Page 49 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

“So, drums?” Robert’s voice snaps me back to the present as we settle into comfortable chairs in his study. A baseball game plays quietly on the TV.

“Yes. Since I was twelve.”

He nods approvingly. “Good age to start. Gives you time to develop real skill.” He gestures to a shelf of books. “I played jazz in college. Nothing professional, but...”

The conversation flows easily after that. Robert, it turns out, is a wealth of knowledge about music history, and I find myself genuinely enjoying our discussion about the evolution of percussion in different genres. We then move on to the topic of sports.

From the kitchen, I can hear the women laughing, their voices rising and falling like music. Occasionally, Lacey’s laugh rings out clear and bright, making something warm unfurl in my chest.

“It can be overwhelming at first,” Robert comments, noting my attention to the kitchen chaos. “The Romano women... they’re a force of nature. But you get used to it.” He smiles fondly. “They love fiercely. Accept you completely. Even if they do try to feed you to death.”

“I can see where Lacey gets it,” I say without thinking. “The fierce part, I mean.”

Robert’s eyes twinkle knowingly. “Yes, she’s very much her mother’s daughter. Though she got her competitive streak from both sides.”

As if on cue, Lacey appears in the doorway. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she announces. “The rest of the family should be arriving soon.” She then frowns suspiciously. “What are you two talking about?”

“Sports,” Robert says smoothly, winking at me.

She doesn’t believe us for a second, but before she can interrogate us further, the doorbell rings.

The next five minutes are a blur of introductions, cheek kisses, loud voices, and so many hands clapping me on the back that I half-expect to have bruises tomorrow.

The Monroe family—or rather, the Romano side of it—is big.

Uncles, aunts, cousins, and a few people who I think are just friendly neighbors but are welcomed like blood relatives. They talk loud, and they all talk fast.

I barely keep up, but surprisingly, I don’t mind it.

Our eyes meet across the space of her family’s kitchen, and something electric passes between us. She’s different here—more relaxed, more herself—and watching her move through this space, laughing with her relatives, she’s never been more beautiful.

Maria then claps her hands, “Dinner is ready.”

As I follow Lacey to the dining room, my hand finds the small of her back automatically. She leans into my touch, and for a moment, I forget this is all supposed to be for show. Because right now, surrounded by her family, with her warm and real beside me, nothing about this feels fake at all.

Lacey watches me closely, looking for signs of panic, but I just let the noise wash over me.

If anything, it’s fascinating.

One of the aunts, I couldn’t tell you which one, looks at me sternly and declares, “Sit! Eat! You’re too skinny!”

“I’m not—“

A steaming plate of homemade pasta materializes in front of me.

Well, okay then.

Lacey slides into the seat next to me. “I told you.”

I chuckle, twirling some pasta onto my fork. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think I’m winning so far.”

“You think you’re winning?” Her voice drops into that sultry, competitive tone. “Nate, me and my family always win.”

Oh, this woman. The heat between us sizzles for half a second before we’re interrupted by someone passing around what looks to be a massive bowl of antipasto—an artful display of olives, salami, cheeses, roasted peppers, and marinated artichokes that practically scream of family tradition. It’s all followed by an overflowing basket of buttery garlic bread—my mouth waters at the enticing aromas.

As everyone settles into their meal around the large dining room, the noise seems to quiet just enough to make the chatter feel more intimate, yet still full of that unmistakable, vibrant energy.

Conversations overlap and weave together: debates about who makes the best marinara, local gossip, and family stories I’m already being pulled into. It should be overwhelming, but there’s something magnetic about their easy intimacy, the way they fold newcomers into their circle without hesitation.

---