Page 28 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

Nine

Nate

I catch my reflection in the mirror—dark jeans and a black button-down dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It’ll have to do.

“You clean up nice.”

I turn to find Lacey in the doorway, and my breath catches. She’s wearing a simple black dress that hugs every curve, her hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. The dress shows just enough skin to be tempting without being obvious.

“You’re staring,” she says softly.

“Can’t help it.” The words come out rougher than intended.

A slight blush colors her cheeks, but she holds my gaze. We haven’t talked about the kiss. Haven’t acknowledged how she fled upstairs or how I spent half the night pacing on the deck, trying to get the intoxicating taste of her off my lips.

“Ready?” she asks, and we both know she’s not just talking about the party.

I grab my keys. “As I’ll ever be.”

The drive to the Riverside is quiet, charged with everything we’re not saying. Lacey fidgets with her phone, and I try to focus on the road instead of the way her dress rides up when she crosses her legs.

“So,” she finally breaks the silence, “what’s our game plan?”

“Be ourselves.” At her raised eyebrow, I clarify, “The version of ourselves that’s madly in love.”

“Right.” She looks out the window. “Should be easy enough.”

The thing is, it is easy. Too easy. Playing the devoted fiancé doesn’t feel like acting anymore, and that’s exactly the problem.

We pull up to the hotel, and I hand my keys to the valet. Before we head inside, I catch Lacey’s hand, pulling her close.

“Hey.” I wait until she meets my eyes. “Everything alright with you?”

She squeezes my hand. “Perfect. Let’s give them a show.”

The moment we step into the hotel’s garden terrace, all eyes turn to us. Lacey fits herself against my side as if she belongs there, and I slip my arm around her waist, thumb brushing the bare skin exposed by her dress.

I feel her slight shiver and have to remind myself this is all for show.

As we make our way through the crowd, I can’t help thinking that I should be used to this by now—the flashing cameras, the low hum of conversation as people continue to sneak glances at me, the weight of public expectation. But tonight? Tonight, everything feels different.

Maybe it’s the setting. The Riverside Hotel is one of those old-money, dimly lit places with soft jazz playing in the background. The rooftop terrace has a pool, and the view of the cityscape is magnificent at night. It’s the kind of place where secrets are whispered over glasses of top-shelf whiskey and romance lingers in the air like perfume.

Or maybe it’s her.

My eyes land on Lacey as she steps ahead of me, noticing how her black dress hugs her in all the right places. She’s effortless, graceful, and confident, like she was born for this world of spotlights and carefully curated attention. But there’s something else, too—something that makes my pulse tick a little harder.

She’s not just playing a part tonight. She’s at ease.

And damn, if that doesn’t make it even harder to remember, this is all a game.

She glances over her shoulder, her dark eyes catching mine as she offers me a slow, knowing smile.

“You’re staring again,” she teases, her voice low enough that only I can hear.

“Maybe I like what I see,” I murmur, letting my fingers brush the small of her back as I reach her side.

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