Page 135 of Pretend To Be Mine

I drained the glass and poured another.

44

ELIZABETH

Ilanded at JFK Thursday morning wearing oversized sunglasses and a hoodie pulled low, looking like a celebrity trying to avoid paparazzi. Except I wasn’t a celebrity. I was just a girl whose life had imploded spectacularly on a very public stage.

And somehow I had become the worst kind of celebrity. I was famous for all the wrong reasons. I kept telling myself it was only fifteen minutes. But fifteen minutes of fame felt like a life sentence. I would get through it. But I wouldn’t be unscathed.

I had gone from hoping to make a name for myself in the fashion world to hoping no one remembered me at all.

I spotted Chris waiting for me near baggage claim.

“Nice disguise,” he said, eyeing my outfit. “You look like you just got out of rehab. You just need a green juice and some paparazzi to complete the look.”

“People were staring at me in Milan. Taking pictures.” I pulled the hood tighter. “I just want to be invisible.”

“Then we picked the wrong airport.” He grabbed my suitcase. “Shit, what do you have in here? How much did this cost you to schlep around Europe? This is seriously overweight. That must have been a fortune in baggage fees.”

“We flew private. No baggage fees.”

“Oh shit.” He laughed. “I forgot. You were living the high life.”

“And now it’s over. Can we please just go? I don’t want anyone recognizing me.”

“Yeah, yeah. I forget my sister is famous.”

“Infamous,” I muttered. “Big difference.”

“Come on, let’s get you out of here before your fans see you.”

“Chris, it’s not funny. My life is a mess.”

“I’m sorry. You’ll have to fill me in on the whole story. I’ve had my hands pretty full back here.”

I would love to never talk about it again, but there was no way Chris wasn’t going to get dragged into the disaster. I had a feeling the story was just getting started. He needed to brace for impact.

We started making our way to the exit. Chris dragged my suitcase while I kept my head down as much as I could.

“Oh my God, is that her?”

I didn’t look. The person might be talking about someone else. I wasn’t going to make eye contact.

“Come on,” Chris said.

I let him guide me toward the exit, but I could feel eyes turning, hear whispers spreading. By the time we made it outside, at least three people had their phones out, filming my walk of shame.

“Ignore them,” Chris said. “Just keep moving. They’re probably just filming me.”

I didn’t miss the fact he was walking a lot faster. I had to push my hoodie back a little so I could watch where I was going. He could pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but clearly, he was just as bothered by the whispers and stares.

We got to his SUV. “Get in,” he ordered.

I did and he got my bags in the back. I kept my head down and avoided eye contact with anyone in the garage.

“Damn,” he said when he slid into the driver’s seat. “I was kidding when I said you were famous. Guess I was a little more on the mark than I thought.”

“Now you’re catching on.”