Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Valentina
It’s Time to Play By Her Rules
The helicopter lands smoothly on the helipad, and I let out a shaky breath, my fingers still gripping the armrests like they’re the only thing keeping me alive. My nerves are still frayed, but I force myself to square my shoulders and unbuckle. This isn’t the time to show weakness.
Kaden moves to help me down, extending a hand as the wind from the rotors kicks up around us. I hesitate for half a second before grabbing it, and the next thing I know, I’m stumbling slightly on the last step. His hands catch me by the waist, steadying me as I half-fall into him.
And just like that, we’re too close. His sunglasses hide his eyes, but I can feel his gaze anyway, heavy and unrelenting. His hands linger a beat too long, firm and warm, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of how solid he feels against me. My breath catches as our faces almost collide, his mouth so close I can feel the heat of his breath mixing with mine.
I don’t know what comes over me, but for one ridiculous second, I think about kissing him. It’s an insane thought—one I shove down fast enough to make my head spin.
“You good?” he asks, his voice low and rough, snapping me out of my daze.
“Fine,” I say quickly, stepping back and smoothing down my jacket like it might hide the fact that my heart is doing cartwheels. “Lead the way.”
Kaden doesn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitches, and I swear he’s fighting a smirk as he grabs my bag and starts toward the house.
I follow, tugging my jacket tighter around me, trying to focus on anything other than the lingering warmth where his hands had been. The estate sprawls out before us, with manicured lawns, gleaming glass windows, and a hint of something floral in the air. A pair of horses graze lazily near the stables, utterly unbothered by our arrival.
Inside, the luxury hits like a slap in the face. Vaulted ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows letting in golden sunlight, and an open floor plan that looks like something out of Architectural Digest. It’s not just a house—it’s a statement.
Kaden tosses my bag onto a sleek bench near the entryway before nodding toward a massive sectional sofa near a stone fireplace. “Sit wherever you want, I’m going to the kitchen.”
I don’t sit. Not yet. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest and plant myself in front of him. “We need to talk.”
He groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Jesus, Valentina. Can it wait until I’ve had something to drink?”
“No,” I say firmly, standing my ground. “We need ground rules, and we need them now. I’m not spending the next year winging this fake relationship just because you’re too hungover to care.”
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. “Fine. Let’s hear it.”
I take a step closer, pointing a finger at him. “Rule one: no impromptu narrative. We stick to the story Kimmy came up with. If anyone asks, we’ve been keeping things private but decided to make it official after Brittany pulled that online stunt. No improvising, no ‘surprise twists.’”
“Noted,” he says, his tone dry. “Next?”
“Rule two: personal boundaries. No getting handsy unless we’re in public and it’s necessary to sell the story.”
His eyebrow arches above his sunglasses. “Handsy? You mean like when you threw yourself at me getting out of the helicopter?”
I glare at him, my cheeks heating. “That was not throwing myself at you. That was survival. I almost fell, and you caught me, which I appreciate.”
“Looked pretty handsy to me,” he mutters, but I ignore him.
“Rule three: no comments about my personal life. You don’t get to make digs about my job, my past, or my divorce.”
At that, his smirk vanishes, replaced by a furrowed brow. “So we’re not talking about the asshole who dumped you?”
“Yeah, is that a problem?”
“No,” he says, his tone softer, though his scowl lingers. “Just didn’t expect it.”
“Well, now you know.” I straighten my shoulders. “Rule four: keep your ego in check. This is about keeping things professional, not making you look like the world’s most eligible bachelor.”
“Anything else?” he asks, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. “Should I start taking notes?”
“Rule five,” I say, glaring at him. “No insulting my intelligence or assuming I care about being famous. This arrangement is about helping you, not stroking your ego.”
Kaden sighs heavily, like I’ve just asked him to climb Everest. “Fine. Are we done now?”
“Not quite,” I say, finally sitting on the edge of the couch. “If we’re going to do this, we have to look like we actually like each other. Smiles. Shared stories. A little flirting won’t kill you.”
He grimaces like I suggested we get matching tattoos. “Flirting?”
“Yes, flirting. Try it sometime. You might actually have fun.”
