Liam, surprisingly, came to her rescue. "We prefer a more subtle approach," he said in that tone that somehow managed to be perfectly polite yet definitively final. "Perhaps something that focuses on our mutual respect rather than... whatever this is."
The photographer looked between them, clearly frustrated but unwilling to argue with the team's star player. "Fine. Standtogether reviewing these game stats. Professional with a hint of personal connection."
This pose felt infinitely more natural. Libby accepted the tablet with publicly available team statistics, and Liam leaned in slightly, his attention on the screen as if they were discussing strategy. The proximity was still intimate, but contextualized in a way that felt less performative.
"That's actually good," the photographer admitted, snapping rapidly. "The professional connection reads as authentic."
Because it is, Libby realized. Whatever else was fabricated in this bizarre situation, their mutual respect for hockey analysis was genuine. When Liam pointed to a particular stat on the screen and made a quiet comment about defensive zone coverage that was actually insightful, she found herself responding naturally, forgetting momentarily that they were posing.
"Perfect," the photographer said. "That's the money shot right there."
Mariska approached, looking pleased. "These will accompany the statement we're releasing at noon. The narrative is simple—you connected over hockey analysis, kept things private while you navigated the professional boundaries, and decided to acknowledge the relationship after last night's photo made discretion impossible."
"Sounds plausible," Libby said, stepping slightly away from Liam now that the photos were complete.
"It should," Mariska replied with a satisfied nod. "We'll have these ready for the noon release."
Liam checked his watch. "I have practice after this, then need to review tape before the team meal. Portland's made adjustments to their forecheck."
"Go," Mariska said. "We have what we need here."
As Liam headed inside, Mariska turned to Libby. "You'll need to be at the team dinner tonight. It's the first event where you'll appear as a couple."
"Right," Libby said, the reality of the situation hitting her again. "What time?"
"Liam will text you the details," Mariska said with a handwave. "Couples usually coordinate these things directly."
The rest of the day passed in a blur of notifications and reactions as the statement was released. Libby's phone nearly exploded with messages from friends, family, and journalists. Her mother called seven times in the span of ten minutes until Libby finally answered, holding the phone at arm's length to protect her eardrums.
"My daughter is dating Liam D'ARCY!" Linda Bennet-Cross's voice carried so clearly that several passing staff members turned to stare. "I knew something was happening! The way you wrote about him was too passionate to be purely professional!"
"Mom," Libby hissed, ducking into an empty office. "It's not what you think. It's a... complicated situation."
"Of course it is, sweetheart! You're a journalist covering his team! So romantic! So forbidden! And after that incredible donation last night—a hundred thousand dollars! Your father nearly fainted!"
"That was—Mom, please don't tell people about the donation amount," Libby pleaded, mortified.
"You can't blame a mother for being proud!" Linda continued. "And here I thought you were completely hopeless with men! All those years of you hiding behind hockey statistics instead of dating, and now you land Liam D'Arcy! Your fathersaid I shouldn't have given up hope after that disaster with that man from college—what was his name? The one who said you cared more about sports than him?"
"I have to go, Mom. Press conference. Love you. Bye." Libby hung up, dropping her head into her hands.
"Family approval acquired?"
She looked up to find Jane in the doorway, amusement dancing in her eyes.
"Mom is already planning the wedding. I'm surprised she hasn't called Vera Wang yet."
Jane sat beside her. "Well, at least someone's excited about your new relationship."
"It's not a relationship," Libby insisted. "It's a PR strategy with an expiration date."
"Mmm," Jane hummed noncommittally. "And how are you feeling about your non-relationship partner?"
"Professionally reassessing," Libby admitted. "He's... not exactly what I expected."
"You mean he's not the entitled, manipulative heir using family connections to control the team?" Jane asked with uncharacteristic directness.
Libby winced. "You read my articles."
