“Are you nervous about the red carpet?”
I groan. “No?” I lie.
He chuckles, seeing right through me.
“Well, maybe a little,” I admit, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Mostly about tripping. Or flashing a boob. Or saying something weird and becoming a meme.”
Ash laughs, then climbs onto the couch beside me and pulls me into his lap like I weigh nothing. “You’re going to be perfect.”
“That’s a dangerous amount of confidence in me.”
“Hmm.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “I’ve seen you tame a room full of five-year-olds. A red carpet’s got nothing on you.”
I roll my eyes but secretly melt a little. “So… what’s the plan?”
“We’ll get ready here first. Then a car will pick us up, and we’ll head out together.”
I hesitate. “You sure? I know your team might want to manage your arrival…”
He cuts me off with a look. “We’re doing this together, Olive. They can manage around that.”
Something tight and warm blooms in my chest. “Okay.”
We sit there for a while, tangled up together in the fading light. His heartbeat is steady under my cheek, and the scent of his cologne—woodsy and clean—makes me want to bury myself in him forever.
“Hey, Ash?” I murmur.
“Yes, Hart?”
“Thank you for this weekend.”
He shifts just enough to kiss the top of my head. “Thankyoufor making it the best one I’ve had in a long time.”
I smile. Tomorrow, the world will come knocking. But right now, we have each other—and a little bit of Sunday left.
***
By the time I unlock the front door, I’m sticky with sidewalk sweat and even more nervous than I expected.
Becausethe moment I step into the mansion, I’m no longer just Miss Hart, tired kindergarten teacher with finger paint on her elbow.
I’m Olive Hart, fake fiancée to a rockstar, and in approximately three hours, I’m supposed to smile for the cameras like I belong on a red carpet.
And there’s a full-on glam team waiting in the living room to make that happen.
“Hi,” I say, blinking at the flurry of activity. There are makeup cases on the coffee table, gowns hanging from the staircase, and three people I’ve never met before holding brushes like tiny weapons of beauty warfare.
A woman with bubblegum-pink hair beams at me. “You must be Olive. I’m Tash—face wizard. We’re gonna have so much fun.”
“Face wizard,” I echo faintly, shrugging off my cardigan. “That sounds… intense.”
“Oh, honey,” says another, already pulling me toward a velvet stool. “You have no idea. But don’t worry. We’ve been briefed. You want soft glam, romantic, but still camera-proof. Your dress is a dream, by the way.”
“I haven’t even seen the dress yet,” I admit, laughing nervously as someone starts fussing with my hair.
“Well, you’re gonna die,” Tash says, swiping a highlighter across her wrist like she’s prepping for battle. “Ash approved it himself. Said he wanted something that made his fiancée look like a goddess.”
I freeze. “He said that?”
