Page 8 of Star Rucked Lovers

“I don’t,” Myst said in a confiding tone, leaning forward, and then cracking up in a full-throated laugh as even the cameraman lifted his eye from his lens piece to stare at her. “George is a friend, Rebekah! He’s the captain of the Australian international rugby union team. They’re over here on tour. They’ll be playing England at Twickenham on Saturday, but for tonight, he very kindly offered to escort me to the awards.”

“Well.” Rebekah looked him up and down, then cast Myst a wicked grin. “If I was in your shoes, dahling, I’d take shameless advantage. And talking of shoes, by the way, those are faaahbulous, who made them? And your gown?”

“I liked her,” George murmured into Myst’s ear a few minutes later, as they moved on down the red carpet.

“I think she’s genuine, despite the superficial attitude. I like her too.” Myst nodded and smiled but didn’t stop again, despite other hosts trying to beckon her over. They passed through the doors into the building and George looked around, a little dazzled by the bright lights inside, the sparkle from the gowns. It was a lot better lit than the rugby awards dinners he was used to, and he realised straight away it was because of the TV cameras located everywhere, positioned where they would be able to catch the reactions of anyone in the audience at any moment.

George sat stiffly in his chair near the front of the grand hall, feeling entirely out of place amidst the glittering sea of designer gowns and tuxedos. Around him, the air buzzed with chatter and the occasional burst of polite applause as awards were handed out. But none of it really registered. His focus was on Myst as she strode across the stage under the glow of a thousand lights.

She looked radiant, her wavy dark hair cascading down her back, catching the soft shimmer of the dress she wore, a deep emerald green that seemed to shift shades with every movement. George watched as she approached the podium, her confidence palpable, even from a distance. She didn’t just walk; she commanded the space, every step purposeful, every smile calculated yet somehow genuine.

“Thank you all for being here tonight,” Myst began. She spoke comfortably, weaving humor and grace into her speech as she introduced the nominees for the next award. The audience hung on her every word, completely captivated.

George couldn’t help but marvel at how effortless she made it all look. This was her world; bright, polished, endlessly demanding. It was nothing like his own, where grit and teamwork ruled the day. Watching her now, surrounded by glamour and applause, he wondered if he was just fooling himself thinking he could fit into this life she’d built.

As the winner was announced and cheers erupted around the room, George shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Maybe this wasn’t a scrum, but it felt just as overwhelming, just as relentless. He adjusted his cufflinks, trying to shake off the doubt creeping into his thoughts.

Then Myst glanced his way.

It was fleeting, just a flicker of her gaze over the crowd, but it landed squarely on him. And when her lips curved into a soft, knowing smile, it was as if the rest of the room vanished. In that instant, it didn’t matter how different their worlds were. She saw him. Not the rugby star or the fish-out-of-water in a tuxedo—just him.

George felt the tension ease from his shoulders. He straightened in his seat, returning her smile with a faint one of his own. Maybe he didn’t fully understand this world of hers, but for now, that look was enough to remind him why he was here. For her.

A few minutes later, he leaned against the wall backstage, his hands shoved into the pockets of his tuxedo pants.

The familiar click of heels on polished floors broke through his thoughts, and there she was, slipping through the curtain with an ease that made it look like she owned the place, which, honestly, she kind of did. Her dark hair shimmered under the low backstage lighting, cascading over the sleek emerald gown. She looked like a dream, and George felt like a very large, very awkward extra in her movie.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Myst said, a teasing lilt in her voice as she stopped in front of him, tilting her head just slightly to meet his gaze.

“Yeah, well,” George replied, scratching the back of his neck, “I figured I’d camp out back here and try not to break anything expensive.”

Myst laughed, soft and warm, and the sound eased some of the tension knotting his shoulders. “You’re not doing too bad for a rugby guy who stole the show on the red carpet.” She raised an eyebrow at him, a playful challenge glinting in her pale blue eyes.

“Stole the show? Pretty sure I was just trying not to trip over my own feet,” George shot back. “Let’s face it, you’re leagues ahead of me at all this.”

“Leagues?” Myst repeated, pretending to consider it. “Maybe. But I’ve got to say, you clean up all right. I think you might’ve given a few people heart palpitations out there.”

“Stop it,” George groaned, though his ears were definitely turning red. “I’m not built for this celebrity stuff. I’m more ‘muddy boots and bruises’ than... whatever this is.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she said, nudging his arm lightly. “You’ve got charm when you’re not dodging cameras like they’re tackling you.”

“Well,” George countered, leaning down just enough to catch her eyes, “if I’ve got charm, it’s only because I’m standing next to someone who carries the whole room without breaking a sweat.”

“Flatterer,” Myst murmured, rolling her eyes, but the pink hue dusting her cheeks suggested otherwise. For all her poise, George liked knowing he could still catch her off guard.

The moment shifted, her smile softening as she glanced toward the curtain she’d come through. The noise from the hall had faded now, replaced by distant chatter and hurried footsteps of staff resetting the stage. When she turned back to George, the sparkle in her eyes dimmed just a fraction.

“Thanks for being here,” she said quietly, her voice dipping into something more sincere. “These nights... they can feel so big and loud, but somehow still lonely. Having you here makes it easier.”

“Lonely?” George frowned, catching the faint vulnerability in her tone. “You? You’re surrounded by people who adore you.”

“Adoration isn’t the same as connection,” Myst replied, lifting one shoulder in a small shrug. “It’s different when you’re always expected to be ‘on.’” She paused, then smiled at him, a little wistful, perhaps a little grateful. “But tonight, I don’t feel quite so alone.”

“Well,” George said after a beat, his voice softer now, “I’m glad I could help. Even if I’m basically your human shield from the paparazzi.”

Before she could respond, Jessie appeared around the corner, dressed in all black with a headset perched on her ear. “Myst, the team wants you at the afterparty. It’s already started.”

“Do they now?” Myst replied, her voice edged with something unreadable. She glanced at George, as though weighing her options.

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