Page 34 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

He’s close enough now that I can see the angry flecks of silver in his blue eyes. “Was it?”

“Nate, please don’t do this—“

“Fine.” His expression goes stony. “Tell Rachel we were convincing.” His voice has a cutting edge to it now. “Tell her we played our parts perfectly.”

The bitterness in his tone makes me regret my words. “Nate, I—“

“Goodnight, Lacey.” He abruptly turns away, leaving me standing there. “Sweet dreams.”

I watch him disappear up the stairs, my heart racing and my skin still tingling from his touch. My body still humming from unfulfilled desire.

I sink onto one of the bar stools. The house feels too quiet now and too empty.

Through the window, I watch waves crash against the shore, their rhythm steady and inevitable. Unlike everything else in my life right now.

What am I doing? This attraction to Nate is not part of the plan. The plan was simple: play the devoted fiancée and advance my career. Clean, professional, and temporary.

But there’s nothing professional about the way my skin burns every time he touches me. Nothing temporary about how natural it feels to be by his side. How effortlessly he…

I wearily pull up my calendar on my phone, scrolling through the next few months. My schedule is packed—three interviews next week, meetings with producers, and a potential guest appearance on TV in the fall. And that’s just my commitments. Nate has the album launch, the tour dates being finalized, and press appearances.

We’re both too busy with our careers to even think about a real relationship.

No. This has to stay professional. Has to stay contained.

I grab my phone again, reading Rachel’s message one more time:‘How did it go tonight? The photos coming in look amazing. You two have incredible chemistry. The press is already calling you the hottest new couple.’

Of course, we have chemistry. That’s the problem.

But chemistry isn’t enough. It doesn’t build relationships, and it doesn’t survive packed schedules, competing priorities, and the brutal reality of our separate lives.

Chemistry just makes everything more complicated. I need to focus on my career.

Upstairs, I hear movement—Nate getting ready for bed, probably. I picture him up there, maybe thinking about the line we almost crossed. Does he have any regrets?

If he does, that would be good because regret means boundaries.

My phone buzzes again:‘Lacey? You there? Need to know how things went.’

Maybe I should tell her the mission went well. Because, this is only a temporary arrangement that will end exactly as planned, with both of us moving on to our next projects, our next roles, and our separate lives.

And if my heart aches a little at that thought? Well, that’s just another performance I’ll have to master.

Or should I be honest and tell her that the lines between real and pretend have blurred? That every look, every kiss, and response to his touch feels more authentic than any acting I’ve ever done?

I take a deep breath and type:‘Mission accomplished. Everything went according to plan.’

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, before I can hint at the complexity brewing beneath the surface.

It might be the biggest lie I’ve ever told.

Eleven

Nate

“Dude, that’s the third time you’ve missed that transition.”

Vince’s voice snaps me back to the present. We’re in the studio, working on the bridge of our new single, and I’ve been somewhere else entirely.

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