Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player - Chapter 84: Chapter 84

EMILIA
“You should dress warmer. It’s getting colder.”
“Okay, Mum.”
Liam gives me a look that could melt a glacier. “I’m serious.”
“I know, Mum.”
He pulls the scarf tighter around my neck until I feel like a bundled-up potato. A slightly overpriced potato. I don’t even mind. He’s right — autumn’s creeping in, October’s coming, and Zane and Becca’s wedding is around the corner.
Speaking of Becca… she’s the reason I’m currently being layered in designer clothes like a mannequin in a winter fashion ad.
“Will you be taking the scarf?” the boutique attendant asks, smiling like her life depends on it.
Can’t blame her. I saw the price tag before Liam threw it on me. If I were her, I’d be grinning for the rest of the year.
Liam looks over at me — really looks — and there’s something soft and smug in his eyes that makes my face heat up. I glance away before I start giggling like a lunatic.
“Yes,” he says. “And the boots. And jacket. And that skirt too.”
There goes Tessa’s rent for the next two years.
While I change back into my regular clothes, the attendant wheels in another rack, still babbling about how this neckline or that colour will “bring out my collarbone.” Okay?
I try to stay quiet, but the guilt is starting to poke me in the ribs.
“Um, Liam?”
He’s flipping through hangers, pulling out outfits like he’s building an actual wardrobe for a royal, but he pauses and turns to me with this ridiculously gentle smile.
“Yes, love?”
Love. I might actually die.
“You really don’t have to spend this much,” I say, trying not to sound too awkward. “Like— thank you, really, but we could’ve gone to a thrift store or literally anywhere else that doesn’t cost the equivalent of a small car per item.”
He steps closer, still smiling. “But I want to.”
“Yeah, but—”
He cuts me off, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear in the most casual, heart-stopping way possible.
“Emilia,” he says quietly, “you make me happy. I like seeing you warm, comfortable, dressed in things that make you feel good. Let me do this.”
And just like that, my brain short-circuits.
I stare up at him, all words gone, and he leans down to kiss my forehead. It’s soft, simple, perfect.
And now I’m officially useless for the rest of the day.
I mumble, “How am I supposed to pay you back for this?”
What I want to do is lean in — press my face into his chest, close my eyes, and breathe in that stupidly addictive scent of his — warm cotton and something darker, sharper, uniquely him.
“You can pay me back by trying this on,” he says, pulling out a dress from the rack. It’s black. Sleek. The kind of pretty that makes you nervous to even touch it. “And no complaining.”
I blink at it. It's beautiful — but not me. More like something Tessa would wear. She has the kind of curves that belong in a dress like that. Me? I’m not so sure.
But I look up at him. He’s holding it out with this quiet sort of faith in his eyes, like he already knows I’ll look good and just wants me to see it too.
So I take a deep breath, swallow the insecurity threatening to creep in, and nod.
“Okay. But if you like this one, we’ll have to return the rest.”
“That sounds like a promise I can’t keep.”
His smile is soft — and dangerous. The kind that makes my knees weak.
I’m in so much trouble.
Then the moment is shattered. “Do you need help trying it on?” The attendant asks and I shake my head quickly.
“No, I’m good.”I take the dress into the fitting room.
In the mirror, I hesitate.
I slip it on carefully, smoothing it over my hips. It hugs me in places I usually try to hide, fits like it was made just for me.
I stare at my reflection for a long second.
I don’t hate it.
I might even— God, do I like this?
“Emilia?” Liam’s voice floats in from outside. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I call back, trying to sound normal even though I feel like I’m about to walk a red carpet. “Just... surprised.”
“Can I see?”
I pause, heart doing jumping jacks, then slowly push the curtain open.
And he goes completely still.
No teasing smile. No sarcastic comment. Just... quiet.
He looks at me like I’ve physically knocked the air out of his lungs. His eyes drag over every inch, slow and stunned, until they land on mine again.
And then he whispers it like he doesn’t even mean to say it out loud:
“You’re beautiful.”
My heart stutters.
He steps closer, careful, like I’m something delicate. His fingers reach for mine, gentle, grounding. “I knew this would look good on you,” he says softly. “But I wasn’t ready for this.”
