12. Twelve
Twelve
Lacey
My feet ache in their designer heels as we escape into the waiting car. The bright camera flashes finally fade behind the tinted windows. I feel the adrenalin from the success of the premier start to fade, leaving weariness in its place. Nate’s bow tie hangs loose around his neck, and his usual stage confidence is softened by exhaustion.
“That was...” I trail off, letting my head fall back against the leather seat.
“Intense?” His fingers find mine in the darkness, warm and steady.
I turn to study his profile, outlined by passing streetlights. Even tired, he’s devastatingly handsome—and that’s exactly the problem. This thing between us, this pull I feel whenever he’s near, it wasn’t part of the plan.
The car glides through L.A. traffic toward our hotel. Our hotel. The phrase makes my stomach flip, even though I know it’s just for show. Everything about us is for show, except when he looks at me like this.
“You’re frowning,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
“I’m not—“
“You are.” He shifts closer, and suddenly, the backseat feels too small. “Want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”
Before I can answer, we pull up to the hotel. The doorman opens my door, and the spell breaks. We’re back to being America’s newest power couple, playing our parts.
The suite Rachel booked is all floor-to-ceiling windows and elegant minimalism, with a view that makes me catch my breath. City lights sparkle below like scattered stars.
“Not bad,” Nate says, dropping our bags by the massive king bed. The bed. Right.
I turn to face him, pressing a hand to his chest before he can step closer. “We should be smart about this.”
His heart beats steady under my palm. “Define smart.”
“Three weeks, Nate. That’s all we’ve known each other.”
“And how long are we supposed to know each other before we take that next step?”
The question hangs between us, dangerous in its simplicity. I step back, needing distance to think clearly.
“You take the floor,” I say finally, not answering his question. “I’ll take the bed.”
He raises an eyebrow, glancing at the king-sized mattress. “Seriously?”
“Completely.” I aim for playful, but my voice wavers slightly. “There’s plenty of floor space.”
Nate holds my gaze for a long moment before sighing. “Fine. But when I can’t walk tomorrow because my back’s shot, I’m blaming you.”
The bathroom door clicks shut behind me, and I lean against it, taking a deep breath. Through the wood, I hear Nate moving around, probably making his bed on the floor. This is ridiculous—we’re both adults. We can share a bed without...
Without what? Without crossing lines that are already starting to blur?
When I emerge in my oversized t-shirt, Nate’s stretched out on the floor, one arm behind his head. He’s changed into sweatpants but left his chest bare, and I force myself not to stare.
“Comfortable?” I ask, slipping under the covers.
“Like sleeping on clouds.” His sarcasm makes me smile despite myself.
I reach for the light, plunging the room into darkness broken only by the city’s glow. The silence stretches between us, filled with things we’re not saying.
“How do you do it, Lacey?” His voice is soft, thoughtful.
“Do what?”
“Step into a role so completely. Make it feel real. I watched you tonight on that screen, and it wasn’t just acting. It felt like... more.”
I’m quiet for a moment before answering. “Sometimes, it is more. The best performances come when you let yourself feel it. When you stop pretending and just... let go.”
“Does that happen often?”
I exhale a heartfelt sigh. “Not always. But sometimes, with certain people, it doesn’t feel like acting at all.”
I wonder if he can tell I’m not talking about Jake Morrison, my film co-star. I’m talking about him.
The air between us thickens, the weight of my words settling into the silence between us. I swallow as Nate states in a low voice, “Lacey—“
I close my eyes, grateful for the darkness hiding my expression, as I cut him off. “Go to sleep, Nate.”
He doesn’t respond, but I feel his presence below me like a physical touch, making it impossible to relax. Every shift, every breath reminds me he’s there.
I wake sometime later to the sound of him groaning, shifting uncomfortably on the hard floor. Guilt gnaws at my conscience as I watch him try to find a better position.
“Nate,” I whisper.
Nothing.
“Nate.” I reach down, touching his shoulder. His skin is warm under my fingers.
He blinks up at me, confusion clouding his features. “What’s wrong?”
“Come up here.” I’m already arranging pillows between us, creating a barrier. “Just... stay on your side.”
He hesitates, and I can see him weighing his options. Finally, with another groan, he rises, movements stiff from the floor.
The mattress dips as he settles in, and immediately, the air changes. Even with a pillow wall between us, his presence fills the space, making my skin tingle with awareness.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
I swallow hard. “Just don’t make me regret this.”
His low chuckle sends warmth spiraling through me. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
But as I drift off, I can’t help wondering if I’m the one who should be worried about regrets.
Morning comes too soon, painting golden streaks across the room. I surface slowly from sleep, aware of warmth pressed against me, a steady heartbeat under my cheek.
Reality crashes in. The pillows are gone, scattered across the floor like casualties of war. And I’m draped across Nate like he’s my personal mattress, one leg thrown over his, my arm curled around his torso. His arm holds me close, hand splayed possessively across my back.
Panic rises in my throat. I try to move carefully, but his arm tightens instinctively.
“Running away?” His morning voice is deeper, raspier, doing things to my insides I don’t want to examine.
I force myself to sound normal. “I should—“
“Stay.” The word rumbles through his chest where my cheek still rests. “Just for a minute.”
