5. Five
Five
Nate
The silence of my house wraps around me like a security blanket. After two days of camera flashes, rehearsed smiles, and playing the perfect fiancé, being alone feels like coming up for air. I drop my keys on the kitchen counter and breathe in the familiar scent of home—leather, wood polish, and the lingering aroma of coffee.
My phone buzzes. Another notification about ‘Hollywood’s newest power couple.’ I should probably turn those off.
Emily’s words from our private meeting yesterday echo in my head: “The band can’t know it’s fake. The fewer people who know the truth, the better. Besides, it’s in the NDA.”
I didn’t like it. Still don’t. These guys aren’t just my bandmates—they’re family. We’ve been through everything together, from playing dive bars to selling out arenas. Lying to them feels wrong.
But Emily’s logic was solid. “You’re already the private one,” she’d pointed out. “They’ll buy that you kept this quiet. And if they believe it’s real, they’ll help sell it to everyone else.”
Emily knows I’ve always kept my personal life locked up tight. I don’t do public relationships, and I sure as hell don’t invite tabloids into my business. Besides, if she’s willing to not even tell Sam, her own husband, then I have no right to complain.
And she was right. When the news broke, the guys barely blinked. ‘Classic Nate,’ Vince had texted. ‘Find the perfect girl and keep her all to yourself.’
But I’m sure they aren’t letting me off the hook that easily, especially Cass. My phone rings, and,
speak of the devil, Cass’s name lights up the screen.
“So,” he drawls when I answer, “want to explain why you acted like you didn’t know Lacey Monroe when we saw her in Atlanta the other night?”
I sink onto my leather couch, running a hand through my hair. “What?”
“At the after party. The one you bailed out on?” There’s amusement in his voice. “She passed by the private bar, and we all caught a glimpse of her. I asked if you recognized her, and you said—and I quote—Hard not to.”
Shit. “I, uh… I didn’t exactly lie, Cass,” I point out dryly.
“Only by omission. But I understand you wanting to keep it private.”
“Sorry,” I say, grateful for the easy out. “We weren’t ready to go public.”
Cass laughs. “Man, you’ve got some poker face. Though leaving early makes more sense now. Sneaking off for a romantic rendezvous?”
I hedge. “Something like that.”
“Well, the guys want to meet her properly. When’s that happening?”
I lean back, closing my eyes. This part, at least, is already arranged. Rachel’s team has our entire engagement scheduled down to the minute. “She’s coming to town this weekend.”
“Perfect. Dinner at my place this weekend? Cassidy is dying to meet her—she’s seen all her movies.”
“Even the company channel ones?”
“Especially those. My daughter is obsessed.”
I smile despite myself. Cass’s fourteen-year-old has the whole band wrapped around her finger. “Saturday works. I’ll check with Lacey, but I think she’d like that.”
“Cool. And Nate?” His voice turns serious. “We’re happy for you, man. She seems... different. Special.”
Guilt twists in my stomach. “Thanks, Cass.”
After we hang up, I stare at my phone for a long moment. On the screen, there’s a new notification—Lacey’s tagged me in a post. It’s a photo from the Plaza announcement, the moment right before our first kiss. We look... convincing. Happy and helplessly in love.
My thumb brushes over the image before I can stop myself. The memory of that kiss surfaces unbidden. It was supposed to be simple and perfect for the cameras. Instead...
I shake my head, pushing the thought away. This is business. A contract. Nothing more.
And now I have to introduce Lacey to the band. I grimace. To Vince, who will probably flirt with her just to get under my skin. And to Cass, who will ask way too many questions.
I scrub a hand over my face. I can already tell this is going to be a disaster.
Lacey is a professional, though. She knows how to handle the press, interviews, and appearances. She’ll be fine. We’ll stick to the story, play our parts, get through dinner, and everything will be fine.
Easy. Except, the thing is—nothing about the last couple of days felt like acting.
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the memories that keep surfacing: her hand in mine, soft and warm; the way her laugh sent awareness shooting down my spine; how she fit perfectly against me when I pulled her close. The subtle scent of her perfume still lingers in my mind, mixed with the memory of how her breath caught when I touched her face.
And that kiss.
It should have been just for show—a performance for the cameras, part of the act we were putting on. But the second my lips touched hers, everything else faded away. The press, the cameras, the whole damn charade—gone. There was only Lacey, the soft gasp she made against my mouth, and the way her fingers gripped my jacket like she needed to steady herself. It wasn’t calculated, wasn’t rehearsed—hell, it wasn’t even necessary.
But I kissed her anyway. And for those few seconds, it felt dangerously real.
I head to my music room, seeking the familiar comfort of my drums, but even the rhythm can’t silence one thought: How the hell am I supposed to resist Lacey Monroe when everything about her pulls me in?
I haven’t seen Lacey since the Plaza kiss.
We’ve texted, of course. Carefully curated messages approved by Rachel—so damn sweet they make my teeth ache. Publicly, we’re already the perfect couple, a whirlwind romance playing out in headlines and social media posts. But privately?
We’re still just two strangers caught in a very convincing lie.
I exhale, rubbing a hand over my jaw as I glance at my phone. Lacey’s flight landed half an hour ago. She should be here by now.
I still don’t know how I feel about her staying in my house.
I’m used to solitude. But now, I’m about to share it with a woman I barely know. A woman who, if I’m not careful, might make me forget that none of this is real.
The low rumble of an approaching car breaks through my thoughts. I push off the kitchen counter and head to the front door just as the sleek black SUV pulls into my driveway.
