Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player - Chapter 71: Chapter 71

EMILIA
TWO DAYS LATER
We arrived at the dock five minutes early. Surprisingly, we were the first ones there.
Becca mentioned something about announcing the prize today, but honestly? I don’t care much.
Actually, I don’t care at all.
Too much has happened these past few days. Everything’s been moving so fast, it’s hard to keep track of what matters.
At first, I hated being the face of the media on this cruise. The one who was always criticized by the media, having my life and private details on the front page.
But now, nobody on this cruise talks about the drama anyway. Probably because half of them are drowning in their own. Like, I’m not even the biggest scandal here — and that’s saying something.
Every day, more “oops-that-wasn’t-supposed-to-leak” photos drop. Celebrities. Influencers. People with last names that sound like they should own oil fields. All getting exposed left and right.
Which raises the question — who’s leaking all this stuff? And why?
Tessa swore up and down there’d be no media onboard. So either someone lied… or someone’s playing dirty.
I’m still chewing on that thought when Irma slaps her cards down on the table with a dramatic flourish and a smirk. “I’m winning.”
I squint at my own cards like they’re in a foreign language. “I don’t even know what game we’re playing.”
“You mean you don’t know how to play when Liam isn’t whispering cheat codes behind your back.”
It’s embarrassing how the mere mention of him has my cheeks heating up. Things have been pretty… weird between us and I almost kick myself every time I think about why.
Waking up in his arms and meeting his gorgeous blue eyes and having those dimples greet me good morning every morning is enough to get a girl to run mad.
Last night, I dreamt of us in the tub again, but this time, he didn’t have his back to the tub, no I pulled him in with me and—
My cheeks are so hot it’s uncomfortable to speak, but I do my best to keep my composure.
Emilia, what the hell is wrong with you?!
“I’m a woman of integrity,” I say, placing a random card down like I’m doing something impressive.
Irma doesn’t even glance at it. She throws down her last card and leans her chin on her palm. “I win again. I’m bored now.”
Fantastic.
She eyes me like a cat sizing up a particularly slow mouse. “You know what’s worse than being bored, bärchen?”
I already don’t want to know. But I sigh. “What?”
“Being bored with tragic company. You can’t play cards. You suck at Monopoly. You thought chess was a fashion label. What were you doing as a kid? Playing catch with your common sense?”
I glare at her. “I was outside. Playing tag. Touching grass. You know — being normal.”
Irma raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Well, I don’t care.”
My eye twitches.
She’s the one who asked!
I take a deep breath and try to zen my way out of the rising annoyance. If the gym wasn’t packed today, I would've left her hours ago with a polite wave and a sprint in the opposite direction.
Liam had gone to check it out early this morning, promising to save me a spot. By the time I finally dragged my sleepy self out of bed and made it down for breakfast, half the ship had the same idea.
That’s when I ran into Irma.
Or rather — Irma ran into me.
She was in the middle of yelling at her boyfriend (poor guy looked like he wanted to crawl under the buffet table), something about how “real men don’t abandon their girlfriends for biceps,” when she spotted me across the room.
He vanished the second she turned away. Smart man.
Next thing I knew, I was pulled into a chair beside her and appointed Official Company of the Day. Apparently, I didn’t get a choice in the matter.
Now, here I am. Questioning all my life decisions.
Irma takes a sip of her mimosa like she’s doing me a favour by hanging out.
“How does your boyfriend survive you?” I ask, genuinely curious.
Irma freezes. Her eyes narrow into little slits. “Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Uh-oh.
Behind her, I spot a familiar silhouette — Céline, my sweet French angel — and nearly drop to my knees in gratitude. Salvation.
I jump to my feet with zero shame and slap on the fakest smile known to mankind. “Oh no, I think my friend needs help with... um… something. Yeah. She’s struggling to breathe. Gotta run! Wishing you the best in life!”
“What?! Wait! We’re not done here!” Irma screeches, but I’m already power-walking like my life depends on it.
And in a way, it does.
Céline’s just outside the breakfast court, heading toward one of the little cruise shops. She’s got a digital camera hanging around her neck and is squinting at the settings like they personally offended her. She’s muttering under her breath in French, pressing buttons like she’s trying to deactivate a bomb.
“Céline!” I call, grinning so wide it hurts.
She jumps like she’s been tased. The camera slips right out of her hands but, thank God, the strap catches it mid-air. She gasps, clutches her heart, and lets out a dramatic sigh when she realises it’s safe.
Then she looks up at me with a tired little smile, brushing hair from her face like she’s in a shampoo commercial. It actually makes me groan inside.
“Emilia,” she breathes. “You scared me.”
I sigh like someone watching a romance movie. “Your hair is so perfect, it’s criminal. You run your hand through it and it just… flows. Like a heroine in a French film.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”
“No, I’m being honest. My curls eat my fingers for breakfast.”
