I placed my hand in his, and the moment I stepped out, the crowd erupted. Cameras snapped, flashes went off in every direction, and the shouts—my name mixed with his—felt like a surreal kind of dream.
“Lucia! Alexander! Over here!”
“Lucia, give us a smile!”
I felt his hand on the small of my back, grounding me as we began walking down the carpet. It stayed there, warm and steadying, as we walked. The red beneath my heels seemed endless, like we were walking toward some magical, glittering horizon. My pulse thrummed in my ears, and my breath caught when I spotted the enormous movie poster at the entrance. This wasn’t just a premiere—it wasthepremiere. The kind people talked about for weeks afterward.
“Relax,” Alexander whispered, his voice brushing against my ear like velvet. “You’re doing great.”
I nodded, too overwhelmed to speak as we stopped in front of the step-and-repeat. Cameras flanked every inch of the space, the flashes relentless as we posed. His hand stayed firm on my back, a subtle anchor that kept me from floating away in the sheer absurdity of the moment.
“Smile,” he murmured, his lips curving into one of his devastating grins. So, I did. I smiled, and the cameras seemed to go wild, the crowd’s shouting crescendoing like an orchestra hitting its peak.
And then, as if on cue, Anna appeared like a hurricane in heels. “This way,” she said briskly, ushering us toward a woman with a microphone and a camera crew stationed a few steps away.
The interviewer greeted us warmly, her smile genuine as she gestured for us to join her. “Alexander Wright and Lucia DeLuca,” she said into the microphone, her tone like honey. “You two are absolutely stealing the show tonight.”
Alexander chuckled, his hand slipping from my back to take my hand instead, his fingers lacing with mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. “That’s all Lucia,” he said smoothly, his grin widening. “I’m just lucky to be here with her.”
My cheeks burned, but I managed to nod politely, pretending this was no big deal even as my heart cartwheeled.
The interviewer turned to me. “Lucia, this is your first public appearance at an event like this, isn’t it? How does it feel?”
How did it feel? Like I’d stumbled into a movie and couldn’t find my way out. I swallowed hard, gripping Alexander’s hand for dear life. “It’s…surreal,” I said honestly, hoping my voice didn’t betray how overwhelmed I felt.
“She’s a natural,” Alexander said, his voice warm with pride. His gaze hit mine and I swear I felt myself melting under it.
I blinked up at him, caught completely off guard by the sincerity in his voice. He didn’t even seem to realize what he was doing to me, how those words were slipping through the cracks in the armor I’d so carefully built.
This wasn’t real.It couldn’t be. Alexander was just playing his part, saying all the right things to keep the illusion intact.
But then he looked at me, really looked at me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, some of itwasreal.
I was in trouble. Falling for my fake boyfriend was never part of the plan, but here I was, heart racing, wishing I could freeze this moment and live in it forever.
* * *
Alexander and I had spent the week attending fashion shows, strolling through staged public dates, and participating in carefully orchestrated PR stunts. But it wasn’t the glamorous events that stuck in my mind. It was the quiet, unguarded moments in between that I found myself replaying late at night. The pastry bag left on my nightstand with Alexander’s familiar scroll on it,sugar for the sugar monsterit had read. Enough for myself and Gianna. He became rather fond of leaving notes everywhere, hiding them for me to find later. Little paper cranes he would make with hotel stationery for Gianna littered the rooms, making me smile every time I saw them.
It was a Tuesday morning, I was sitting at the kitchen table, texting Anna and trying—yet again—to convince her to let me speak to Belen’s management directly about the PR strategy. Predictably, she shot me down.
That’s when Alexander arrived, an actual wicker picnic basket in one hand and his signature smile on his face.
“Fancy a getaway?” he asked, leaning casually against the door frame. “No cameras, no fake smiles. Just us. Plus,” he added with a lopsided grin, “I miss spending time with G.”
My heart did a little flip.
“She’s very jealous of all our time together lately,” I managed, trying to sound casual.
That made him laugh—the real laugh, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look devastatingly approachable.
Thump thump.
“Where’s my girl at?” he asked, glancing past me into the room.
Thump thump.
My girl.
