Faking it with the NHL Golden Boy

CHAPTER 020

*DRESSED IN RED*

Flora's POV

I stood up from the couch in one swift movement, my gaze following Lucille's.

Resting on the faded welcome mat was a sleek black box wrapped in a heavy, blood-red silk ribbon.

The embossed Gucci logo practically gleamed under the flickering hallway bulb.

Lucille and I exchanged a look, then peered down the corridor.

It was empty.

No sign of the person who delivered it.

Just the phantom box sitting on the linoleum.

"Did you order a bomb?" Lucille whispered, her eyes wide.

"On my budget? I can barely order a cookie," I muttered.

I picked it up cautiously, half-expecting a prank or an eviction notice since the games were over and carried it inside.

We dropped onto the unmade bed, crowding around the package like two archaeologists discovering an unexploded relic.

"Were you expecting this?" Lucille asked, her fingers already twitching near the ribbon.

"NO!”

I followed her gaze to the heavy card stock tag attached to the box.

My name, Flora, was written in sharp, bold calligraphy that made my stomach do a weird flip.

I yanked the ribbon, and it slipped off very easily.

The air left my lungs.

Nestled in black tissue paper was a sleeveless, deep red gown that looked like something from a fairytale.

Beneath it sat a pair of silver heels with a stiletto heel sharp enough to be classified as a lethal weapon, a matching mini diamond-encrusted silver purse, and a velvet pouch.

I opened the pouch to find diamond earrings, a delicate necklace, and a coiled upper-arm bracelet that caught the bedroom light like a constellation.

Right on top was a smaller card.

Dinner with my family. 7:00 PM sharp.

I'll come pick you up.

Remember to smile.

“Oh my god!” Lucille let out a high-pitched, feral shriek that probably shook the people downstairs. "Tyler is a literal romantic poet"

She launched herself sideways, mercilessly digging her fingers into my ribs. “Look at the diamonds.”

"Lucille, stop!" I gasped, laughing and swatting her away as I clutched the gown to my chest. "It’s just a PR stunt to ensure his billionaire family doesn't see through us."

I held up the necklace, the diamonds shining catching the light. Lucille leaned in, her playful mood evaporating into pure mercenary curiosity as she stared at it.

I grabbed my phone, snapped a quick photo of the jewelry and clicked search.

Three seconds later, the boutique page loaded.

Sold Out.

The item description read longer than a list of things I owned at the moment.

Then my eyes hit the price tag.

"Twenty-eight thousand dollars," I whispered.

"What?!" Lucille snatched the phone from my hand, her eyes nearly popping out of her skull. "Twenty-eight grand?! Just for the jewelry?! Flora, your fake boyfriend spent a down payment on a house just so you don't look bad at dinner. Is he trying to buy your silence or buy your soul?"

“My soul isn't even that expensive,” I said, staring at the stunning red fabric draped over my knees, wondering how much it would cost.

The absurdity of it was suffocating.

"Fake or not, a man doesn't drop thirty grand on a girl unless he’s feeling her at least a little bit.” Flora continued. “Mark my words, Flo. The ice is melting."

"The only thing melting is my sanity," I said, throwing a pillow at her face to hide the sudden, stupid heat rising in my cheeks.

By 6:00 PM, Lucille had already started working like a woman possessed, pinning my hair into a loose, elegant bun while I held my breath so she could zip the red gown.

The fabric clung to my waist and hips bringing out the curves I had always hidden in baggy jeans when I was with Sean. The neckline cut just low enough to show off my boobs that looked remarkably polished after an entire bottle of moisturizer.

The silver heels forced me into a straight, royal posture, making my legs look a mile long.

How was he even able to get my exact size?

For the first time in my life, I looked like I belonged in a penthouse.

I looked expensive.

"What if I go there and embarrass myself?" I muttered, staring at the stranger in the mirror. "What if his parents start asking about my family's portfolio or my background? I don't have a background, Lucille. My background is a public high school and a pile of bills. "

Lucille stepped back, smoothing the necklace against my collarbone. "Then you look him dead in the eye, flash these thirty-thousand-dollar rocks, and remind them you're dating the god of hockey."

My phone buzzed on the vanity.

I grabbed it, my gaze skimming through the screen.

It was a text from Tyler.

Come out to the suite entrance.

My chest tightened, a strange, nervous flutter blooming in my throat.

He's downstairs.

After a crushing hug from Lucille I stepped out into the evening air.

A sleek black SUV was idling by the curb.

The tinted window rolled down, and my enthusiastic smile instantly died.

It wasn't Tyler.

It was the same driver from this morning.

A sharp, heavy wave of disappointment hit me, tasting bitter in the back of my throat.

Of course.

Why did I actually even expect him to show up?

"Where is Mr. Sinclair?" I asked, sliding into the leather interior and trying to keep the bite out of my voice.

"Mr. Sinclair had an unexpected emergency to attend to before dinner, ma'am," the driver replied politely, pulling out into traffic.

"He instructed me to bring you directly to the estate. He will meet you there."

"Right. An emergency," I murmured, staring out at the passing city lights.

The drive to the sprawling Sinclair estate was long and silent.

By the time the car wound up the massive brick driveway, my nerves were completely shot.

The driver led me through a secluded side passage, bypassing the massive front foyer, and opened a set of double oak doors.

And there he was.

Tyler was leaning against a marble pillar, looking entirely too good to be legal.

He wore a black shirt, with the top two buttons undone, revealing the heavy muscle of his chest, tucked into a tailored pant that sat perfectly on his waist.

His hair was slightly disheveled, a few dark strands falling over his forehead, and his sleeves were rolled up to expose the dark ink sprawling across his forearms.

The small silver hoops in his ears gave him that dangerous, untouchable edge.

Hearing the doors click, he straightened up.

His confident strides slowed as his eyes locked onto me.

His gaze traveled down the red gown, lingering on the curve of my waist, before slowly moving back up to my face.

For a single, fleeting second, his jaw tightened, and his cold eyes widened just a fraction.

"See something you like, Mr. Sinclair?" I asked, flashing a smile to hide how fast my heart was hammering.

His expression smoothed back into it's signature unreadable ice. "Good enough to sell our little lie,"

He stepped into my space, his towering frame completely cutting off the rest of the hallway until I was forced to tilt my chin up to look at him.

He leaned down, his breath warm against my ear. "You're fidgeting with your hands. Stop."

"I am not—"

"You are," he murmured, his hand coming up to gently, but firmly, catch my wrist, stilling my fingers. “Are you ready to act?”

“I don't know.” I said softly, “I've not exactly faked a relationship before.”

"When we walk through those doors, you fake it until it feels real.” For a moment, the noise in my head drowned out as I stared into his eyes. “My family can be... difficult. Especially my father. But play the part of the infatuated girlfriend, and my mother will be easy to win over."

"Right. Madly in love with the arrogant athlete. Got it," I whispered back, trying to ignore the way his proximity was scrambling my brain.

Tyler stepped back, checking his watch before giving me one last, cold look.

"Let's get this over with. And remember, Flora—don't mistake any of this theater tonight for actual feelings."

The reminder felt like a splash of freezing water, cutting right through my anxiety and leaving a spark of anger in its place.

"Don't worry, Mr. Ego," I snapped back, my voice laced with venom.

"In fact, let's establish a new rule. The second we are out of your family's sight, you stay exactly ten feet away from me at all times."

A dark, amused smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Whatever makes you happy, sweetheart."

He curved his arm, offering it to me.

I placed my hand on his forearm, feeling the rigid muscle underneath, and together, we turned toward the grand dining room.