“Doubtful,” Kaden mutters, standing to his full height, his broad shoulders blocking the light like a human eclipse. “Anything else, boss?”
“You can’t go on dates with other women while we’re together,” I say, crossing my arms and holding his glare. “If you want to sneak around, that’s on you, but if it leaks to the media, you’ll look like a cheating asshole, which completely defeats the purpose of this.”
He shrugs, his expression unreadable. “I don’t need secret trysts. What else?”
“Everyone has to believe we’re together. Even your family.”
“I don’t think that’s possible. They’ll know,” he says flatly.
“Maybe,” I say, lifting my chin, “but as long as there’s some doubt, they can say they thought I was your girlfriend. That’s all that matters.”
He stares at me for a long moment, his jaw working. “Anything else?”
I hesitate. “Just . . . don’t make me look stupid, okay? This is my reputation too.”
he tilts his head slightly, studying me like I just said something surprising. “Fine. But I’ve got a rule too.”
I blink, crossing my arms. “You? A rule? This should be good.”
He smirks, and for once, it’s not annoying. It’s almost . . . soft. “If we’re doing this, we have to have snacks. Non-negotiable.”
“What?” I ask, taken completely off guard. “Snacks?”
“Yeah,” he says with a shrug, his grin widening. “If we’re faking this whole relationship thing, then I’m calling it: no serious conversations without snacks. Preferably popcorn or ice cream, but I’m flexible.”
I stare at him, trying to keep a straight face, but it’s no use. “That’s your big rule?”
“It’s important,” he says, completely serious. “Snacks make everything better. Stressful day? Snacks. Awkward fake relationship talk? Snacks. If we’re going to be stuck together, we might as well make it less miserable.”
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. “Okay, fine. Snacks. But if I get to pick, it’s gonna be chocolate.”
“Deal,” he says, holding out his hand like we’re shaking on a business agreement.
I shake my head, but I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re stuck with me,” he says, grinning as he heads to the kitchen.
“Probably,” I say, smoothing down my jacket. “Now, where’s that drink you were so desperate for?”
Kaden snorts, shaking his head as he strides toward the kitchen. “You’re a real pain in the ass, Valentina Holiday, you know that?”
“Yeah,” I call after him, “but you’re stuck with me.”
Before I can follow him, a voice stops me in my tracks. “That’s certainly true.”
A man walks into the room, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he takes me in. His salt-and-pepper hair is neatly combed, and his casual but tailored outfit makes it clear that, while he’s approachable, he’s still the kind of man who expects the world to listen when he speaks.
“Kade, is that you?”
“Yes, Dad,” Kaden answers from the kitchen doorway, his tone flat as he steps into the room with two glasses of orange juice. His gaze flicks to me, lingering for a second, his expression unreadable but curious, like he’s trying to piece something together.
“You must be Valentina,” Mathieu Lafferty says, his voice warm. “I remember you from Jacob’s wedding. How are you?”
I smile and shake his hand. Noelle and Jacob’s wedding was small by some standards and yet huge. He invited several of his clients, plus there was his family which is huge and then half of Maple Ridge was there too. Hence, they used the townhall for the reception.
“I’m well, thank you,” I say, offering him a polite smile. “It’s nice to see you again.” I fake that I remember him, because there were a lot of people. I wonder if Kaden was at the wedding too. But maybe he wasn’t. After studying the hockey schedule, I realized that around the holidays these players are too busy with games. No time for celebrations—or a wedding I guess.
“Likewise,” his dad says warmly before turning back to Kaden. His expression shifts slightly, more measured. “I didn’t think Jacob would involve family in a stunt like this.”
“Stunt?” I echo, my brow furrowing. I glance at Kaden, who’s gripping the glasses like he’s resisting the urge to throw one.
“The fake fiancé thing,” he explains. “I would’ve assumed he’d hire someone . . . less close.”
“Oh,” I say, unsure how to respond. My cheeks warm slightly as I glance at Kaden, who looks like he’s debating whether to step in or let me fend for myself.
“You’ll be fine, though,” his dad continues kindly, his tone reassuring. “If Jacob trusts you with something this important, I’m sure you’ll handle it beautifully.”