The second the door opens, Lacey steps out. She’s all sun-kissed skin and effortless grace, dressed in a pair of fitted jeans and a light, off-the-shoulder shirt, her dark hair twisted into some kind of loose, messy braid that makes her look soft and untouchably beautiful.
She pushes her sunglasses up into her hair, and when she spots me, her lips curve into a slow, knowing smile.
“Hey, fiancé,” she teases. “Sorry I’m late.”
My mouth quirks. “Hey, Lacey.”
The driver hands her a suitcase, but before she can grab it, I step forward and take it from him.
“You don’t have to—“
“Too late,” I cut in, already turning toward the house.
She follows, smiling as she steps inside, her gaze sweeping the space.
I watch as she takes it all in—the open-concept living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows facing the ocean, the sleek kitchen, and the carefully curated simplicity of it all. No excess, no distractions, just space to breathe.
Her breath hitches as she steps toward the window, pressing a hand against the glass. “Wow,” she murmurs, staring out at the stretch of private beach beyond the house. “This view is... incredible.”
I nod, watching the way the late afternoon light catches in her hair. “It’s home.”
She turns, eyes dancing. “For me, too, for the weekend, right?”
“For the weekend,” I agree, even though something about the words settles uncomfortably in my chest.
The house feels different with Lacey in it. It feels warmer somehow, like sunshine flooding through windows I forgot I had. She moves through the space with easy grace, trailing her fingers along the walls, peering around the living room, and asking questions that make me see my own home through new eyes.
“This place is amazing,” she says, spinning slowly in the great room. “But it feels...”
“Like a fortress?” I supply, lifting a brow.
She grins. “I was going to say ‘lonely,’ but fortress works too.”
I lead her through the sliding glass doors onto the deck. The ocean stretches endlessly before us, waves crashing against my private strip of beach. The late afternoon sun turns everything golden.
“Want to walk?” I ask, and she slips off her sandals. The soft sand is warm beneath our feet, the rhythmic crash of waves filling the silence between us.
She breathes it all in, tilting her face toward the sun. “I can’t remember the last time I had a second to just... be.”
I glance at her. “You don’t get much downtime?”
She lets out a soft laugh. “Not unless it’s scheduled.”
I get it. I really do. The industry moves fast—if you don’t keep up, you get left behind. But watching her now, the tension in her shoulders easing, the stress fading from her expression, I wonder if she even remembers what it’s like not to be performing.
“You should take advantage of it while you’re here,” I say. “The quiet.”
She grins, nudging me with her elbow. “I don’t know. Can’t have people thinking I’ve been corrupted by a brooding rockstar recluse.”
I smirk. “Pretty sure you’re the one corrupting my peace.”
She laughs, but there’s something in her expression—something lighter, freer—that makes me wonder if she likes the idea of shaking up my solitude.
We keep walking, and the conversation is easy, unforced. It’s strange how comfortable this feels and how natural it is.
“Are you familiar with the Wild Band?”
“A little,” Lacey says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Tell me about them. They’re more than just your bandmates, right? They’re your friends?”
I tell her about the band, giving her quick descriptions of the guys and their significant others before finally landing on the reason I brought it up.
“We’ve been invited to Cass’s place for dinner tomorrow night.”
Her brow lifts. “As in Cass Wild—lead singer?”
“The one and only,” I confirm. “Everyone wants to meet you. Especially Cassidy, his fourteen-year-old daughter. “
She groans, covering her face. “Oh God. She’s a fan, isn’t she?”
I chuckle. “Huge fan.”
She peeks at me through her fingers. “Will this be a disaster?”
“Nah.” I nudge her with my shoulder. “They’ll adore you.”
She drops her hands, giving me a skeptical look. “You sound awfully confident for someone who barely knows me.”
I hold her gaze, my smirk fading slightly. “I’m a good judge of character.”
She studies me for a second longer before looking away, her smile smaller, softer. “Yeah, well. Let’s hope you’re right.”
“I am. Especially Vince, our lead guitarist. He’ll probably flirt with you.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Should I flirt back?”
“God, no. He’d never let me live it down.”
Her laugh carries on the breeze, and something in my chest tightens. “They sound great,” she says. “But they don’t know? About this being...”
“Fake?” I finish. “No. Emily thinks it’s best that way… and don’t forget the NDA.”
Lacey nods. “Well, I promise to be appropriately smitten with my very own rockstar fiancé.”
“Please, do you even know our music?”
“Actually...” She pulls out her phone, scrolls through her playlist, and holds it up. It’s the image of our latest album.
“Research?” I ask.
“Maybe a little—to learn more about you,” she admits. “But Wild’s always been one of my favorite bands. You’re really good. That drum solo in ‘Midnight Confessions’ is fantastic.”
Something warm spreads through my chest. “That’s my favorite track to play live.”
We walk back as the sun starts to set, trading stories about performances and film sets, learning the little details that friends would know. By the time we reach the house, I feel like I actually know her—not just the actress, but the woman who sneaks candy onto movie sets and still gets stage fright before big scenes.
“I probably need to sleep,” she says as we head upstairs. “It was a long flight.”
I walk her to the door of the guest suite, and she pauses in the doorway. “Goodnight, Nate.”
“Goodnight, Lacey.”
As I head to my own room, I realize I’m in trouble because this feels like more than just a solution to a PR problem. Lacey is becoming the most dangerous kind of temptation—one that feels real.