I finally look up at him, and my breath catches. His blue eyes are dark with sleep and something else. His hair is mussed in a way that makes my fingers itch to touch it. The morning stubble along his jaw looks rough, dangerous.
“The pillows were supposed to stay put,” I manage.
His lips curve. “Guess they had other ideas.” His fingertips trace idle patterns on my back, each touch sending sparks through my thin shirt.
I should move. I should definitely move. Instead, I find myself studying the hollow of his throat, the strong line of his collar bone.
“Lacey.” My name sounds like a warning and a plea.
A sharp knock shatters the moment. Rachel’s voice carries through the door, “Rise and shine, lovebirds!”
I scramble away from Nate so fast I nearly fall off the bed. He catches my wrist, steadying me, and the simple touch feels like fire.
“Coming!” I call out, my voice embarrassingly high.
Rachel sweeps in before I can put more distance between us. She looks at me and then eyes the blanket crumpled on the floor and smirks. “Well, well. Looks like you two are getting very comfortable.”
I shoot her a glare. “Nothing happened.”
She just grins knowingly. “Sure. Just remember, this arrangement has an expiration date. Six months, and then you’re done playing house.”
I nod stiffly, ignoring the strange twinge in my chest. Right. Six months. That’s all this is.
“Hope you slept well because you’re all over the internet.” Rachel grins. “The world is very invested in you two right now.”
I smile in anticipation, shifting closer. “What about the movie reviews? What are they saying about The Oasis? About my acting?”
Rachel’s lips press together for a brief second before she shrugs. “They mentioned it. But let’s be real—it’s being overshadowed by this whole engagement thing. The public is eating up the romance angle.”
Disappointment settles deep in my chest. “So that’s it? No real discussion about my performance? Just me and Nate’s fake engagement?”
Rachel waves a dismissive hand. “It’s publicity, Lacey. Good or bad, it’s still attention. We need to take advantage of it.”
I exhale slowly. This isn’t why I worked so hard. I want to be recognized for my talent, not just for who I’m pretending to be engaged to.
I brace myself as Nate scrolls, his expression shifting between amusement and resignation. When he finally looks up at me, his blue eyes are thoughtful. There’s something heavier beneath the surface, something unreadable. Like he’s starting to care…
I steel myself. I need to focus on my career and prove that I belong in this industry because of my talent, not because of a fake engagement to a rockstar.
Even if that rockstar is staring at me like he’s memorizing every detail of my face—even if resisting him is getting harder by the day.
He suddenly grins, and his blue eyes gleam with mischief.
“Well, Lacey,” he drawls, “looks like we’re stuck being the internet’s favorite new couple.”
I lean forward my hand out. “Show me,” I say with a grimace.
He passes me the phone, and I scroll through headline after headline:
“Wild’s Nate Stone and Rising Star Lacey Monroe: Hollywood’s Hottest New Romance?”
“From Stage to Screen: Inside Music and Movie’s Latest Power Couple”
“Sources Say: Stone and Monroe - Rumors of Wedding Plans”
Each article features photos from last night—us at the after-party, his hand on my lower back as we walked the red carpet, the way he looked at me during interviews. They make us look like we’re hopelessly in love.
“This is—“ I start, then stop, unsure how to finish that sentence. This is what we want: Our fake engagement to be believable. And if it isn’t what I need right now? If it isn’t part of my plan? Too bad. Suck it up girl.
Rachel’s watching me carefully. “The studio’s thrilled, by the way. Your name recognition just shot through the roof.”
I glance over at Nate, but his face is unreadable. “I guess we looked convincing,” I say with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. He never asked for any of this—any more than I did.
I stand, turning to look at him. “I really do appreciate you coming all the way out to the West Coast just to support my premier.”
He must hear the sincerity in my voice because his features suddenly soften. “I did it mainly to support you .”
The honesty of his words sends a warmth coursing through me.
Rachel clears her throat, giving both of us a warning look. “We’ll see you next weekend, Nate. I’ll send you both the prepared schedule.” With that, she leaves the hotel room without a backward glance.
As soon as Rachel leaves, Nate stands and crosses the room, stopping just short of touching me. “Maybe we should tell the truth about the hotel mix-up.”
I shake my head. “They’d never believe us now.”
“Then what do we do?” His eyes search mine.
“We stick to the plan,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “Give it time—It’s only been a few weeks.”
He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Yeah, but...” He trails off, looking at me with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.
“But what?”
“But I didn’t expect...” He steps closer, and I fight the urge to back away. “I didn’t expect this to feel so...”
“Complicated?” I offer when he doesn’t finish.
His lips quirk. “That’s one word for it.”
Before I can respond, he checks his phone. “I need to catch my flight.” He starts gathering his things, then pauses. “See you this weekend?”
I nod, relief and disappointment warring in my chest. “Yeah. This weekend.”
He moves to leave but stops at the door. In one fluid motion, he turns back and kisses me—quick but thorough enough to leave me breathless.
When he pulls back, there’s a hint of his usual arrogance in his grin. “Just practicing for the cameras.”
After he’s gone, I sink onto the bed, pressing my fingers to my lips. Three weeks, and already the lines are blurring. This could get risky.
But as I think about seeing him this weekend, I can’t help wondering if a little risk might be worth it.