I loop my arm through hers and lean into her like we’ve been besties since birth. Then I peek at the camera screen she’s holding up — there’s a photo of the ocean, right before sunset, and it’s breathtaking.
“Is this yours?” I gasp. “Céline! You’re so talented. Like, actually. I’m mad. How are you good at photography and perfect-looking?”
Her cheeks flush the softest pink. “Oh, stop. I’m not that good.”
“Lies. If I posted that photo, people would think I’m on a private yacht with a billionaire and three gold-dipped swans.”
She snorts and nudges me with her shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”
I’m about to say something equally ridiculous when — bam — the doors behind us swing open and chaos comes screeching.
“Emilia? Emilia!” Irma’s voice slices through the air like a bad ringtone. “Where do you think you’re going? We are not done, and you didn’t even finish your meal!”
Next to me, Céline freezes like she’s just heard a ghost. I sigh, already dreading what’s coming, and turn around.
Irma’s stomping toward us like she’s about to throw a plate at my head. Her eyes are wild, her expression murderous. For a second, I genuinely consider hiding behind Céline. But then, everything changes.
She spots Céline. And stops dead in her tracks.
“You?” Irma blinks like she’s seen a ghost. Her lips curl in that ugly way people try to disguise as a smile. “Unbelievable. Becca really invited every stray she found on the sidewalk.”
Céline’s fingers wrap around her camera like it’s a weapon. Her voice? Cool, sharp, and dangerous.
“Wow,” she says. “Still playing the high school villain, huh? You’d think all that paparazzi attention would’ve humbled you. Guess you really can’t buy class.”
I blink. My jaw slowly drops. Céline, who’s usually all softness and smiles, just went full savage mode.
For a moment, I can’t understand what Céline means, then I study Irma’s striking features again and I realise why she’s looked so familiar all this time.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “You’re Nora from Confidential Family, aren’t you?”
Irma glances at me, barely sparing a second before tossing me a look that says, you’re not worth my breath. Then she turns back to Céline, her eyes narrowing.
“Unlike you,” she says, “I don’t need attention from the media to feel relevant.”
Céline tilts her head. “No, you just insult people to feel powerful. Same game, different playground.”
Irma scoffs. “Memory problems, Cee? How sad. But don’t worry, I won’t jog your memory. Some of us have moved on.” Then her eyes flick to me with a tight smile. “And Emilia? Just a little advice since you clearly need it: not everyone who acts nice is your friend. Especially the ones who cling to their more famous best friends like shadows.”
Then, like she’s delivering the final blow, Irma turns back to Céline. “Speaking of best friends… I heard Lacey just finalised her third divorce. What a coincidence, huh?”
She smirks, tosses her hair, and struts back into the breakfast court like she’s on a red carpet.
I stand there, stunned. My heart is racing. My head’s spinning.
Lacey’s third… divorce? I didn’t even know she was married. And what does that have to do with anything?
And why is Céline still so stiff next to me now that Irma is gone?
She exhales slowly, then mutters, “I forgot how much I hated her voice.”
I grab her hand gently, still trying to process everything. “Wait… you knew her?”
She looks at me with a tired smile, one that almost cracks. “Once upon a time… she was my best friend. We were both the only foreigners in our year, so we hit it off. But as you’ve noticed, she’s nothing but a force that manages to bring down everyone around her. Come on, Em, don’t pay her words any mind, she’s not worth it. Let’s go.”
She starts leading us away, the morning sun casting soft gold in her hair. I’m still trying to piece it all together when I ask, “She’s one of the ones who got her photos leaked, right?”
“Worse,” Céline says, her tone turning cold. “A whole voice recording of her bashing her fans like they’re pests. It was disgusting.” Her jaw tightens. “Honestly, she’s lucky if Confidential Family doesn’t cut her from the cast completely. She’s radioactive.”
I think back to Nora and the thought of anyone else playing her role leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. “I saw her statement she made on Instagram. She said her conversation was altered and misconstrued and she didn’t actually say any of that stuff. Besides, you should know better than to believe anything the media portrays.”
She stops walking for a second, her expression unreadable. Then her arm tightens around mine. “Trust me,” she says softly, but firmly. “I’ve known her. You don’t need editing to expose someone who’s already rotten.” Her lips curl into a pained smile.
“And even if the clip was edited… does it matter?” she continues, voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes… bad people get what they deserve. And I’m not gonna lose sleep over it.”
I swallow hard. I get what she’s saying. And a part of me agrees. But another part of me… doesn’t feel right about it. “I wonder who’s leaking all this.”
“You and me both, mon amie. But whoever they are? They better have deep pockets. Irma’s got money, and a temper. If she finds out who exposed her? Lawsuits are just the beginning.”
I laugh softly, but it doesn’t quite feel like it in my chest.