Page 95 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

He looks over at me with a sudden frown. “What’s going to happen once the six months are over?”

His words hit me like a physical blow, piercing through the sweetness of the moment and sending a sharp pang through my chest. I know we’re just making the best of a situation that was forced on us, but hearing him say it so plainly—like there’s still an inevitable expiration date—makes my stomach twist.

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in my throat. I should laugh it off, tease him about my mother never letting him go, about how my father considers him his best chess rival. But I can’t. Because I realize I don’t have an answer. I don’t know what will happen after six months, and the thought leaves me feeling unsteady, like I’m standing on the edge of a dangerous precipice. Something I might not survive falling into.

But I can’t voice my concerns, so instead, I force a light laugh that sounds hollow even to my ears and pull away slightly, needing space to rebuild my walls. “I guess I’ll have to tell them you turned out to be a terrible person. Maybe mention your secret gambling addiction or that you stole your collection of vintage drumsticks.”

He doesn’t laugh at my weak attempts at humor. Instead, his jaw tightens, and something flashes in his eyes—something that looks almost like pain. His arm flexes around my shoulder, drawing me closer instead of letting me create that distance I desperately need.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice rough. “Don’t joke about it like that.”

The intensity of his expression steals my breath. For a moment, neither of us speaks, and I’m hyperaware of every point where our bodies touch: the way his thumb draws small circles against my hip, the way his chest rises and falls beside me.

“Nate...” I start, but I don’t know how to finish. Because what can I say? That the thought of him walking away in six months makes me feel physically ill?

He closes his eyes briefly like he’s fighting some internal battle. When he opens them again, that intensity is masked behind a careful smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Come on,” he says, his voice deliberately lighter. “I think I saw a cheese vendor back there. Let’s see if they have that weird French stuff you like.”

But his hand stays pressed against my lower back as we walk, and I can’t help but notice how he holds me a little closer than before.

Twenty-Nine

Nate

The roar of twenty thousand fans fades as I step off stage, my shirt soaked with sweat, drumsticks still warm in my hands. Tonight’s show was fire, but my mind’s already drifting to Lacey, wondering if she caught any of it online. Two weeks without seeing her feels like too long, and that thought alone should scare the hell out of me.

In the quiet of the green room, I scroll through my phone, finding a photo from her latest movie promotion. She’s stunning in an elegant outfit, lighting up the room like she’s in her element. Which she is. I try not to think about the distance between us—her in L.A., me in whatever city we’re playing tonight.

The guys make it look so easy. Cass with his devotion to Kendrick and their daughter. Sam and Emily planning their next toddler play dates. Luke and Lila somehow manage to coordinate private time together despite the crowded tour bus. Even Vince, who swears he’ll never settle down, is texting his current hook up between sets.

Could Lacey and I find that rhythm? Our worlds are so different—her film schedules, my tours, press interviews and recording sessions. Sure, every entertainment magazine is filled with cautionary tales of failed Hollywood relationships. Musicians and actors trying to bridge their worlds and falling short.

But then I think about Nevada, when she flew in for that week together between film shoots, how she showed up at our performance out of the blue, exhausted but smiling. How natural it felt to pull her close. How right it felt when we had dinner with my mom and Richard. How her ridiculous idea of being a normal couple now has me looking forward to those silly outings.

My phone buzzes—it’s Lacey.‘Just watched your Indianapolis set. You were amazing tonight.’

I smile, feeling that familiar warmth in my chest. Maybe it’s crazy to think we can make this work: two different worlds, insane schedules, and constant travel. But watching my bandmates navigate their relationships and seeing how they’ve found ways to keep their connections strong despite the distance makes me wonder. What if we tried? What if we found our own way to bridge these worlds?

Because lately, every city feels a little emptier without her in it.

After the show, Cass suggests dinner at some upscale place downtown. I check my phone first, a habit now, and I am pleased to see my latest investment is up twelve percent. At least that’s going right.

“Nate,” Vince waves his hand in front of my face. “You coming or what?”

The restaurant has all sleek lines and soft lighting. We’re led to a private room in the back, and I’m just settling in when a familiar voice cuts through the quiet murmur of conversation.

“Nate Stone. What a nice surprise.” She flicks her eyes over me. “I saw the band was in town. Thought I might run into you.”

Melissa. My last serious relationship before Lacey. It feels like a decade ago, but in reality, it’s only been a couple of years.

She looks good—elegant in a red dress that shouts expensive. But looking at her now, I feel nothing. No spark, no remnant of what we once had. Just a polite acknowledgment of shared history.

“Melissa. You look well.”

She slides into the empty chair beside me—uninvited—while the guys exchange looks.

“I’ve been following you on social media,” she says, her smile practiced but her eyes sharp with something that might be regret. “Your engagement’s been everywhere. She’s gorgeous, by the way. A famous actress...” She lets out a small laugh. “I always knew when you finally fell, it would be for someone who could accept the long hours apart.”

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