Page 117 of Pretend To Be Mine

As the backstage celebration continued around us, I took Elizabeth’s hand. “Ready to go?”

“God yes. As amazing as this was, I’m exhausted.”

“Let’s get out of here. Tomorrow is another early morning flight.”

“I can’t wait,” she said with a smile.

But there was a hint of sadness there as well.

We were almost to the end of this thing.

38

ELIZABETH

Iwoke to the sound of my alarm and immediately knew Adrian was already up. He was an early riser. I was still getting my ass kicked by jet lag and Adrian was totally fine. I told myself it was because he was used to all the traveling. I never left my time zone. Ever.

The whole week had been moving at a breakneck pace. I hated that we were barely able to enjoy the cities we were in, but that wasn’t what the job was. Maybe one day I would come back and see what it was all about.

I sighed and threw off the blankets, then walked to my suitcase. One moment we were enjoying room service in our Paris hotel, and the next we were wheels-up, heading to Milan.

When we got home, I was going to sleep for a week.

Adrian walked out of the bathroom, hair damp but completely dressed. He had his phone to his ear and was already talking business. I smiled, waved, and took my turn in the bathroom.

Yes, it was a little strange how easily we fell into this domestic routine. I could smell his aftershave in the bathroom, which brought a smile to my face. His razor sat on the counter along with his toothbrush. I had never lived with a man before and was still getting used to things. There was something very intimate about sharing a bathroom with someone. That’s where all the dirty secrets were laid bare.

I knew what kind of deodorant he used and that he didn’t like mint toothpaste. He only wore black socks because it made it easier to find matches if he managed to lose one when he traveled.

So many little things you could learn about someone just by sharing a bathroom. Which was why I was extra careful to be tidy. I didn’t want to be the one leaving the lid off the toothpaste or my hair in the shower drain.

Thirty minutes later, we were back in the car heading for another private airstrip. And Adrian was still on the phone.

I pressed my face against the window as we took off, watching Paris shrink beneath us. Two weeks ago, I’d never left the country. Now I was casually hopping between European capitals on a private jet like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Sorry,” Adrian said.

I turned to look at him. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or whoever was on the phone.

“For?”

“Being on the phone for the last hour.”

“You don’t have to entertain me,” I said. “I know you’re a busy man.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I’m on a private jet headed for Milan. And wondering if I’m dreaming.”

“Getting spoiled?” Adrian asked, amusement in his voice.

“Completely ruined for normal life.” I settled back into the leather seat that was more comfortable than my bed at home. “Flying commercial is for suckers. How do regular people tolerate it?”

“Very badly, from what I remember.” He pulled out his laptop. “I don’t remember the last time I had to cram into a tin can with two hundred strangers, including the usual crying babies.”

“Of course you don’t.” But I was smiling. A week ago, this level of privilege might have made me uncomfortable. Now I was just grateful for how easy it made everything. “How long is the flight?”

“About an hour and a half. Barely enough time to get comfortable.”