Page 118 of Pretend To Be Mine

He was right. The flight felt like it had barely started before we were descending into Milan. I’d gotten used to the rhythm of the takeoffs and landings, the way altitude made my ears pop, the particular luxury of having an entire plane to ourselves. The drinks and snacks that were definitely a lot better than the standard pack of crackers and a tiny bottle of water.

I could get used to this. Probably shouldn’t but definitely could.

Dash was waiting when we landed, looking characteristically disheveled in a way that somehow worked on him. Unlike Adrian’s controlled elegance or Briggs’s polished perfection, Dash had a rougher edge. His suit was expensive but rumpled, his hair artfully messy, his grin slightly dangerous. Dash oozed sexuality in a different way than Sebastian did. I would definitely categorize him as the bad boy of the family.

“How was Paris? Did Briggs bore everyone to death with his attention to detail?”

“Paris was perfect,” I said, accepting his hug. “And Briggs’s show was beautiful.”

“Beautiful. Right.” Dash made a face. “I prefer exciting. Dangerous. A little bit on the edge.”

“Which is why your show is going to give half the audience heart attacks,” Adrian said dryly. “Sebastian definitely caused a stir. Please tell me we aren’t going to be fending off groups calling our designs sinful.”

“If they’re not talking about us, we’re not creating buzz.”

Adrian shook his head. “Where is everyone?”

“Already at the villa. Mom’s been asking about you two. I think she wants to make sure you’re actually eating instead of just surviving on champagne and canapés.”

We were ushered into another waiting car. While Dash and Adrian caught up, I watched out the window, trying to absorb as much of the country as I could.

The villa turned out to be in a quieter part of Milan, tucked away from the tourist chaos. It was all warm stone and terracotta tiles, with a central courtyard that opened to the sky. Lemon trees in giant pots lined the edges. I could hear a fountain somewhere, water trickling over stone. I wasn’t surprised. Of course it would be the epitome of luxury. Nothing but the best for the Blackwell family.

“This is gorgeous,” I breathed.

“Wait until you see inside,” Dash said.

He led us through an archway into a space that was somehow both rustic and luxurious. Exposed beams overhead, modern furniture, and lots of windows.

Mimi appeared from one of the side rooms, still elegant in linen pants and a silk blouse despite the travel. “There you are! I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost in Paris.”

“Sorry, Mom.” Adrian kissed her cheek. “We got a late start this morning.”

She gave him a knowing look but didn’t comment, turning to me instead. “Elizabeth, dear, you look tired. Are my sons running you ragged?”

“I’m fine, just excited.” I wasn’t lying. Despite the exhaustion, despite the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days, I was thriving on all of it. “Everything has been incredible.”

“Well, come. We’re having lunch, and you both need to eat something substantial. I won’t have you fainting at Dash’s show tomorrow.”

Lunch turned out to be a massive Italian feast, with pasta in three different sauces, bread that was still warm from the oven, meatballs the size of my fist, salads and vegetables, and cheese and wine. Everything was served family style, everyone reaching and passing and stealing from each other’s plates.

“How do you all eat like this and still fit into your clothes?” I asked, watching Dash pile a third helping of pasta onto his plate.

“Gym time,” Sebastian said through a mouthful of bread. “So much gym time.”

“And good genetics,” Briggs added. “We’re all blessed with metabolisms like hummingbirds. Burn through calories faster than we can consume them.”

“I hate you all,” I said, but I was laughing.

“Don’t hate us. Join us.” Dash pushed the pasta toward me. “Come on, one more helping. You’re in Milan. When in Rome⁠—”

“Which is a different city than Milan,” Adrian interjected.

“When in Milan, eat like Milanese,” Dash corrected himself. “Better?”

We spent the next hour eating and talking and laughing. I sat back and listened to the brothers trading stories and insults in equal measure. Mimi presided over it all with quiet authority, occasionally interjecting to correct someone’s version of events or to remind them to use napkins like civilized humans.

I watched them interact—the way they bickered but defended each other. I loved how they competed but celebrated each other’s successes. The obvious love underneath all the teasing was special.