Page 70 of Pretend To Be Mine

“The emerald goddess gown, updated with modern construction and…” He faltered when he turned to look at me. His smooth delivery stumbled over the words.

I couldn’t help it. I glanced back at him, breaking every rule about professional modeling.

Adrian stood there with his mic in hand, staring at me like he’d seen a ghost. A sexy ghost. His mouth was slightly open, his prepared notes completely forgotten.

For a second, we just looked at each other. Then training—or maybe instinct—kicked in.

“I apologize,” Adrian said, and his voice had changed, gone rougher. “It appears this is actually the beautiful and always surprising Elizabeth Laramie. My fiancée. The love of my life.”

The crowd went absolutely insane.

But I barely heard them over the roaring in my own ears. The way he’d said it hadn’t sounded rehearsed. It had sounded real.

I forced my feet to move, walking down that runway with everything Annika and Sebastian had taught me. Head up. Shoulders back. Hips forward. One foot in front of the other.

The lights were too bright. The cameras were everywhere. Half a million people were watching this moment.

But all I could think about was the way Adrian had looked at me. The way he’d called me the love of his life like he meant it. It gave me a very healthy dose of self-confidence.

I reached the end of the runway, executed my turn—not perfect but decent—and walked back. The whole way, I was grinning like an idiot because I could see Adrian. He was grinning back, looking dazed and proud.

When I got close enough, he covered his mic with his hand and leaned toward me. “You look amazing!” he said, just for me.

I felt warm and gooey and completely overwhelmed, hurrying backstage before I could do something stupid like cry or kiss him in front of everyone.

Annika grabbed me the moment I was offstage. “That was perfect! Did you see the crowd’s reaction? They loved you!”

I barely registered her words. I was too busy trying to catch my breath. I couldn’t process what had just happened. Had Adrian meant what he said or was I reading too much into everything because I wanted it to be real so badly?

The show continued. Model after model showcased the Legacy collection, each piece more beautiful than the last. And when the final model returned backstage, Annika shoved me back toward the stage entrance.

“Final bow,” she hissed. “All models together. Go!”

I filed out with the others, feeling completely out of place among these professional, gorgeous women. But when we all lined up across the stage and the audience rose to their feet in a standing ovation, I forgot to feel inadequate.

This was happening. I was part of this.

Adrian walked over to join us. The applause somehow got even louder. He moved down the line, thanking models, but his eyes kept finding mine. When he reached me, he didn’t just smile or nod like he had with the others.

He pulled me into a kiss.

It wasn’t chaste or quick or appropriate for a public event. It was deep and thorough and made my knees weak. Heat pooled low in my belly and the flimsy panties I was wearing under this dress were suddenly damp. The kiss made me forget that we were on stage in front of thousands of people.

When he finally released me, the crowd was screaming.

He kept hold of my hand, pulling me to the center of the stage, positioning me beside him as all the models formed a line on either side of us.

“Thank you,” Adrian said into his mic, his voice carrying over the noise. “Thank you all for being here. For believing in Blackwell Couture. For being part of this celebration of legacy and love.”

He squeezed my hand, and together we bowed to thunderous applause that seemed to shake the very building.

I wasn’t pretending anymore.

The fake engagement had become the most real thing in my life.

23

ADRIAN