Page 59 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

The alarm buzzes, announcing our driver. Nate curses, stepping back.

I sigh. “Rachel’s going to kill us if we’re late.”

“We should let her.”

I laugh, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

The charity gala at the Riverside Museum of Art is exactly the kind of event Rachel and the company love—Philanthropic, glamorous, and perfect for their newest leading lady.

It’s been days since I’ve seen Nate. And tonight, he looks like sin wrapped in a suit, and judging by the way his eyes linger on me, he knows it.

He keeps his hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd, his grip warm and firm. Every brush of his fingers against my bare back sends electricity dancing across my skin. The way he looks at me across the room, like he’s imagining peeling this dress off slowly, makes it hard to focus on polite conversation. Every time I look up, his eyes are already on me. And every time our gazes lock, something in my stomach tightens.

The rest of the band is already here—Cass and Kendrick, Sam and Emily, Luke and Lila, and of course, Vince, who is flirting with a famous model.

“Surprised you made it,” Cass teases Nate, sipping his whiskey. “Thought for sure Lacey would hold you up again.”

Nate chuckles. “She tried.” I elbow him, but he just tightens his grip around my waist, pulling me closer.

Conversation flows easily. We talk, laugh, and drink champagne. Nate’s hand never strays from my waist, his thumb brushing lazy circles against my skin.

The entire night, I feel it—that magnetic pull stretching between us.

Around ten, Nate leans in. “Ready to get out of here?”

“God, yes,” I whisper back. “Think we can sneak out the back?”

We make it halfway to the exit before Rachel materializes in front of us.

“And where do you two think you’re going? The photographers haven’t even taken one picture of Hollywood’s newest celebrity couple.”

“Rachel...” Nate starts, but she holds up a hand unmoved.

“One hour. Give me one hour of the company’s perfect actress and her rockstar fiancé, and then you can leave and,” she glances around to ensure no one’s within earshot, “do whatever you want.”

I feel Nate’s frustration, but we both know the stakes. My career, our contract—everything depends on maintaining this image.

“One hour,” he agrees.

Rachel shepherds us toward the incoming reporters. “Smile for the cameras. Mingle. Be adorable—remember you’re the company’s picture-perfect couple.”

I straighten my spine and plaster on my all-American girl princess smile—just one more hour of being perfect.

Then I can go home and just be me with Nate, behind closed doors where nobody can see.

After we pose for multiple photos, Nate leans down, voice dropping to a whisper only I can hear. “Ten minutes. Then we’re sneaking out the back.”

I suppress a laugh. “Deal.”

I catch his eye, and the heat in his gaze makes my breath catch. Ten minutes suddenly feels like an eternity.

I make small talk with the other guest, smile for more photos, and field questions about ‘The Winter Princess’ with practiced ease, all while hyper-aware of Nate’s presence beside me and his occasional touches driving me mad.

Only one minute to go.

I watch the seconds tick by on the ornate clock above the museum’s entrance.

Nate’s hand finds the small of my back. “Would you like to get some air?” he asks, loud enough for those nearby to hear.

---