Page 3 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

My phone lights up with another text from Mom: ‘Did you eat breakfast? Remember you need to eat!’

I roll my eyes, but my smile widens. That’s the third message this morning, and it’s not even seven. I love my family, I really do, but sometimes their constant check-ins feel more like check-ups.

Another message pops up, this one from my agent: ‘Meeting with the press at 9. Wear the blue dress we discussed. REMEMBER: Sweet, wholesome, America’s sweetheart.’

As if I could forget! I’ve worked too hard to get here to mess it up now. All those years of acting classes, dance lessons, voice coaching—everything leading to this moment. The company contract is my golden ticket, my chance to really make it.

My mind drifts to last night’s events as I run. The Wild Band had been performing in Atlanta—I’d seen it trending on social media. I still can’t believe I missed them. I’d been stuck in meetings all day, then rushed through that crowded hotel bar, barely catching a glimpse of what I think was the band. Just a flash of intense blue eyes and dark hair before my security team whisked me away.

Speaking of which, I need to talk to them about finding less conspicuous routes. The paparazzi attention is getting crazy, though I suppose I should be grateful. It means people care, right?

The treadmill beeps as I hit my five-mile mark. My schedule today is packed: meetings, fittings, script reading, publicity photos. But first, I need coffee. And maybe a chocolate croissant—though my nutritionist would have a fit.

I run one more mile just to lessen the guilt of eating a chocolate treat before I slow to a cool-down walk, humming along to the music. I finally hop off the treadmill, wiping down the equipment before returning to my suite. The morning sun streams through the windows, and I twirl once, just because I can. Some people might find the company’s strict image requirements suffocating, but I don’t mind. I’ve always been a true Disney-like girl at heart—the magic, the wonder, the belief that anything is possible if you just dare to dream.

Even if sometimes, late at night, I wonder if I’ll ever find my own fairy tale ending.

My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s my sister:‘Sis! You’re trending! That outfit last night was sublime! PS: Did you see any interesting guys at the hotel? Maybe you should consider getting back in the dating game.’

I laugh, shaking my head as I type back:‘Too busy for dating! Career first, remember?’

And I mean it. Mostly. Sure, sometimes I get lonely, but right now, my focus needs to be on the movie. I want to prove to everyone, especially the company, that they made the right choice in casting me. Romance can wait.

Still—those intense blue eyes from last night—who was he? I really didn’t get a view of his face, but I bet he was handsome.

No. Focus Lacey.

I head to the shower, mentally reviewing my lines for today’s script reading. This is what matters. This is what I’ve worked for. Nothing is going to distract me from making the most of this opportunity.

Even if my heart occasionally wishes for something more than just career success.

The bathroom fills with steam as I smile through my morning routine. I can’t help it—joy just flows out of me, especially when I’m excited. And today, I’m beyond excited. I’m being interviewed by a magazine. It will be my first magazine spread since the company signed me.

After my shower, I wrap myself in the hotel’s fluffy robe and tackle my long, dark hair. The humidity makes it want to curl, but today’s publicity shoot requires sleek and polished. I’m halfway through styling when my phone rings—FaceTime from Mom.

“Stellina!” Her familiar face fills the screen. “I saw those photos from last night. You looked beautiful, but maybe that dress was a little–”

“Mom.” I cut her off gently. “The dress was pre-approved by the company’s team. Everything I wear in public is.”

“I know, I know.” She waves her hand. “I just thought… never mind. Your father and I were talking—“

“Is that Lacey?” My sister’s voice carries from somewhere off-screen. Suddenly, she’s squeezing into the frame. “Hey, superstar! Did you get my text about dating? Because I found this great guy—“

“No matchmaking!” I point my hairbrush at the screen. “I mean it, Blaire. I’m focused on work right now.”

“All work and no play,” she sing-songs.

“Speaking of work,” Mom cuts in, “are you eating enough? You looked thin in those photos.”

I glance at the clock. Twenty minutes until I need to leave. “I have a nutritionist, remember? And a trainer. And an entire team making sure I’m healthy and camera-ready.”

“We just miss you,” Mom says softly.

My heart squeezes. “I miss you too. But this is what I’ve always wanted.”

“We know, baby.” Mom’s eyes get misty. “We’re so proud of you.”

Before I can get emotional, which would totally ruin my makeup, my agent’s call beeps through.

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