Page 15 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

I walk her to the door of the guest suite, and she pauses in the doorway. “Goodnight, Nate.”

“Goodnight, Lacey.”

As I head to my own room, I realize I’m in trouble because this feels like more than just a solution to a PR problem. Lacey is becoming the most dangerous kind of temptation—one that feels real.

Six

Lacey

The ocean breeze whips through my hair as I step out of the car in front of Cass Wild’s estate. I take a second to take it all in—the clean design, with massive windows that overlook the water. It’s every bit the kind of home you’d expect from a rockstar—and very similar to Nate’s, except instead of the minimalist fortress vibe, it’s understated. It exudes a kind of warmth that feels welcoming.

I swallow hard.

“Relax,” Nate says as we walk to the front door. “They’re harmless.”

Easy for him to say. He’s not the one who has to convince his closest friends that we’re madly in love after knowing each otherfor less than a week. I’m the reason we’re running late. I tried on three different outfits before deciding on the first one I tried on. Designer jeans and a fitted top. Classic and comfortable.

“You okay?” Nate’s hand finds mine, and I try not to think about how natural that gesture is becoming.

“Just... preparing for my performance...” I squeeze his hand.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything, pushing open the door without knocking—because, of course, he wouldn’t need to knock—and the energy inside hits me like a wall.

Music. Laughter. The scent of something delicious cooking. It’s chaos, but the good kind—the kind that makes a place feel lived in and warm.

And then—

“Oh my God, you’re really here!” The girl—Cassidy—practically vibrates with excitement. “I’ve seen all your movies. You were amazing in ‘Summer Storm’!”

The teenage girl is followed by a tall, willowy blonde, who must be Kendrick, Cass Wild’s wife. Her daughter is a younger version of her mom.

I laugh, genuinely touched by the girl’s enthusiasm. “Thank you! That one was fun to film.”

“Let her breathe, Cassidy,” her mother says, extending her hand. “Welcome to our home. I’d apologize for my daughter, but...”

“Mom!” Cassidy protests.

“No need,” I assure them both. “It’s nice to meet you properly.”

Cassidy continues, “I follow you on Instagram. And—wait—“ She turns to Nate, scowling. “How could you not tell me?!”

Nate, to my surprise, grins. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Cassidy narrows her eyes. “I’ll deal with you later.” Then, she refocuses all her energy back on me. “You are so much cooler in real life!”

I smile at Cassidy. “From what I’ve read about the Wild Family—you’re pretty cool yourself.”

Her eyes widen, and then she looks around. “Oh my God, did you hear that? She thinks I’m cool!”

“That’s because you are,” Cass Wild says from the doorway, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

Even if I weren’t a fan of the Wild Band’s music, I’d recognize Cass Wild. The man radiates rockstar energy, from the tattoos peeking out from beneath his sleeves to the way he leans casually against the doorframe—completely at ease, completely in his element.

He walks toward us, hand extended, his grin easy and familiar.

“Lacey Monroe,” he says, shaking my hand. “It’s an honor to have you in our home.”

“Trust me, the honor’s mine.”

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