Page 57 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

Eighteen

Lacey

“What do you mean they want to reshoot the princess promo?” I pace my dressing room at Hollywood Studios. My phone pressed to my ear. The adaptation of ‘The Winter Princess’ is my first major project under my new contract, and everything has to be perfect.

“Marketing thinks the first take was too...” Tara hesitates, “mature. They want something more family-friendly.”

Of course, they do. Ever since the hotel incident with Nate and our subsequent ‘engagement,’ The company’s been extra vigilant about my image. Every move, every photo, and every public appearance has to scream wholesome role model, yet still convey a couple madly in love.

“Fine,” I sigh, glancing at my watch. “But I have a flight to catch tonight...”

“About that,” Tara sounds apologetic. “They want to do the reshoot tomorrow morning. And the studio heads want to review the footage early Friday morning...”

I sink into my chair, already knowing I’ll miss my Thursday flight back to Jacksonville, back to Nate. At least at his house, I can relax, be myself, and not worry about maintaining this princess-perfect image every second.

“Lacey?” Tara prompts. “The director is very insistent...”

“Push my flight to Saturday morning,” I concede. “But make it early. I have the charity gala Saturday night.”

After ending the call, I walk to the window. Hollywood Studios is everything it’s always been—bright, fast-paced, and exhausting.

I should feel at home here. After all, this is where my career has taken off, where I’ve spent years building my name, my brand, and my future. But as I stare out over the studio lot, I feel something I haven’t in a long time.

Displaced. I miss Jacksonville—and Nate.

It’s ridiculous how much I miss him after only a few days apart. But ever since I left, I’ve felt an ache in my chest that has nothing to do with exhaustion or stress. It’s a pull, a tether I didn’texpect, dragging me back toward the one place that—shockingly—feels more like home than anywhere else.

I sigh, reaching for my phone.

Me:‘Change of plans. Looks like I won’t be back until Saturday afternoon.’

Nate:‘Damn. Thought you’d be here sooner.’

Me: ‘Me too. This week has been a disaster.’

Nate:‘It’s almost over. Just get here.’

Me:‘Rachel already has my outfit for the gala waiting at your place. At least I don’t have to stress about that.’

Nate: ‘Good. Because I’d hate for you to be the one making us late, again.’

I huff out a laugh, imagining the grin that probably came with that text.

Me:‘I’m never late.’

Nate:‘You’re ALWAYS late.‘

Me:‘Lies!’

Nate: ‘Can’t wait to see you.’

I blink at the message, my pulse stuttering. Nate’s never outright said that before.

The warmth spreading through me is irrational, but I don’t fight it. Instead, I stare at the words for a moment too long, and he texts again.

Nate:‘House feels empty without you. Saw your face on a Company Store window display today. Very princess-like.’

I smile before typing back.

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