Page 27 of Pretend To Be Mine

I glanced over at Elizabeth, who had not said more than a couple of words. She looked like she was in shock, her eyes slightly glazed.

I pulled her into a hug without thinking about it. “Thank you. You were amazing out there.”

She didn’t hug back. Just stood there, stiff as a board, her body rigid against mine.

I pulled away and looked at her more closely. Yeah, she was definitely in shock. That frozen quality was back, the same deer-in-headlights expression she’d worn in my office when I first proposed this arrangement.

That could end up being a problem.

“Elizabeth?” I waved a hand in front of her face. “You still with me? Do you need more wine? Or water?”

She blinked slowly. “I’m okay. I think so. Maybe. I’m not entirely sure.”

I could feel my brothers watching us. I quietly led her back into the hall. “Why don’t you head home and get some rest? We have a photoshoot tomorrow. Should be easy. Just some posing and smiling, nothing too difficult.”

“Tomorrow?” Her voice was faint. “Already?”

“Strike while the iron’s hot. But it’ll be fine, I promise. Much more controlled than today was. I’ll have a car take you home. Get some sleep. I’ll text you the details for tomorrow.”

“I need to change.”

“Keep it,” I said. “It’s a sample.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

I walked her all the way out of the building, hailed a cab, and paid the man with plenty left over for the tip.

Back in my office, all three of my brothers had made themselves comfortable. Sebastian had raided my whiskey, Dash had commandeered my desk chair, and Briggs was reviewing what looked like a contract on my couch.

“Make yourselves at home,” I said dryly.

“Already did.” Sebastian held up his glass in a mock toast. “To Adrian’s fake engagement. May it be slightly less disastrous than his past relationships.”

“What past relationships?” I asked, grabbing the bottle from him.

“Exactly,” he said. “This is uncharted territory for you, too. Not just Elizabeth.”

I poured myself two fingers and downed it in one swallow. The day had been a marathon, and it wasn’t over yet.

“Let’s talk schedule,” I said, settling into one of the chairs facing my desk. “What’s the plan for the next week and a half?”

Dash spun the chair around, pulling up a calendar on my computer without asking. “We’ve got you booked solid. Interviews. Some magazine photoshoots.”

“Interviews,” I said. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Maybe just me. Not both of us.”

“Why?” Sebastian asked.

“Elizabeth can barely string together a sentence. You want to put her on live TV?”

“She’ll be fine,” Dash said dismissively. “She just needs to get comfortable. That’s why we front-loaded the schedule. She’ll get lots of practice before the big events.”

I listened to them rattle off the schedule—appearances, interviews, photoshoots, all carefully orchestrated to build the narrative of Adrian Blackwell, reformed playboy.

“This is a lot,” I said finally.

“It’s necessary,” Dash countered. “We need saturation. We need people to be so invested in your love story that they’re tuning in to Love Week just to see you two together.”

“And what about actual preparation for Love Week? You know, the shows we’re supposed to be putting on?”