR smile, the sapphire ring prominently displayed on my left hand.
"Cam! Over here!" A photographer called, motioning for us to turn slightly. "Lana, hand on his chest!"
I complied, placing my palm against the solid warmth of Cam's chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken through the layers of his tuxedo. His arm tightened around my waist, drawing me closer until we were pressed together from shoulder to hip, a study in coordinated elegance.
"Perfect!" another voice called. "Now look at each other!"
Cam turned toward me, and I tilted my face up to his, prepared to offer the camera-ready smile I'd perfected over years of public events. But the expression in his eyes – intense, focused entirely on me as if the cameras and chaos had disappeared – caught me off guard. My smile faltered, replaced by something more genuine, more vulnerable.
"You're doing great," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
More flashes exploded around us, but in that moment, I barely noticed them. All I could focus on was Cam – the blue of his eyes, the delectable curve of his mouth, the way his hand at my waist felt both protective and possessive.
We moved down the carpet, stopping for brief interviews along the way. The questions were exactly what we'd prepared for:
"How long have you two been together?"
"When did you know it was serious?"
"Can we see the ring?"
We delivered our rehearsed responses with practiced ease, letting Cam take the lead when appropriate, stepping in when needed. We were a well-oiled machine, finishing each other's sentences, exchanging fond glances, playing the perfect couple with an ease that should have concerned me more than it did.
As we neared the end of the carpet, a reporter fromHockey Nightcalled out to Cam.
"Murphy! Your contract renewal is coming up soon, and there are rumors about that big sneaker deal with Redline. Any comment on how your new relationship status might affect those negotiations?"
Cam's expression remained perfectly neutral, but I felt his body tense slightly beside me. This was it – the moment this whole charade had been designed for.
"I'd say my personal life has made me more focused than ever," Cam replied with just the right balance of confidence and humility. "When you find someone who believes in you, who challenges you to be better both on and off the ice..." He looked at me, his expression softening. "It changes your perspective. I'm playing the best hockey of my career right now, and I think any brand would want to be associated with that kind of positive momentum."
It was a perfect answer: authentic without being schmaltzy, confident without being arrogant, and it neatly sidestepped the direct question about our relationship status while still conveying exactly the message we wanted to send.
Pride swelled in my chest, followed immediately by a pang of something that felt uncomfortably like guilt. Cam was good at this – too good. So good that for a moment, even I found myself believing the fiction we'd created.
As we finally entered the venue, leaving the red carpet chaos behind, Cam leaned down to whisper in my ear. "How'd I do, Coach?"
