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He slowly unzips a leather-bound case of papers and sets a pack of four identical pens on top of them. In a way that makes me side-eye Sienna and receive a stiffening of her neck in response – attitude in check, hubby – Mr Mantel adjusts the lapels of his jacket and makes a noise like, “Bap bap baaaaa.”

I instantly and vehemently dislike this man.

Which I know is not good because when I don’t respect people in authority, my brain morphs into default mode – act out.

“I see the immigration services haven’t gone paper free yet,” I gripe, receiving a kick from Sienna that makes me glad to still have pads covering my shins.

She’s not enjoying this one bit, even as she smiles at Mr Mantel.

Instinctively, I tug the arm rest on her office chair and wheel her as close to me as possible.

Mantel watches us over the rim of his thick round-framed spectacles, noticeably checking out my wedding band, then Sienna’s, confirming that this isn’t about her, it’s about us.

“So, Mr Mantel, thanks for dropping by. It’s lovely to see you again.” Sienna breaks the silence. She gestures to me. “Great for my husband to have a chance to meet you.”

“Is it?” I mumble. In response, she grips my thigh as hard as she can through my shorts and digs in her painted nails, all while grinning.

“We are keeping Jax from his lunch, though, and we don’t want the Dragons’ star player to go all feeble and wobbly, so shall we let him get on and you and I can discuss whatever matter you came to discuss?” she asks.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say reflexively as the man opposite frowns and says, “I don’t care for sports, Miss Jamieson.”

He shuffles his papers and points to the top of one. “Or should I say Mrs Harris? Did you take your husband’s name, while inebriated and dressed as a minion on Paradise Strip?”

“Oh,” Sienna says, as if she’s had a light-bulb moment. “Is that what this is about? Changing my name on the papers?” She titters, in a way I’ve never heard on her – crazily uncomfortable for everyone.

“You’re so right, Mr Mantel.” She seeks out my hand, then interlaces her fingers between it, holding up our entwined digits like she would a trophy. “On the night, it didn’t seem important.” She twists her head so that only I can see her face and her eyes widen as if to say, help a girl out here, Jax.

I clear my throat – mostly to stop my laughter. “That’s right. Too busy rushing back to the honeymoon suite, right, honey?”

I. Am. Dying. Inside. Sienna has genuinely started to take on dragon characteristics. I can practically feel the steam from her ears and fire on her breath.

She’s raging so badly, it’s hilarious and endearing all at once. Until she says quietly, “Honey, I don’t think the man responsible for my license to remain in the United States is interested in our marital bedroom routine.”

It hits me like a freight train. This is real. This is Sienna’s visa and right to remain in the country. Suddenly, the wedge in my throat isn’t humor anymore.

I turn to Mantel. “We didn’t have the conversation at the time, Mr Mantel, but there’s been an assumption, I guess, that Sienna is Mrs Harris. She knows I’m honored to have her take my name.”

Except she doesn’t, because we have only ever talked about it in a way that’s chirping or faking it.

It’s her turn to forget where we are, as she asks, “You are?”

“I hate to break up this… whatever is happening here,” says Mantel, dragging Sienna’s focus from me in a way that makes me miss it, even though she’s still holding my hand.

I squeeze her fingers as Mantel continues rambling. “If you’re changing your name, you need to make it official in your papers, Mrs… Whoever you want to be.”

Sienna nods. “I will do.” Then she drops my hand. I’m paid a lot of money to read people, so I’d say she just subtly reminded herself and me that our arrangement has less than six weeks to run.

Bizarrely, I can’t imagine my life without being married to Sienna now. How did I used to fill my time outside hockey? Gaming in my underwear, eating takeout, golfing with the guys. Is that it? No one nagging me? No one silently reading a business book or tapping on her laptop on the rooftop next to me, stealing my sweaters when the sun starts to drop low behind the condo. Though it’s a great spot, I hardly ever used to sit on the rooftop at home, but now it’s part of my routine. Our routine when we’re not on the road.

“Can you comprehend the severity of these accusations?” Mantel asks, pulling me back to the here and now.

I glance from him to Sienna. “Could you repeat that?” I ask.

“I’ve been tipped off that your marriage is a sham,” Mantel says. “Is that correct, Mr Harris?”

I wish the guy would call me Jax. I’m about to lie my ass off when Sienna cuts in, dropping my hand as she sits straighter in her seat.

“But Mr Mantel, I have a working visa, aligned to my temporary contract here with the Dragons, so I’m not sure why our marriage is relevant,” she says.