Page 23 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

I lean in to see the screen, and Lacey doesn’t move away. The heat of her body seeps into mine, her wet hair brushing my shoulder.

“Hi, Mrs. Monroe.” I notice how Lacey tenses slightly when my breath hits her ear, but she doesn’t pull back.

Her mom smiles. “Oh! There he is. Handsome and polite.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You, too, dear. Tell me, do you plan on keeping my daughter all to yourself?”

Lacey puts her face in her palm. “Mother.”

“Oh, relax, Stellina. I just want to make sure my future son-in-law is worthy of you.”

I grin. “Blaire said the same thing earlier. You’ll have to decide for yourself.”

Mrs. Monroe claps her hands. “Oh, you are a sweet-talker.”

Lacey groans. “I’m hanging up now.”

“No, wait! Your father wants to say hi!”

“Sorry, love you, bye!”

She ends the call. “I swear, my family exists solely to make my life difficult.”

“Your mother called you Stellina?”

Lacey smiles. “Italian for little star.”

“Appropriate.” I nod in approval.

She falls back onto the towel. “They mean well. They really do. They just… hover.“ She glances at me. “What about yours?”

I stiffen. It’s not intentional—it just happens. Lacey notices, but she doesn’t push.

I exhale slowly. “We’re not… close.”

She watches me for a second. “Not close as in distant or not close emotionally?”

I consider lying. Deflecting. But something about the way she’s looking at me makes me want to answer honestly.

“Both,” I admit.

She nods as if she gets it. “Are your parents still alive?”

“My mother is.”

“And your dad?”

“Not in the picture.” I keep my tone light. “Left when I was twelve. Classic ‘went for cigarettes’ scenario.”

Lacey’s hand finds mine in the sand, and I let her twine our fingers together. “I’m sorry.”

“Ancient history.” I squeeze her hand. “Besides, the band’s my family now. You saw that last night.”

She rolls onto her side to face me, and a drop of water falls from her hair onto my chest. I resist the urge to brush the wet strands from her face, to let my fingers linger on her skin.

“For what it’s worth,” she says softly, her dark eyes holding mine, “I think the family you choose means just as much as the one you’re born into.”

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