Page 30 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

Vince releases her, then grins like the devil himself as he practically drops her into my arms.

“She’s all yours, lover boy,” he says, clapping me on the back. “It was nice of you to bring her along, even if you don’t like sharing.”

I frown, slipping an arm around Lacey’s waist, pulling her possessively against my side. “Figured it was time to make a public appearance together. You know, give the public what they want.”

Vince snorts, picking up a glass of champagne. “And what do they want, exactly? Picture-perfect romance?”

Lacey tilts her head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Jealous, Vince?”

Vince raises a brow, then turns giving me a slow, deliberate once-over, like he’s assessing me, as he shakes his head. “I don’t know, Lacey. Nate’s a decent catch, but I think you could do better.”

Lacey laughs, full and genuine, and leans into me just slightly. “I don’t happen to agree.”

I feel her warmth against my side, the way her body moves naturally with mine, and for a second, I forget that this is just pretend—an act for the crowd to help our career—that we’re playing a temporary part.

After a couple of hours, the party starts to feel too loud, too crowded. I need air.

I find a quiet spot away from the noise, the city lights sprawling beneath me, and lean against the railing. The night is warm, a gentle breeze rolling in off the river, and for the first time all evening, my head starts to clear.

Until she finds me.

“You disappeared,” Lacey says, quietly stepping up beside me.

I glance at her, noticing how the city lights reflect in her dark eyes. “I needed a break.”

She hums, resting her forearms on the railing as she gazes out at the skyline. “Yeah. It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

I study her profile—the soft curve of her jaw, the slant of her nose, the way her lips part just slightly as she exhales.

“It can get overwhelming after a while,” she admits softly.

I nod slowly. “Yes, it can.”

She turns her head toward me, searching my face. “And now?”

Now? Now, I don’t know how the hell to separate reality from whatever this is turning into.

I take a sip of my drink, stalling. “I think I’ll survive.”

Her lips curve. “Tough guy.”

“You sound surprised.”

She shakes her head, her smile softening. “Not surprised. Just... noticing things.”

“Like what?”

Her gaze lingers on mine, something unreadable in her expression.

“You’re different when you’re away from the spotlight.”

Something in my chest tightens.

I should say something light, something that doesn’t acknowledge what she just said—because she’s right.

But before I can respond, her fingers brush against mine on the railing.

It’s nothing, yet at the same time—it’s everything.

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