Page 36 of Star Rucked Lovers

“Trust you?” Myst raised an eyebrow dramatically, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement. “This is coming from the guy who tried to convince me Vegemite on toast was fine dining.”

“Hey now,” George said, hand over his heart as if wounded. “You didn’t even give it a proper chance. Uncultured palate, that’s what it is.”

“Uncultured!” Myst gasped, feigning offense, but her giggle gave her away. “Fine. Lead the way, Mr. Sophistication.”

George offered her his arm with a crooked grin, and they headed out into the Roman evening together. The streets were alive, buzzing with chatter and laughter, the occasional accordion music drifting from distant corners. Myst felt herself relax as they walked hand in hand, the bustling world around them fading, leaving only the quiet warmth between them.

When George finally stopped in front of an old stone building without even a sign above the door, Myst tilted her head, curious. “This doesn’t look like your usual rugby pub.”

“That’s because it isn’t,” George said, his grin widening as he pushed open the door and led her inside. They climbed a narrow staircase lit by flickering candles, each step creaking under their weight until they emerged onto a rooftop terrace.

Myst froze, her breath catching as she took it all in. A single table sat at the centre of the terrace, dressed in crisp white linen and surrounded by the soft glow of lanterns. Beyond it, the skyline of Rome stretched endlessly, domes and spires silhouetted against the fiery hues of dusk. A violinist stood off to one side, playing something gentle and achingly romantic.

“George...” Her voice was barely above a whisper. She turned to him, her eyes wide. “You did this?”

“Well,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “I might’ve had some help. But yeah, thought you deserved a night that wasn’t about schedules or crowds. Just us.”

“Just us,” she repeated, her voice softer now. She reached for his hand, squeezing it as if to ground herself. “It’s perfect.”

They sat down, the conversation flowing as effortlessly as the wine poured into their glasses. Myst found herself laughing, genuinely laughing, at George’s recounting of a particularly disastrous team dinner back home. For a moment, it felt like Rome disappeared entirely, leaving them in their own bubble of light and laughter.

As dessert arrived, some sort of decadent chocolate creation Myst could barely focus on, her smile faltered slightly. She traced the rim of her glass with one finger, her thoughts suddenly heavier.

“George,” she began, her voice quieter now, “do you ever... feel like you’re losing yourself? Like everyone else has a say in who you are, and you’re just... there, trying to keep up?”

George leaned forward, his brows knitting together in concern. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, then let out a shaky laugh. “Sorry, that sounded dramatic.” She shook her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess I mean... with my career, sometimes it feels like I’m more ‘Myst’ the brand than Myst the person. Everything’s so... big. Loud. Everyone wants a piece of it, and I forget what it’s like to just be me. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” George said softly. “It does.” He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. His touch was warm, steady. “But you’re not just a brand, Myst. You’re you. And when it gets too loud, I’ll remind you of that, okay? Every single time.”

Her throat tightened, and she nodded, biting her lip to keep her emotions in check. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Anytime,” he said simply, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before pulling her back into the moment with another one of his easy smiles. “Now, finish your dessert before I eat it.”

Their day culminated on a quiet bridge overlooking the Tiber River on their route back to the hotel, the water shimmering under the moonlight. They stood side by side, leaning against the railing, the distant hum of the city fading into the background.

“Sometimes I can’t believe this is real,” George murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. He turned to look at her, his intense blue eyes searching hers. “Us. Being here together. It feels... fragile, you know? Like we could lose it if we’re not careful. But I don’t want to lose it. I want to make this work, Myst. No matter how hard it gets.”

Myst’s breath caught, her chest tightening with an ache that was equal parts joy and fear. But when she met his gaze, she knew her answer. “I want that too,” she said firmly, reaching for his hand. “I’m all in, George. Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” he echoed, squeezing her hand as they turned back to the view. And for that moment, with the river flowing steadily below them and the stars scattered like promises above, it felt like enough.

Chapter Thirteen

The next morning, realitycame knockingor buzzing, rather. Myst’s phone wouldn’t stop vibrating as message after message popped up from her management team. She groaned, burying her face in the pillow while George chuckled from the armchair by the window.

“Looks like someone’s missed,” he teased.

“Missed? More like hunted,” Myst mumbled, reluctantly sitting up. She scrolled through her messages, her shoulders sinking. “I’ve got a meeting. Last-minute. Of course.”

“Want me to come along and glare at them for you?” George offered with mock seriousness.

“Tempting,” she said with a small smile. “But no, I’ll handle it. You enjoy Rome without me for a bit. Just don’t get lost, big guy.”

“Who, me?” George grinned. “Never.”

She kissed his cheek and headed out, summoning her professional armour as she made her way to the meeting. It was held in a sleek conference room, all polished wood and glass, a painful contrast to the ancient city sprawled out beyond the windows. Myst struggled to keep her attention on the agenda, wishing she could be out there with George, visiting the Vatican or driving to Pompeii or something infinitely more interesting than a long list of upcoming appearances and interviews.

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