Page 57 of Keep Me Close

Heat creeps up my neck as I smooth a hand over my hair, even though not a strand is out of place. “Knox offered to help me out,” I say, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “The whole point was to make it look convincing.”

Britt glances down at the photo again. “Mission accomplished, because that’s extremely convincing.”

I drag in a breath. “Then hopefully it works and Dakota moves on without any further incidents.”

An image of him standing outside Knox’s building looking wild-eyed, furious, and unsteady flashes through my mind.

When my sister continues to study me, I add, “Don’t worry. There’s nothing going on between us.”

“I hope not. I love Knox, but he’s not ready to settle down.”

With a nod, I force a smile. “Completely agree.”

As much as I remind myself this situation is temporary, the last few days have been unexpectedly nice. Running beside the lake at sunrise. Ordering in Chinese food. Watching movies curled up on his couch. Easy conversations, charged silences, and the quiet comfort of being with him in ways I never imagined.

Knox has never given any woman a permanent place in his life, and it would be foolish to pretend I might be the exception.

Britt studies me, as if she can hear every thought I’m trying not to say out loud. “Are you sure feelings aren’t involved?”

“Yup,” I say a little too quickly. “It’s all for the cameras.”

Her brows lift, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she pulls out her compact and checks her face.

“Well,” she says lightly, “you two look like a real couple to me.”

I turn to the mirror and dab at my lipstick, grateful my reflection appears far calmer than I feel.

“We should probably get back,” I say, wanting to shut down this conversation.

Britt snaps her compact shut. “Lead the way.”

Before walking out of the restroom, I pause for one steadying breath and square my shoulders. As we step back inside the ballroom, sounds crash over us all at once. Music. Laughter. Clinking crystal. Somehow the crowd has doubled in size while we were gone.

We barely make it a dozen steps before a woman in a navy gown stops Britt with a gasp.

“Oh my gosh, I loved your last album. We were lucky enough to snag tickets for your Denver concert.” Her attention shifts to me. “And I have to say, your show is one of my guilty pleasures.”

Britt and I smile automatically. It’s muscle memory at this point. We’ve spent years in the public eye, putting on a front while feeling something entirely different beneath the surface.

We pose for a quick photo, thank her, and move on.

Mom would be proud.

“Cheyenne?”

I turn to find a handsome man in a tailored tux with broad shoulders and an easy grin heading my way. Hockey player, if I had to guess. There’s a certain confidence in his stance and swagger.

“Hello,” I say.

“I had no idea you were this stunning in person,” he says smoothly. “I love your show.”

I smile. “Thank you.”

“I was going to have my agent reach out to yours and introduce us. But this is much better.”

From beside me, I see Britt’s mouth twitch, and I shoot her a quick look that says don’t you dare.

We exchange a few harmless words. It’s the kind of conversation I’ve had a hundred times before. Easy enough to smile through without taking seriously.