Page 95 of Pretend To Be Mine

Fuck. Sebastian.

“Everyone, please congratulate my big brother,” Sebastian said. “Uh-oh, did he sneak away with his fiancée?”

The crowd laughed. I sighed and kept moving toward Elizabeth. I was taking her up there with me. She saw me coming and frowned.

“Get up there,” she hissed.

I grabbed her hand.

“What are you doing?” she asked as I pulled her along.

“You’re coming with me.” I didn’t give her time to protest, just led her up the steps and onto the stage where Sebastian was waiting.

The crowd’s applause somehow intensified when they saw us together. America’s sweethearts, the narrative went. The perfect couple at Fashion of Love Week.

I kept Elizabeth’s hand firmly in mine, positioning her slightly in front of me, my other hand settling on her waist. Not just because we needed to maintain appearances, though that was part of it.

But because I’d seen Clara during the show.

While Elizabeth had been mesmerized by the runway, watching each piece with that designer’s eye she had, I’d been tracking Clara’s movements after she finished her walk. She had been eyeballing Elizabeth. I knew she would try and make a move. She was looking for weakness. Planning her attack.

Clara was a viper. Elizabeth could hold her own, but she shouldn’t have to deal with the venom Clara would spew. I would shield Elizabeth the best I could.

Even now, Clara stood near the edge of the crowd, not looking at me at all. She was staring directly at Elizabeth. The expression on her face made my blood run cold. Pure calculation mixed with jealousy, sizing up her competition like a predator assessing prey.

I pulled Elizabeth closer, felt her glance up at me with surprise. But she didn’t pull away, just leaned into my side as Sebastian continued talking.

Elizabeth was strong. I knew that. She’d proven it over and over the past two weeks, pushing through her fears, rising to every challenge. But Clara was a different kind of challenge. Clara was vicious when she wanted to be, with a talent for finding weaknesses and exploiting them.

Elizabeth, at her core, was kind. Sweet. Good. She wasn’t used to the cutthroat world I’d been brought up in. The world where Clara thrived and ruled. I knew there were plenty of models that would line up behind Clara simply because they were afraid of her.

Clara didn’t have a heart, or if she did, she’d buried it so deep under ambition and image that it no longer functioned.

No matter what was happening between Elizabeth and me—whether this was real or still just pretend, whether she felt what I felt or I was alone in this—she didn’t deserve to have Clara tear into her. Didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of whatever poison Clara would spit.

Sebastian finished his speech to more applause. We all took a bow together, the Blackwell brothers and Elizabeth united on stage. As soon as the curtain of celebration gave us cover, I leaned close to Elizabeth’s ear. “We’re leaving.”

“What? Adrian, the party⁠—”

“Can happen without us.” I kept my hand on her waist, guiding her toward the stage exit. “Trust me.”

She did, following without further protest as I led her backstage and then away from the main celebration areas entirely. We wound through corridors, away from the noise and lights and the woman I could practically feel tracking our movement.

“Where are we going?” Elizabeth asked, but she didn’t sound worried. Just curious.

“Away from the bullshit.” I pulled her down another hallway lined with portraits of the manor’s ancestors. “I want to show you something.”

We were in parts of the manor that weren’t technically off limits but also weren’t part of the public spaces Sebastian had rented. Old family sections preserved and maintained but rarely used.

Elizabeth’s eyes went wide as we passed painting after painting, each one probably worth at least six figures. I caught her slowing to look at some of the antique furniture.

“We shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, but she was smiling.

“They won’t care. We’re paying enough to rent this place for the night. Just don’t break anything.”

She looked offended. “I wasn’t planning on roughhousing.”

I smiled and tried a door handle. Locked. The next one opened into what looked like a morning room, all pale blue and white with furniture under dust covers. Elizabeth couldn’t resist lifting some of the covers.