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My heart stutters. All afternoon, I’ve been imagining what he might ask for, each scenario more heated than the last. “What’s your prize?”
His blue eyes darken slightly, making my stomach flip. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
I exhale slowly. It’s just a game. But the way he’s looking at me now?
It doesn’t feel like a game at all, and my breath catches.
He grins evilly. “Turn in your shoes. We have somewhere to be.”
Twenty minutes later, we pull up to a building I don’t recognize.
“Nate, what is this?”
His expression softens. “Something important.”
Then I see the sign ‘Family First.’ The charity Nate is partnering with. The reason he agreed to our fake engagement—to not endanger the endorsement.
Inside, the space is filled with kids of all ages. Some are practicing on drums, others on guitars or keyboards. A teenage girl sits at a piano, carefully picking out a melody.
“Nate!” Several children rush over, surrounding him with hugs and excited chatter.
“Hey, guys.” He high fives them, knowing each by name. “This is Lacey. She’s going to help today.”
A small girl with braids looks up at me. “Are you really a princess?”
“Sometimes,” I say, kneeling down. “But today, I’m just Lacey. Want to show me what you’re learning?”
For the next two hours, I watch Nate in his element—teaching, encouraging, and bringing music to life for these kids. He’s patient with their mistakes, celebrating their smallest victories. When a boy finally masters a basic drum pattern, Nate’s smile is brighter than any I’ve seen.
“We provide instruments and lessons,” he explains quietly while the kids practice. “Some of these families couldn’t afford it otherwise. Music saved my life once. Maybe it can save someone else’s.”
I think about the man everyone sees—the rockstar drummer—and this version, teaching a little boy how to hold drumsticks properly.
“This was your prize?” I ask. “Bringing me here?”
He shrugs, suddenly looking almost embarrassed. “I wanted you to share this part of my life. One of the most important parts.”
I reach for his hand, threading our fingers together. “I’m glad you did.”
He smiles at me. “I keep this private—out of the spotlight. I don’t want the kids ever to be exploited or used for some PR stunt.”
I nod in understanding.
“Are you gonna have lots of babies?” a small voice pipes up beside us. It’s Emma, the seven-year-old who’s learning toplay the drums. She’s been following Nate and me around all afternoon. “My mom says you’re getting married.”
I feel Nate startle beside me, but his smile remains gentle. “Emma—“ he starts.
“I think you should,” she continues matter-of-factly. “Because you’re in love! And your babies would be really good at music.” She scrunches up her nose. “Plus, they could come here too, and we could all be friends and play the drums together.”
The innocence of her planning makes my throat tight. Nate’s hand tightens on mine, and when I glance at him, there’s something raw and unguarded in his expression.
He clears his throat. “That’s pretty far in the future, kiddo,” he manages, his voice a little rough.
Emma shrugs. “That’s okay. I can wait.” She beams up at us. “I’m really good at waiting.”
A crash from the drum section interrupts us, followed by laughter and apologies.
“I better go help out.” He squeezes my hand before heading over to assist.