Page 24 of Pretend To Be Mine

“I’m so grateful. This has been the most stressful day of my entire life.”

“And it’s only going to get crazier,” Annika said with a gentle smile. “But you’re going to be fine. Just remember—smile a lot, but not too much. Don’t show your gums if you can help it. The camera amplifies everything, so try to stay as still as possible. No fidgeting with your hair or scratching your nose or adjusting your dress. Whatever you do will be magnified.”

“No fidgeting. No nose-picking. Got it.” I clasped my hands together to keep them from shaking.

“And breathe,” Mary Jo added. “You’d be amazed how many people forget to breathe.”

“When you don’t know where to look, look at him,” Annika said. “It will make for great photos.”

I nodded again.

“Keep your chin up,” Mary Jo said. “Not high, but don’t let it drop. The pictures are atrocious from the angle.”

“Okay.”

The door opened and a young woman with a headset and a clipboard appeared, her energy frantic. “Elizabeth Laramie? We need you now.”

My stomach dropped to my feet.

“Break a leg,” Annika said, giving my shoulder one final squeeze.

I didn’t know how I made my legs do it, but I followed the headset-wearing woman out of the room. She walked quickly. I had to almost jog to keep up with her in my heels. They were a little higher than the ones I wore for what I thought was an interview, but they were comfortable. Really comfortable. I supposed designer shoes should be worth the price and not kill your feet.

We moved through a series of hallways until we reached a door marked “Conference Room B.” The woman pushed it open and gestured me inside. “Wait here. Someone will come get you when it’s time. You look great, by the way.”

Then she was gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click that sounded like a prison cell locking.

I stood alone in the small space, taking in my surroundings. It was clearly a staging area, with plain walls, basic carpet, and a few chairs pushed against one side. One wall was actually a heavy curtain, and beyond it, I could hear voices. Lots of voices. The murmur of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter, the clicking of cameras being tested.

The press. Oh man.

They were out there, waiting to see Adrian Blackwell’s mysterious new fiancée. Waiting to judge whether I was good enough, pretty enough, worthy enough to stand beside one of the crown princes of fashion.

My breathing started to speed up again. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Except it wasn’t working anymore. My chest felt tight, my hands were shaking, and the room was starting to tilt slightly.

“Elizabeth.” The deep baritone voice recentered me.

I spun around. Adrian stood in the doorway, looking impossibly calm and drop-dead gorgeous. His dark eyes found mine immediately. I watched his expression shift as he took in my panic.

He crossed the small space in three strides and took my hand. “You look amazing,” he said simply.

“I look terrified.”

“That too. But mostly amazing. And beautiful, if that wasn’t clear.” He studied my face. I could see him cataloging the signs of my impending meltdown. He was probably thinking he’d made a huge mistake.

“Thank you for saying that,” I murmured. “I’m not used to having the spotlight on me. It’s a lot.”

“I’m nervous too.”

I tilted my head and shot him a narrow-eyed look. “You are not.”

“I am. I hate these things. Always have.” He glanced toward the curtain.

“Then why do you do it?”

“Because it’s part of the job. And because sometimes the things that scare us are the things we need to do anyway.” He released my hand, stepped back, and dropped to one knee.

I took a step back. “What is happening?”