Coach Alex: Book 1 of the Alaska Aces Hockey Series

Isabella

They call it my wedding day.

To me, it feels like a cage dressed in silk and lace. The roses smell too sweet, the satin too tight. Every mirror in the room reflects a stranger I don’t recognize. I should feel happy, excited, ready but I don’t. I feel every promise I’ve made, every debt I owe.

The dress presses against my ribs, the veil slips over my eyes, and I swallow hard. Three women move around me, adjusting, pinning, smoothing, their hands quick and nervous. They treat me like a statue, not a person. I force a smile anyway, because that’s what a bride does.

Aurelia Moretti steps in, calm and sweet as always. She moves with the ease of someone who owns every room. Her voice is warm, soft, a small comfort.

“You look beautiful,” she says, brushing a stray curl from my face. “You’re going to make a stunning bride.”

I nod, letting her pride wash over me. I’ve always trusted her, loved her like a mother. This marriage, arranged and cold, is my way of repaying her for everything she’s done for me. For keeping me safe when my father couldn’t. For taking care of me when my mother died.

And yet, there’s Dante. Dante Moretti. The man I promised to marry. The man whose presence I cannot ignore, even if I want to. I don’t want love. I don’t want him. But I won’t lie, my body reacts when I think of him. Desire, irritation, caution, all tangled together in a way I can’t separate.

I push it down, focus on Aurelia’s hands on my hair, the soft click of her heels on the marble. She smiles, proud and confident, and I feel the weight of the role I’m about to play.

“You’ll be fine,” she says firmly, as if daring anyone to disagree. “Dante can be difficult, but he’s a good man once you understand him.”

I swallow, letting the words settle. Good man, she says. It doesn’t feel like it. A good man doesn’t make my pulse race, doesn’t make me remember the sharp edge in his voice when we met.

I glance at the mirrors again. A stranger stares back. I see someone who's about to marry a man who doesn't want her. And the strange part is that I don't want him either.

The sound of a pen scratching paper echoes in my memory. I sit at a small corner table in a quiet restaurant. Dante sits opposite me, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. He looks like a CEO on a business meeting, all control and calm, but there’s something about his eyes—unreadable, dangerous.

“Read it. Sign it,” he says. His voice is flat, precise. No hint of warmth.

I stare at him. “Hello to you too,” I snap, though my throat feels tight.

He leans back, arms crossed, watching me. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Playing the dutiful bride for my mother. Taking advantage of her goodwill.”

I bite back a laugh. “Taking advantage? I’m doing this for her, not for me. And certainly not to get anything from you.”

His lips twitch, not quite a smile. “Then why do I feel like I’m sitting across from someone manipulative to the core?”

“I’m not playing games,” I say, sharper now. “I don’t need your money. I don’t want your name. I’m here because I gave my word.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes dark. “Then hear me clearly. If you sign this, you sign away any claim to me, my company, my family’s assets. You walk away with nothing when this fails. Nothing.”

The words "when" hit like a slap. My hands tighten into fists. “Fine,” I hiss.

“Sign it,” he orders.

I take the pen, but not without a flicker of defiance. I scrawl my name, push the folder toward him. He checks it, then says, “Good. Remember, Isabella, I’m always watching. One wrong move, and you’re out.”

I want to throw the pen at him. Instead, I glare, meeting his eyes. “Don’t give me a reason to think I was right about you.”

He doesn’t flinch. That’s the thing. I can’t read him. Every muscle in his face still controlled, disciplined, untouchable. And yet… I feel it. A heat in my chest I refuse to name. A reaction I won’t admit. Even in anger, even in irritation, he gets under my skin.

I won’t give in. I can’t. I’m marrying him for safety, for Aurelia, for a life where I survive. But even as I tell myself this, a small, stubborn part of me wonders if I’m safe at all.

Aurelia's hand on my shoulder is what brings me back.

“Isabella?” her voice floats through the room, gentle as ever. I blink, forcing my heartbeat to slow.

Before I can answer, the door opens wider. My father steps in, shoulders squared, his old navy suit crisp. His warm eyes sweep over me as if memorizing every line of my face. Aurelia leaves.

“Princess,” he says softly, the nickname carrying decades of love and worry. “You look… you look like your mother did that day.”

The words catch me in the throat. I barely nod, twisting my hands in the folds of the satin dress.

He kneels slightly, adjusting the veil with careful movements. “Is this truly what you want, Isabella?” His voice is steady, but underneath, I hear the tremor of worry. “I know Aurelia has been kind. I know she’s guided you through our loss. But today… this day has to be yours. Not mine. Not hers. Yours.”

“Yes, Papa. I’m sure.”

He studies me, silent for a long moment. Then, almost like he’s letting go of a held breath, he sits beside me. “Marriage…” His voice dips low, touched with memory. “It’s beautiful. Hard, yes. But beautiful. To have someone beside you when life is heavy… to share laughter, burdens… even mistakes.”

I bite my lip, fighting tears. “You loved her so much,” I whisper.

“Still do.” His hand covers mine, rough and warm. “I want that for you. Not just duty, Isabella. Love. Don’t settle for less.”

I nod. The memory of Dante’s gaze and the prenup flashes again. My jaw tightens. Love is dangerous. It ruins people. And that's why.... I am here, walking into something different.

A cheerful voice interrupts the quiet tension. “You ready, Bella?” Gianna peeks around the doorway, holding my train and grinning. Her energy is bright, a small, grounding force in the room. “You look… wow. Absolutely terrifying in that dress.”

I manage a weak smile. “Thanks, Gianna. Just what I needed.”

Her eyes dart to my father. “Oh, don’t let him get all sentimental. You’ll cry before the vows even start.”

I glance at Papa, who chuckles softly. “She’s ready,” he says. “And strong. Just like her mother.”

I take a steadying breath, trying to anchor myself. I tell myself it’s just a ceremony. Just a formality. I won’t give Dante my heart. I won’t let him see the desire in me that makes him dangerous. I won’t let myself fall for the man who’s ruled my thoughts since the prenup.

The knock comes again, sharper this time. “It’s time,” a voice calls from outside.

Papa rises, extending his hand. “Ready, princess?”

I slide my fingers into his. My pulse hammers, but I force a steady smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

I glance at my reflection in the hallway mirror. The bride staring back is tense, ready, unwilling to submit fully. I like that about myself. Even here, in silk and lace, I am not entirely tamed.

And just like that, I know there’s no turning back.

I swallow hard. My chest stiffens, but not with fear this time. Something else flickers...Something sharp. My body reacts before my mind does.

“Keep it together,” I murmur under my breath. “He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t own you.”

And yet… he has already claimed pieces of me.

Not with words, not with love, but with the weight of his attention. With the gaze that sees everything and concedes nothing.

Papa squeezes my hand, grounding me.

I take the first step.

The dress swishes around me, heavy and suffocating and somehow protective all at once. The marble corridor stretches ahead. Gianna is behind me, holding my train. Papa's hand is solid and warm in mine.

"Don't trip," Gianna whispers. "You'll look ridiculous."

I manage a real laugh. It surprises me.

The ceremony hall doors open wider. Light pours through. Music drifts out, soft and relentless. And there he is. Dante Moretti, at the altar, waiting. Still as stone. Every line of him controlled.

My pulse does something I do not give it permission to do.

Attraction is not love. I know this. I have always known this.

But knowing a thing and walking toward it anyway are different problems entirely.

I take the next step. And the next. And I do not let myself stop.