Page 121 of Pretend To Be Mine

“I need your approval on the graphics,” I told her. “Where’s your computer, Dash?”

“Over there.” He absently gestured toward a table before going after a model. And not in the sexual way.

“Graphics?” Elizabeth asked.

“For your logo.” I pulled up the file on Dash’s computer. “I had the design team clean up what we sketched yesterday. Take a look.”

The screen showed our heart-shaped EL logo, refined and digitized, ready to be projected on the massive screens flanking the runway. It looked professional and elegant.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Adrian, that’s so pretty.”

“That’s going to appear when your first dress comes out. The screens will show the logo, announce the ‘Elizabeth Laramie Collection,’ and you’ll have your moment.”

She turned to me, eyes bright with unshed tears. She grabbed my face and kissed me like I’d given her the moon.

“Thank you,” she whispered against my lips. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You earned it.” I held her close, not caring who was watching. “Your designs earned it.”

“Okay, lovebirds, save it for the cameras.” Dash was grinning though. “Speaking of which, we’ve got press photos in twenty minutes. Both of you need to be picture-perfect.”

Elizabeth pulled back, wiping her eyes. “Right. Photos. I can do photos now.”

“You absolutely can.”

The transformation from two weeks ago was remarkable. The nervous woman who’d frozen in front of cameras was gone, replaced by someone who understood how to work them. She was comfortable at my side. I wasn’t sure if it was the regular sex that made her more comfortable or if she was just getting used to the whole dog and pony show.

We made our way to where the press area had been set up. There was more red and gold, naturally, with a backdrop featuring the Blackwell logo intertwined with theatrical masks. Very on brand for an opera house venue.

Sebastian and Briggs were already there, both looking considerably more rested than Dash. Mom appeared a moment later, elegant in a black dress from one of our older collections. It was one Dad had designed. It was no coincidence she was wearing it tonight.

“Family photos first,” the photographer called out. “All the Blackwells together.”

Elizabeth started to step aside—technically she wasn’t a Blackwell—but Mom caught her arm.

“You too, dear,” she said to Elizabeth. “You’re part of this.”

Elizabeth looked surprised and happy. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Mom replied. “I think it would look strange if you weren’t in the photos. After all, you’re engaged.”

Elizabeth nodded. “You’re right. Of course.”

She took her place beside me. We all arranged ourselves for the photographer.

“Adrian, put your arm around her,” the photographer instructed. “Elizabeth, lean into him. Perfect. Now everyone look at me.”

We went through the standard poses with the photographer calling out adjustments. I watched Elizabeth handle it all with grace, smiling naturally, following directions without the stiffness that had plagued her early photos.

“She’s gotten so much better at this,” Sebastian murmured during a setup change. “Remember New York? She could barely look at the camera.”

“She rises to every occasion,” I said quietly. “She just needed to believe in herself.”

“And someone to believe in her.” Sebastian gave me a knowing look. “You’re good for each other. Don’t fuck it up.”

Before I could respond, the photographer was calling us back for more shots. Elizabeth and I posed together, then with various combinations of family members. Through it all, I kept noticing little things about her. I knew her, but this version of her was so different from that woman I first met.

She knew her angles and how she could turn on charm for the camera while staying genuine. She’d made so much progress in such a short time. From terrified to confident, from hesitant to assured.