31. Thirty-One
Thirty-One
Lila
Steam billows around me as I step out of the shower, my mind already racing with pre-show jitters. The Music Awards—which I’ll be attending. Just thinking about it makes my stomach flip.
Luckily, the media frenzy has died down somewhat, and the paparazzi have moved on to their next celebrity scandal. For a while, it felt like every single article was about Luke and Crystal’s breakup—except they weren’t just about that. No, the gossip rags made sure to drag me into the mess, spinning the narrative that I was the reason Luke ended things—conveniently ignoring Marcus’s arrest as if it were nothing .
And, of course, they didn’t stop at speculating about our relationship.
They picked apart my appearance, too.
Too plain.Too curvy.Too fat.Not his type!A girl like her with a guy like him? Impossible.
At first, I tried ignoring it. But then I made the mistake of doomscrolling, letting the words sink in until they felt like truth instead of the ridiculous, baseless nonsense they were.
At least now, I’ve learned to stop scanning the comments sections. Refusing to read the cruel remarks about my size and the speculation about what Luke Sterling sees in a “full-figured chef,”... but I’ve still deleted most of my social media apps.
Luke likes my curves. I have to remind myself of that.
And more importantly—I like my curves. I made peace with my figure long ago. I’m a chef, for goodness sake. I cook, I eat, and I enjoy every damn delicious bite.
I refuse to let a bunch of faceless internet trolls make me feel unworthy of the man who’s made it crystal clear that he likes me exactly as I am. And dear God, the way he looks at me. The way his hands trace my voluptuous curves like they’re mapping treasure. The way he steals bites of whatever I’m cooking and tells me life’s too short not to enjoy great food. He makes me feel beautiful, even when the tabloids suggest otherwise.
Emily suddenly appears in the hotel bathroom doorway, already dressed in a sleek black number that makes her look like a movie star. “Ready to be glammed up?”
I laugh, securing my robe. “I’m ready. Do your worst.”
For the next two hours, I’m transformed. My hair is swept up into an elegant twist, with a few strategic pieces left loose to soften the look. The makeup artist Emily brought in works magic, giving me smokey eyes and lips that somehow look both innocent and sinful.
“Now for the main event,” Emily declares, unzipping the garment bag.
The dress. I still can’t believe they convinced me to buy it. When Luke handed me his credit card with a casual “get something nice,” I don’t think he was expecting this. The price tag made me dizzy, but Emily and Kendrick were relentless.
“It’s perfect,” they’d insisted. “It’s you.”
And looking at it now, I have to agree. The deep, midnight blue silk hugs my body like it was made for me, with a plunging neckline that shows just enough cleavage to make Luke lose his mind. The back... well, the back is basically nonexistent until the fabric gathers at the waist, flowing down into a sleek, floor-length silhouette. Tiny crystals catch the light with every movement, twinkling like stars. The finishing touch is a side slit running high up my thigh. It’s sexy but elegant and demands attention—the kind of dress that makes me feel like I belong with someone as famous as Luke Sterling.
“Lila,” Emily breathes as I step into it. “That dress—it’s perfect.”
Smiling, I put on my earrings. Long and sparkling, they dangle from my ears, catching the light every time I turn my head. And the shoes—mile-high stilettos that I pray I won’t break an ankle in—give me just enough height to press against Luke’s chest when we dance.
Because there will be dancing tonight.
A spritz of my favorite perfume, the one that makes Luke bury his face in my neck and growl...
“You look fantastic,” Emily says softly. “Like a goddess.”
The woman in the mirror doesn’t look like a chef who spends her days in a kitchen. She looks... Confident. Sensual. Like someone who belongs on a red carpet with a rockstar .
“Lila?” Luke’s voice carries from the main room of our suite. “Are you ready? The limo—“
He stops dead in the doorway, his mouth actually dropping open. He’s devastating in his tailored black suit. His hair artfully styled just enough to look effortlessly messy and sexy as hell. But it’s the look in his eyes that undo me.
Blue and dark with heat, his gaze sweeps over me slowly, thoroughly, like he’s committing every single inch of me to memory.
His jaw tics. His hands clench into fists at his sides.
“I’ll just join Sam in the next room.” Emily slips past him with a knowing smirk.
Luke hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. He just stares, his eyes traveling slowly from my heels up to my face in a way that makes heat pool in my stomach.
And when he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse, low, like he’s barely holding himself together.
“Jesus, Lila.”
I swallow hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. “You like it?”
He exhales sharply. “Like it?” He shakes his head, his eyes dragging down my body and then back up, lingering on the exposed curve of my thigh before landing on my red lips.
“Too much?” I ask, suddenly nervous.
He crosses the room in three strides. “You’re fucking beautiful,” he growls, and the raw desire in his voice makes me shiver.
“The dress—“
“Is stunning.” His lips find my neck, just below my ear. “But you’re what’s beautiful.”
A shiver races down my spine.
“I’m trying really hard,” he says, voice rough, dangerous, “to be a gentleman right now.”
I turn toward him, the slit of my dress parting just enough to reveal more skin. “Who said you have to be a gentleman?”
Luke makes a sound—somewhere between a groan and a curse—before his hands pull me against him.
