Page 98 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

Fans have no idea how chopped up and out of sequence the movie sequences are. They tend to think the filming is from the beginning to the end. If only.

Instead, we’re shooting the emotional goodbye scene today, even though tomorrow we’ll film our characters’ first meeting. Nextweek, I’ll be shooting scenes from the middle of the movie, where Princess Ava hasn’t even fallen for Prince James yet. It’s like putting together a jigsaw puzzle blindfolded, having to remember exactly where in the emotional journey my character is supposed to be at any given moment.

It doesn’t help that Leo keeps pushing for script changes. “James wouldn’t say it like that,” he’ll argue, or “This motivation doesn’t track.” Never mind that he’s played exactly three supporting roles before this, and suddenly he’s an expert on character development.

“Remember,” the director calls out, “you’re desperately in love with him. You can’t bear the thought of leaving.”

Right. Desperately in love. I channel every ounce of my acting ability as we reset the scene. At least Leo and I have decent chemistry on screen, even if he’s insufferable between takes. The camera rolls, and I transform into Ava, the lovesick princess willing to give up everything for her soulmate.

The irony isn’t lost on me.

Three hours and countless takes later, I’m finally in my trailer, peeling off Ava’s carefully crafted wardrobe. My phone buzzes with a text from Nate:‘Have you killed your leading man yet?’

A smile tugs at my lips despite my exhaustion.‘Not yet. But the day isn’t over.’

His response is immediate: ‘That’s my girl. Saving the homicide for the dramatic finale.’

I stare at those words. My girl. He probably doesn’t even think about what he’s typing, but it makes my heart do stupid things in my chest—things it shouldn’t be doing.

My mind goes back to our last night in Seattle and what happened when we got back to the hotel.

How his steamy kiss left me wanting more. How his hands had mapped my body like he was memorizing every inch.

I shiver at the memory. Just a few more days, and I’ll be flying back to Jacksonville—to Nate.

A knock at my trailer door interrupts my brooding. “Ms. Monroe? They need you in makeup for the next scene.”

“Coming,” I call out, but I don’t move immediately. Instead, I find myself staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror. The woman looking back at me seems uncertain, conflicted. Not at all like the confident actress I’m supposed to be.

The thing is, I love acting. I love disappearing into different characters and bringing stories to life. It’s been my dream since I was six years old, performing one-woman shows in our living room. But lately, I’ve been wondering if the cost is worth it.

This contract, for instance. The company practically owns my life for the duration of this movie. Every public appearance, every interview, and every social media post has to be approved. Even my engagement with Nate—such as it is, had to be cleared through them.

Nate.

He’s in Nashville this week, performing to a packed audience. The fans are loving the new album. I think back to our time in Seattle; at least I have those memories to sustain me. But next month, who knows? Meanwhile, I’m stuck here in Hollywood until the filming of this movie is finished.

“Ms. Monroe?” Another knock, more insistent this time.

“Just a minute!” I start gathering my things, but my thoughts keep circling back to Nate. To those stolen moments between our crazy schedules. To how real it feels when we’re together and how empty it feels when we’re apart.

But is that enough? Can any relationship survive this kind of distance, this constant separation? Even if what we have is real—even if he wanted it to be permanent—how would we make it work?

I’ve seen too many celebrity relationships crash and burn. Too many couples are torn apart by competing schedules and career demands. Even Leo’s crankiness and demands are rumored to be because of his last serious relationship, which recently ended because he and his fiancée couldn’t handle the constant travel,the long hours, and the public scrutiny. I could almost feel sorry for the man.

“Lacey!” This time, it’s my assistant, Tara, actually opening the door. “Lacey, they’re waiting.”

“Sorry, sorry.” I grab my water bottle and phone, trying to shake off these thoughts. “Just got lost in my head for a minute.”

Tara gives me a knowing look. “Thinking about a certain handsome drummer?”

“No,” I lie, then immediately cave under her raised eyebrow. “Maybe. It’s just—how do people make it work in this industry? The distance, the schedules, the constant pressure?”

“Some people do,” she says softly. “When it matters enough.”

But that’s the question, isn’t it? Do I matter enough to Nate? Does he matter enough to me that I’d be willing to reshape my whole life? Because that’s what it would take—compromises, sacrifices, major changes to how we both live and work.

Or am I getting way ahead of myself, building castles in the air around what’s essentially a business arrangement with benefits? Even if those benefits are mind-blowing…

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