Chapter 5 #2
A mermaid sapphire – not the expected diamond – gleamed in the center, deep blue-green and mesmerizing, surrounded by a halo of smaller diamonds set in platinum. The setting was both vintage and modern, intricate yet not ostentatious. It was just perfect.
"Cam... this is..." Words failed me as I stared at it.
He shrugged, affecting a casualness that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You said we needed to look convincing. A ring like this practically screams 'fiancée.'"
My mind raced, trying to process the logistics. It must be a loaner, arranged by his agent… something to be returned along with the tuxedo after the awards ceremony. An elaborate prop for our elaborate charade. But, holy shit, what a prop.
"It's beautiful," I managed, still transfixed by the deep blue-green stone, the color of the ocean, that seemed to capture and reflect light from depths within.
"Try it on," Cam suggested softly. "Just to see how it looks."
With slightly trembling fingers, I reached for the ring. The platinum band felt cool against my skin as I slipped it onto my left hand.
It fit perfectly. Of course it did.
I held my hand up, watching as the sapphire caught the hotel room's light, sending fractured blue reflections dancing across my face. It was substantial without being gaudy, distinctive without being flashy – exactly what I would have chosen myself if this had been...
But it wasn't real. This was business. Strategy. A means to an end.
So why did my chest feel suddenly tight? Why was it suddenly hard to breathe normally with Cam watching me so intently, his blue eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light of my hotel suite?
"The color reminded me of that dress you wore to the Stanley Cup event," he said, his voice low. "The one you had on the night we supposedly started our relationship"
The fact that he remembered that detail – had used it to select this specific stone – sent an unexpected warmth spreading through me. It was thoughtful in a way I hadn't anticipated, personal in a way our arrangement wasn't supposed to be.
I swallowed hard, fighting the sudden pressure behind my eyes. "How did you know my size?"
His mouth quirked in a half-smile. "I pay attention."
Four-carat mermaid sapphire rings from Tiffany aren't exactly standard.
They're custom-fitted, and carefully measured. Which meant Cam had deliberately sought out this information – maybe Monica, my stylist? Holy hockey sticks I hope he didn’t call my mother, who had my measurements from a family ring she'd gifted me last Christmas. Maybe my assistant Katie.
The thought of him going to that effort, of planning this moment so carefully, made something flutter dangerously in my chest.
"It's perfect," I admitted, still staring at my hand, at the way the ring looked sitting there as if it belonged. As if it had always belonged.
"It looks good on you," Cam said, and something in his tone made me look up.
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.