Page 66 of Pretend To Be Mine

“What’s going on over here?” My voice came out much angrier than I’d intended.

Elizabeth jumped slightly, and the man turned toward me, stepping into better light.

Chris.

Her brother Chris.

My friend Chris.

The jealousy didn’t evaporate immediately, but it transmuted into embarrassment. I’d just stormed over like a territorial caveman because my fake fiancée was talking to her own brother.

“Easy there, tiger,” Chris said, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You’re the one who got me the backstage pass, remember?”

“Right. Of course. I just—” I cleared my throat, trying to salvage some dignity. “I wanted to make sure Elizabeth was ready.”

“Uh huh.” Chris’s grin suggested he wasn’t buying my excuse for a second.

Elizabeth was looking at me with poorly concealed amusement, one eyebrow raised. She knew. She knew exactly why I’d come storming over, and she found it hilarious.

“The show starts soon,” I said, forcing my voice back to professional neutrality. “Good crowd out there. Full house. Should be a great night.”

“I’m excited,” Chris said. “Never been backstage at one of these before. It’s impressive. And damn, the models. Every man should get to do this at least once.”

“Find a good spot to watch from,” I told them both. “Enjoy the show.”

I turned to leave—I needed to leave before I made this worse—but Elizabeth’s hand caught my sleeve.

“Adrian.” She looked up at me, and the amusement had softened into something kind. “Break a leg out there. I’ll find you after.”

Her words and the way she was looking at me made my head spin. She had that effect on me. Only Elizabeth had the uncanny ability to knock me completely off balance without even trying.

For a second, I couldn’t look away, lost in those green eyes. She knew I had been jealous but wasn’t upset about it. She didn’t give me a hard time.

Then Chris cleared his throat pointedly, and I remembered where we were. Who we were. What we were supposed to be.

“Thanks,” I managed. “I’ll see you after.”

I pulled away from her—physically pulled myself away because staying near her was too tempting—and headed back to the staging area.

Get your shit together, I told myself firmly. It’s showtime. No room for errors. No room for distractions.

But even as I gave myself the lecture, I knew it was pointless.

My feelings for her were real. Undeniably, inconveniently, complicatedly real.

I was in love with my fake fiancée.

And I had no idea what the hell to do about it.

“Adrian!” the stage manager called. “We need you!”

I pushed everything else aside and focused. Tonight wasn’t about me and Elizabeth. Tonight was about honoring my father’s vision and proving Blackwell Couture’s future was secure.

The personal stuff could wait. It would have to wait.

Even if every cell in my body was screaming that waiting was the last thing I wanted to do.

“Coming,” I called back, and stepped into the role I’d been preparing for my entire life. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing backstage one more time.