Chapter 8 #3
He caught my foot between his, holding it hostage with a mischievous grin that made my heart stutter. The casual contact sent warmth spreading up my leg, and I found myself intensely aware of the pressure of his foot against mine.
"Honey, I've been meaning to ask," my mother said, her tone deceptively casual. "Have you two started thinking about wedding colors yet? I was going through some ideas, just preliminary thoughts, of course, and I found this soft seafoam palette that would be perfect for a beach ceremony."
I nearly choked on my mojito. "Mom, we haven't even… "
"Blue," Cam interrupted smoothly. "Blues and silvers, right, babe?"
My head snapped toward him. What was he doing?
He continued, his voice steady. "Blues reflect the ocean, which is meaningful since we live in St. Pete and spend so much time by the water. We both love the beach. And silver would complement Lana's ring so perfectly."
I stared at him, genuinely speechless. We had never discussed wedding colors. We had never discussed a wedding at all, because there wasn't going to be one. Yet here he was, answering with such confidence, such specific detail – as if we'd had long, long conversations about our future together.
"Exactly right," my mother beamed. "Oh, that's just perfect! The blue would bring out your eyes, Cam, and Lana has always looked lovely in silver. See, Frank? I told you he was a keeper. Most men wouldn't care about details like that."
My father made a noncommittal noise, but I caught the slight approval in his gaze as it shifted between Cam and me.
"What about a date?" my mother pressed, clearly encouraged. "I know it's still early, but venues book up so quickly these days."
"June?" Cam replied without missing a beat. "After the playoffs. That way we could take a proper honeymoon during the off-season."
I kicked him again, harder this time. He squeezed my foot in response, his expression innocently bland.
"Early summer is perfect," my mother agreed. "May can be unpredictable, but June is lovely. What about the 15th? That's when your father and I were married."
"Mom," I finally managed, finding my voice. "We're still figuring things out. Can we just enjoy being engaged for a like five minutes before we start planning the whole wedding?"
My mother looked momentarily crestfallen, but my father came to the rescue. "Diana darling, let them breathe. They just got here."
"Of course, of course." She waved a hand, recovering quickly. "I'm just excited. My only daughter, engaged to such a wonderful young man. It's a lot for a mother's heart."
"Well, we're not in any rush," I said, hoping to stem the tide of wedding planning. "We have plenty of time to figure out the details."
"Of course you do," my mother agreed, though her expression said otherwise. "Now, tell me how you proposed, Cam. Lana hasn't shared the details yet."
I braced myself, genuinely curious how Cam would navigate this minefield.
"Well," Cam began, setting down his drink. "It wasn't exactly planned."
I watched him, fascinated despite myself. His expression had softened, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as if he were recalling an actual cherished memory.
"We were at the beach one evening after a particularly tough week at work," he continued. "One of those days where it felt like everything that could go wrong, did. Lana was stressed, so I suggested we take a walk by the water to clear our heads."
He glanced at me, his eyes warm. "Well, she was standing there with the sunset behind her, with that adorably frustrated yet determined face, like she always does when she's tackling a tough problem, and I just... knew."
My heart was pounding so hard I was certain everyone could hear it.
"I didn't have anything planned to say," Cam admitted with a self-deprecating laugh that sounded remarkably genuine. "I just blurted out, 'Marry me.' Not even a question… more of a realization. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world."
"And what did you say?" my mother asked, turning to me with rapt attention.
I swallowed hard, thrown completely off-balance by the emotion in Cam's voice, the vivid detail of his fabricated memory.
"I said..." My voice faltered, then steadied as I realized where this was going. "I said, 'Are you serious right now?'"
Cam's eyes locked with mine, and something passed between us – an electric current of understanding, of shared deception that somehow felt more intimate than it should.
"And I said, 'I've never been more serious about anything in my life,'" he finished softly.
For a moment, the deck was silent except for the distant sound of waves against the shore. My mother dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.
"That's beautiful," she said with a sniff. "So romantic."
Zayne made a slight gagging noise, breaking the spell. "If you guys are done with the Hallmark moment, I'm starving. Is dinner happening or what?"
