Page 9 of Star Rucked Lovers

“Go,” George said firmly, giving her a nudge. “This is your night. Don’t let me hold you back.”

“Hold me back?” she repeated, her brow furrowing. “George, I’ve spent the entire evening parading around under flashing lights and scripted smiles. If I want to skip one party to spend time with someone who actually grounds me, I think I’ve earned that.”

“Fair point,” George conceded, though he felt the heat rise to his cheeks again. “Still, won’t your team be annoyed?”

“Probably,” she said, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “But they’ll survive. Tonight, I get to decide what I want, and right now, I want to stay here.”

“With me?” George asked, raising a sceptical brow.

“With you,” Myst confirmed, and there was no hesitation in her voice. “I’m skipping the party, Jessie!” she called to her cousin, who nodded as if it was exactly the answer she’d expected.

“Have fun,” Jessica called after them. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Myst tugged at George’s hand, her heels clicking a staccato rhythm against the concrete floor as they slipped out of the side exit. The muffled roar of the show faded behind them, and in moments they were back inside the car, headed for Myst’s hotel, a quiet, discreet and very expensive old building just a few blocks away. As the elevator’s polished doors slid shut, George leaned back against the mirrored wall and let out a long breath, reaching up to free his bow tie and stuff it into his jacket pocket.

“Tell me again how I got roped into this?” he asked, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“Roped in?” Myst echoed with mock indignation. “You practically volunteered. Don’t think I didn’t see you puffing your chest out on the red carpet.”

“That wasn’t puffing,” George defended. “That was survival. Do you have any idea how terrifying those cameras are? They’re like vultures with flashes.”

“Welcome to my world,” she said softly, her smile slipping into something quieter. She looked down at their joined hands as if realizing only now that she hadn’t let go. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then the elevator chimed, breaking the spell.

“Come on,” Myst murmured, pulling him forward. “Let’s get out of here before someone decides to hunt us down.”

The room was expansive yet cozy, the sort of luxury that felt lived-in rather than staged. Warm golden lamps cast a soft glow over plush, antique furniture and a coffee table scattered with sheet music and an abandoned cup of tea.

“Wow,” George said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he took it all in. “This is... not what I expected.”

“Good or bad?” Myst asked, kicking off her heels and sinking onto the couch with a sigh of relief. Her petite frame seemed to melt into the cushions, her usual poise giving way to something far more human.

“Good,” he said quickly, then added, “I think I expected more... glitter?”

“Don’t let the stage persona fool you,” she said, waving a hand. “Most days, I’m lucky if I can find matching socks, let alone glitter.” She tilted her head toward the seat beside her, and after a moment’s hesitation, George joined her, peeling off his jacket and leaving it on the armrest. It was warm in the suite.

For a while, they sat in companionable silence. Myst tucked her legs beneath her, absently tracing patterns on the armrest, while George leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing in particular. It was Myst who broke the quiet first, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you ever feel like... you’re living someone else’s life?”

George turned to her, surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“Like you’re playing this role everyone expects of you,” she explained, her gaze fixed on the coffee table. “And if you stop for even a second, the whole thing will come crashing down. It’s exhausting, trying to be everything for everyone. Sometimes I wonder if I even know who I am anymore.”

“Hey,” George said gently, reaching out to touch her hand. She looked up, startled, as if she hadn’t meant to say so much. “You’re not just anyone. You’re Myst. And whether you’re on stage or sitting here barefoot with tea stains on your table, you’re still you.”

“Tea stains?” she repeated, her lips twitching despite herself.

“Big ones,” he confirmed, grinning. “Right there. Pretty sure they’ll never come out. Hotel’s gonna stick you with a bill.”

“Rugby players,” she muttered, shaking her head. “So observant.”

“Occupational hazard,” he quipped. But then his tone softened. “Honestly, though, I get it. Being captain... it’s not just about the game. People expect you to have all the answers, to lead, to never falter. And yeah, it’s rewarding, but it’s also...” He paused, searching for the right word. “Lonely, sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Myst said quietly. “Lonely.”

The word hung between them, heavy but not unwelcome. Myst shifted closer, her knee brushing his thigh, and when she looked at him this time, there was no trace of the sparkling pop star or the poised presenter. Just Myst—open, raw, real.

“Thanks for saying that,” she said. “Most people just assume I’ve got it all figured out.”

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