The air crackles between us.
His lips hover just above mine, his breath hot, his fingers digging into my hips like he’s battling himself.
“Lila,” he murmurs, his voice like gravel and sin, “we should stay in tonight.”
My breath stutters, my entire body thrumming with anticipation.
“Luke,” I whisper, sliding my hands up his chest, feeling the tension coiled beneath his muscles. “We can’t. The band is up for an award.”
He grits his teeth, closing his eyes for a moment before pressing his forehead against mine. “Screw the award.”
“Luke...” I melt into him, forgetting about my hair and makeup. “We have to go...”
“Do we?” His hands slide higher finding bare skin through the open back of the dress. “Because I can think of much better ways to spend the evening.”
I gasp as his teeth graze my pulse point. “The band... the award...”
“Don’t care.” His fingers caress the curve of my back. “I want you.”
It would be so easy to give in. To let him peel this dress off me, to forget about red carpets and cameras and.. .
“The limo’s waiting!” Emily’s voice carries from the hotel suite’s main room, making us both groan.
Luke rests his forehead against mine, breathing hard. “To be continued?”
“Definitely.”
Luke growls, his grip tightening before he steps back abruptly, putting space between us.
I blink at him, dazed, breathless.
He exhales hard, raking a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. “If I don’t stop now, we won’t make it to the damn limo.”
My lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. “Then I guess you better control yourself, rockstar.”
His blue eyes darken, his jaw tight.
He steps back, adjusting his tie with a rueful smile. “You’re going to kill me in that dress, you know that?”
“Good.” I smooth my hands down the silk, enjoying the way his eyes follow the movement. “Consider it payback for all those shirtless rehearsal sessions.”
His laugh is low and promising. “Careful. The night’s just beginning. ”
And as we head out of the bedroom, his hand possessive on my lower back, I realize I’m not nervous anymore. Let them stare. Let them whisper. I know who I am, and more importantly, so does Luke.
Besides, I think with a secret smile, watching him sneak another heated glance my way, I dressed for Luke—and I love driving him wild.
The limo’s interior is all soft leather with ambient lighting, and a bottle of champagne is already chilling in the built-in bar. Across from us, Emily and Sam are in their own world, murmuring to each other as Emily fusses with the collar of Sam’s tux.
Luke’s hand finds mine, his thumb stroking lazy circles over my knuckles. “Relax, baby,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my temple. “You’re going to steal the damn show tonight.”
I swallow hard, forcing a small smile. “I think your definition of stealing the show is different from mine.”
Sam snickers. “He’s right, you know. The second you step onto that carpet, every photographer is gonna be fighting for your picture.” Sam pours the champagne and hands each of us a glass.
I groan. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Emily grins. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. The key is to pretend you don’t hear the screaming, don’t look directly into the flashing lights, and—most importantly—don’t trip.”
“Not helping,” I mutter, adjusting the high slit in my gown.
Luke leans in, his voice low and intimate. “For the record, if you trip, I’ll catch you.”
I roll my eyes, but my pulse skips a beat at the way his heavy gaze lingers on me.
“Remember to smile,” Emily says, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her dress. “They’ll be shouting Luke’s name from every direction, but just keep walking. The publicist will guide you where to stop.”
I take a generous sip of champagne, grateful for the slight buzz. “What if they ask me questions?”
“They will,” Sam chimes in with an easy smile. “Just keep it light and redirect to Luke or the band. You’re not there to give interviews.”
Luke’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently. He looks impossibly handsome in the dim light, and the way he keeps stealing glances at me makes my skin tingle.
“Just stay close to me,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “And remember, half of what they yell is just to get a reaction.”
Through the tinted windows, I can see the venue approaching. The street is lined with fans behind barricades, their phones and cameras creating a sea of flashing lights. My heart rate kicks up a notch.
“Oh boy,” I breathe as we pull into the arrivals queue. “There are so many people.”
“Focus on me,” Luke says, his voice low and steady. “Nothing else matters.”
Emily leans forward her expression serious. “Lila, listen. You look stunning. You belong here. And in about two hours, we’ll all be laughing about this over drinks.”
“Unless we win,” Sam grins. “Then we’ll be laughing about it over very expensive drinks.”
The limo inches forward. Through the windshield, I can see other celebrities walking the carpet, their outfits sparkling under the intense lights. It’s surreal, like watching a movie I’ve somehow stumbled into.
“Next,” a coordinator taps on our window .
Luke lifts my hand to his lips. “Ready?”
I think about the girl I was just months ago, cooking and living my quiet life. I think about the woman I am now, draped in silk and diamonds, about to walk the red carpet with a famous rockstar.
“I’m ready.”
The door opens, and the sounds hit me first—a wall of screams and music and chaos. Luke steps out first, looking every inch the rockstar in his perfectly tailored suit. He turns back, extending his hand to me.
The moment I emerge, the flashbulbs intensify. I hear gasps and whispers, my name being called alongside Luke’s. But all I can focus on is his hand in mine, steady and warm.
“You’ve got this,” he whispers, just for me.
And as we take our first steps toward the carpet, I realize he’s right. I do have this. Because I have him.
Kendrick’s right—the rest is just noise.