Page 104 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

And then I see her—Lacey.

She’s kneeling on the floor beside Danny, a soft smile on her lips as he strums a few hesitant notes on the guitar. She’s glowing, completely in her element, and for a split second, it almost knocks the breath out of me.

But then she looks up—And everything changes.

Her smile falters. Her brown eyes widen, darken, flicking between me and the cameras.

And I see it.

The instant she realizes I’m furious.

Heat rises in my chest, coiling tight and sharp. I clench my fists, inhale through my nose, try to breathe, and stay calm, but it’s a losing battle because of this. This feels like a fucking betrayal.

I barely register the kids rushing toward me, arms outstretched, excited voices calling my name.

I force my expression to soften—for them.

I crouch down, ruffling a few heads, my voice steadier than I feel. “What’s up, guys?”

They erupt into excited chatter, but my attention is still locked onto Lacey.

She stands slowly, brushing invisible lint off her slacks like she needs something—anything—to do with her hands.

I straighten, exhaling sharply before glancing down at the boy nearest to me. “Hey, bud,” I murmur, jerking my chin toward the instruments. “Why don’t you guys show me what you’ve been working on?”

Danny beams. “Really?”

“Really.”

They don’t hesitate, scattering toward the music corner, leaving me and Lacey standing in the center of the room. Emily disappears to talk to Rachel, but I couldn’t care less right now.

I let the silence stretch, let the weight of it settle. But I can feel Lacey’s eyes on me, and I can sense her hurt and confusion.

Good. Let her be confused. Let her feel a fraction of what these kids must have felt, being turned into props for her career.

She shifts on her feet. “Nate—“

“Not here.”

Her lips part, but she snaps them shut, nodding quickly.

I take a deep breath, shaking off the worst of my anger before I walk toward the kids, plastering on a grin that feels like a goddamn lie, because under it?

I am fucking seething.

And the second we’re alone, she’s going to hear it. Everyone’s going to hear it.

I keep my back to the cameras, to Lacey, as I kneel beside Danny, adjusting his grip on the guitar. My hands move automatically, muscle memory kicking in as I guide his fingers into place.

But my mind?

It’s a fucking storm.

Every second the cameras are here, every flash of a lens catching this moment, my moment with these kids—it burns.

Because I told them, I told Rachel. I told Emily. I told Lacey what this place means to me.

That this place isn’t for PR, it isn’t a goddamn photo op.

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