I laugh—soft, breathless. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” His voice dips low, the kind that makes my knees want to give out.
I bite my lip. “Like you want to do something reckless.”
His eyes flick down to my mouth, then back up. “What if I do?”
Before I can come up with something smart—or anything at all—his fingers brush mine. Light at first. Then firmer, tracing up my arms like he’s learning me by touch. One hand slides behind my neck, slow and certain, and he pulls me in.
The kiss steals the air from my lungs.
It’s warm and deep and hungry. The kind that makes the world tilt. His other hand curls around my waist, tugging me flush against him, like he can’t get close enough. He keeps kissing me like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, until he finally pulls back—barely.
His eyes roam over me in the dress, dark and full of heat. He drags his gaze slowly down and back up, like he’s memorising every inch.
“Jesus, Emilia.”
My pulse jumps. “What?”
His thumb brushes my lower lip. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”
I swallow hard, my whole body on fire.
He leans close, lips grazing my ear. “We’re buying the dress. And then I’m taking you back to our suite. Try it on for me again there.”
I can’t even hide my grin. “But Liam, we still have an entire day planned.”
— — —
Becca’s “reward” for us winning the stupid couple game is an afternoon off the cruise. Lacey called it “cheap,” “underwhelming,” and “low-effort,” then begged me to buy her a burger ten minutes later. Classic.
It hadn’t taken much to convince Liam that a hot air balloon was the right course of action.
So I hadn’t complained when Liam insisted we stop by the boutique first.
“Just something warmer,” he lied.
Because somehow “something warmer” turned into him attempting to restock my entire closet. Sweaters, jackets, scarves, and that dress that I’m pretty sure belongs in a Vogue.
When I asked what the dress was for, he just smiled and said, “Later.” Then added under his breath, “And preferably where no one else can see you in it.”
Right.
The only thing is, I kinda only discovered my newfound fear of heights when our balloon was in the air.
“Okay, don’t panic,” I say, already panicking, white-knuckling the edge of the basket like I can wrestle it back down to Earth. “This is fine. We’re fine. I’m so fine.”
Liam watches me with a smile that’s way too amused for the current situation. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
“Both.”
He laughs. The breeze tugs at his hair, golden light painting his face like some Renaissance oil painting that would’ve had me blushing in history class. He looks unfairly gorgeous for someone floating hundreds of feet in the sky while I’m currently fighting for my life.
He steps behind me and slides his arms around my waist. “Emilia,” he says gently, “you’re not going to fall.”
“You don’t know that,” I mumble into the wind. “People fall. Gravity exists. Birds get tired.”
He laughs again and leans down to press a kiss right behind my ear. “You’re not a bird, baby.”
Okay. Well now I’m dying for a different reason.
“You’re not helping,” I whisper.
“I apologise. It’s my fault you’re so adorable. Now come on. Let go for a second.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He spins me around so I’m facing him, and suddenly I forget all about how far off the ground we are. His hands are on my hips, his eyes all focused heat, and it’s ridiculous how fast he makes everything else disappear.
“This was supposed to be romantic,” he says, faux pouting.
I raise an eyebrow. “Was the death trap in the sky part of the plan too?”
“Are we forgetting who suggested this? And who was strongly against it?”
“When my plans go wrong they’re automatically your plans.”
“Yes, yes, Em. I take all the blame, but look,” He grins. “The view’s kind of insane.”
I glance over his shoulder — and okay, fine. It’s breathtaking. The sky is streaked in gold and pink, the sun dipping below the horizon like it’s showing off just for us.
“It’s kind of beautiful,” I admit.
His smile softens. “I have a better view right in front of me.”
Ugh. Unfair.
And then he does that thing — that thing — where he tilts his head and looks at me like I’m the only girl on the planet. Like I’m art. Like I’m everything.
He pulls me in again, this time slower, deeper, his hand threading into my hair. My stomach isn’t flipping from the height anymore — it’s from him. It’s all him.
“You always have horrible ideas,” he murmurs against my lips. “How can you not know you’re afraid of heights?”