"It's almost ready," my mother assured him, rising from her chair. "Frank, will you check on the grill? Zayne, help me with the salad. Lana, honey, why don't you give Cam a quick tour of the property before we eat?"
The dismissal was transparent – my mother clearly wanted to give us some alone time, but I was grateful for the escape.
"Sure," I agreed, standing and motioning for Cam to follow. "Come on, I'll show you the beach and the boat dock."
As we descended the steps from the deck to the sandy path leading to the water, I finally exhaled.
"That was... creative," I said when we were out of earshot.
Cam slipped his hands into his pockets, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. "Too much?"
"The sunset? The spontaneous proposal? The wedding colors we apparently discussed?"
"I figured we should have our story straight," he said with a shrug. "And it seemed believable. You do get that determined look when you're working through a problem."
I stopped walking, turning to face him. "How do you know that?"
His eyes met mine, steady and unnervingly perceptive. "I notice things."
The admission sent a flutter through my chest that I tried desperately to ignore.
"Well, next time, maybe give me a heads-up before you start waxing poetic about our nonexistent engagement story," I said, resuming our walk. "I felt like I was being ambushed."
"Sorry," he said, not sounding particularly sorry. "I stuck to the rules. I didn't actually lie. You were on a beach with me after a tough week. Your silhouette was great against the sunset. And you were frustrated and problem-solving. And you did look beautiful."
I stopped in the middle of the wooden boardwalk and stared at him. "Wait, what? When?"
"That sponsors' dinner at Clearwater Beach last summer," he said simply.
"The one where Crawford showed up drunk and insulted the mayor's husband.
You were putting out fires all night, and afterward, you were standing at the edge of the water looking like you wanted to scream. I brought you a glass of champagne."
I remembered that night. I'd spent hours doing damage control after our second goaltender had too much to drink and asked the mayor's husband “So, how’s it feel to be the second most important person in your own house?” After I hustled him out of there and sent him home in a Towncar, Cam appeared just as I was contemplating throwing myself into the Gulf, handing me a full glass of champagne with a sympathetic smile.
"You remember that?"
"Of course I remember. You'd kicked off your heels and had your toes in the sand. Your hair was coming down – right about here." He reached out, his fingers hovering just above the nape of my neck where a few strands had escaped my updo that night. "You looked beautiful. Exhausted, but beautiful."
My breath caught at the unexpected tenderness in his voice. For a moment, we just stood there, the air between us charged with something I didn't dare name.
"This isn't a game, Cam."
"Isn't it? Just a different kind of performance, with different stakes." He paused as we reached the small private dock that extended into the calm waters of the bay. "Besides, your mother was thrilled. Did you see her face?"
I had, and that was part of the problem. My mother's undisguised joy made the deception feel that much worse.
"I don't like deceiving them," I admitted, leaning against the weathered railing. The setting sun cast long golden fingers across the water, painting everything in warm light. "My parents think this is real. They're making plans, Mom's gonna lose her mind when this comes crashing down.”
"I know," Cam said, his voice softening. "But we'll handle it. Once the deal is signed, we'll find a way to let them down gently."
"And how exactly do we do that? ‘Sorry, Mom and Dad, turns out we were just pretending to be in love for a sneaker contract'?"
Cam winced. "When you put it that way, it does sound kind of terrible."
"Because it is terrible. This whole situation is..." I trailed off, the weight of our deception settling on my shoulders like a physical burden. “Terrible.
Cam moved closer, his arm brushing mine as he leaned on the railing beside me. "Hey," he said gently. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make this harder for you. I know your family means everything to you."
I looked up at him, surprised by the genuine contrition in his voice. The setting sun gilded his profile, turning his hair to burnished gold and softening the sharp angles of his face. He looked... different here, away from the rink and the cameras. More real somehow.
"Why does this come so easily to you?" The question tumbled out before I could stop it. "The whole... pretending thing. It's like you're not even acting."
Cam was quiet for a moment, his eyes on the horizon where the sky met the sea in a blaze of orange and pink. "Maybe because part of me isn't."
My heart stumbled over itself, but Cam continued before I could process what he was saying.