“Thanks,” I say, some of the tension in my shoulders easing under his words. It’s a small relief in an otherwise overwhelming day.
“I told you this wouldn’t stay a secret,” Kaden mutters as he steps back into the room, handing me one of the glasses. “My parents usually know everything.”
“I prefer to call it being well-informed,” his dad says with a small smile. “But don’t worry. We won’t interfere. It’s something John and I had to do back in the ‘80s—pretend to be friends while dating other people.”
Right. The Crawfords. I’ve been reading about the family ever since I was assigned to handle Kaden’s public relations. John Crawford and Mathieu Laferty’s story is practically legendary. They met as teenagers at a summer sports camp—John, the rising football star, and Mathieu, already a promising hockey player. Their friendship became a cornerstone of their lives, but the truth behind it remained hidden for years.
By the mid-2000s, they finally came out as a couple, making headlines as one of the first openly gay power duos in professional sports. By then they were retired. Before then, they’d carefully maintained the facade of platonic friendship, even while building a shared life behind closed doors. It was a risky move in an era when the sports world wasn’t exactly welcoming.
John became a household name in football, while Mathieu dominated the hockey world. Together, they created not just a legacy in sports but also a family. Six children, to be exact. Killion and Kaden, the twins who couldn’t be more different; Leif, one of the best goalies in the league; Greyson, the youngest star in professional hockey; Lucian, who’s currently quarterbacking somewhere; and Ella, their only daughter, known to everyone as “Scottie” for reasons no one, including the internet, can explain.
The Crawfords are more than a family—they’re an empire. Their influence spans sports, business, entertainment, and charity, with a legacy as impressive as their achievements.
“Well, I appreciate you stepping in,” Mathieu says, his tone warm but measured.
“It’s . . .” I falter, the words catching in my throat. What do I even say? If I don’t pull this off, I’ll probably get fired, but I can’t say that—not in front of Kaden. He already thinks I have nothing to lose. I have the upper hand here. Better to keep him believing that. “My pleasure, of course. We’re here to help however we can.”
Mathieu nods seemingly satisfied. “I’ll leave you to the rules. Just make sure to keep things simple. The simpler it looks, the easier it is to make it feel real.”
“Of course,” I reply with a polite smile.
He turns his attention to Kaden. “We’ll have lunch at noon. Your pop will be here by then. Scottie might join us, but the rest are too busy to even call me.”
“Everyone is training or has a game, but we call often,” Kaden mutters, his jaw tightening.
“Sure, when you’re in trouble,” Mathieu counters smoothly. He gives Kaden a long look, the kind that only a parent can deliver. “Let me know if you want to run some scrimmages later today—I don’t want you skipping practice just because you had to take a day off. Being a Barracuda means more than being on any other team.”
“Don’t I fucking know it,” Kaden grumbles under his breath. “I should’ve stayed in San Jose.”
“You didn’t have to move teams,” Mathieu says, his tone calm but firm.
“It’s done,” Kaden replies.
Mathieu’s eyes narrow slightly. “Well, then prove that you’re there because you deserve it—not because someone handed it to you.”
“No one handed it to me.” Kaden snaps, his voice rising. “I worked fucking hard for that contract and that spot.”
“Then fucking show it, Kaden,” Mathieu fires back, his tone harder now, but still controlled. “This has gone on long enough. I get it—you have anxiety. People can be too much. But you need to work through it. Try therapy, son.”
“I’ll think about it,” Kaden mumbles, his tone flat.
Mathieu lets out a long sigh, his face softening again as he glances between us. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
With that, he turns and strides out of the room, leaving the air charged with tension. I sip my orange juice, still standing, the awkwardness hanging between us.
“This is not going to work,” I mutter under my breath, more to myself than anyone else.
“It’ll work,” Kaden says, not even bothering to open his eyes as he leans back on the couch like he hasn’t just been chewed out. “Stop overthinking.”
I glare at him, biting back the retort sitting on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I perch on the farthest edge of the couch, my juice glass clutched in both hands like it’s my last shred of sanity.
Sure. Whatever you say, Kaden Fucking Crawford.
But deep down, I know it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than a few ground rules to pull this off.