Page 112 of Pretend To Be Mine

“Adrian. You have that expression, the one you get whenever he’s mentioned. Like you’re trying to solve a complicated equation.”

I felt my cheeks heat. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to anyone with eyes.” She sat back on her heels, studying her work. “So what’s going on? And don’t say ‘nothing’ because I’ve been watching you two and something is definitely going on.”

I hesitated, then decided I needed to talk to someone. “Sometimes it’s so easy to forget it’s all fake. That this is just an arrangement, just business. He’s so convincing, you know? The way he looks at me, the things he says all confuse me. One minute I think things might actually be real and then the next minute it’s all cold and distant. I just wish I could ask. It feels so real. Is he really that good of an actor?”

“Maybe because it’s not fake for him either.”

“Or maybe he’s just really good at his job.” I looked down at the emerald fabric. “Adrian was known for being casual before, right? Not committing, keeping things light. What’s to say I’m any different? What if this is just how he operates? Intense while it lasts, then done when the arrangement ends?”

Annika was quiet for a moment, making a final adjustment before helping me out of the dress. “I understand why you would feel that way,” she said. “He hasn’t had a real relationship. I’ve never known him to have a girlfriend.”

“Which makes me think he’s not interested in anything real.”

“Adrian got really serious after his father died,” Annika said with a hint of sadness. “All the brothers changed a little. Sebastian became more reckless, Briggs more controlled, Dash more detached. But Adrian? He stopped smiling. Stopped enjoying things. It was like he decided he had to carry the entire company on his shoulders, even though they all run it together.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It was. It is. He’s been running on duty and responsibility for a year, barely letting himself feel anything else.” She hung the emerald dress carefully. “But ever since you showed up, he’s different. Lighter. He smiles more, laughs more. He’s present in a way he hasn’t been since Buck died.”

“That could just be the distraction.”

“Elizabeth.” Annika turned to face me fully. “I’ve known Adrian for fifteen years. I’ve seen him with other women, seen him in relationships—if you can call them that. This is different. The way he looks at you and the way he talks about you when you’re not around? I can’t promise it’s real love, but you’ve definitely helped him come back to life. And that has to mean something.”

I wanted to believe her. Wanted to think that what I felt was reciprocated, that we were on the same page. But the fear was still there, whispering doubts.

“Let’s focus on the dresses,” I said, deflecting. “I can control those at least.”

We moved on to the next gown, which was significantly more complex. The internal structure required boning to create the dramatic movement Adrian and I had envisioned.

“This is going to be stunning,” Annika said as we worked on the bodice. “But it’s going to take all night to get it right.”

“I don’t mind. I want it perfect.”

“I think that could be an issue.” Annika laughed.

I groaned. “Oh yeah.”

I was so absorbed in what I was doing, I completely forgot the fact we had a show in a few hours.

While we worked, Annika told me stories about past shows. She had some pretty wild stories about models who had meltdowns and the many tantrums. I found myself laughing, relaxing, enjoying the simple pleasure of creating something with my hands.

“This is going to photograph incredibly,” Annika said when we finished the second gown. “Very high fashion.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. These aren’t safe little dresses that will sell well to middle America. These are statement pieces. The kind that make people remember your name.” She pinned a section. “Your mother is going to hate them.”

“Yeah. She probably will.”

“Are you going to show her? After Milan?”

I thought about this morning’s phone call, the crying, the guilt. “I don’t know. Part of me wants to prove to her that I can do this, that my dreams are valid. But another part of me thinks why bother? She’s never going to approve. Never going to be proud. So why keep trying? I don’t need the headache or the drama.”

“Because you’re still hoping she’ll change,” Annika said gently. “That one day she’ll see you and love what she sees instead of trying to change it.”

“That’s pathetic.”