Chapter 8
ELIZABETH
Istared at the woman in the mirror and couldn’t quite believe she was me.
Mary Jo had worked some kind of magic with her brushes and powders, transforming my face into something camera-ready.
My eyes looked bigger, more dramatic, framed with subtle liner and mascara that made my lashes look twice their normal length.
My cheeks had a healthy glow, my lips were a soft rose color that somehow made them look fuller.
Even my skin seemed to be lit from within, flawless in a way I’d never achieved on my own.
And the dress Annika had chosen fit like it had been made for me. It was so pretty. Classy. Timeless. It made me look elegant instead of frumpy. After some debate, Annika decided the nude pumps were the way to go.
I looked like someone who belonged in Adrian Blackwell’s world.
I looked like a stranger.
“You okay, honey?” Annika’s voice was soft.
“I don’t know.” My voice came out shaky. “I don’t recognize myself.”
“That’s the point, a little bit.” Mary Jo smiled at me in the mirror as she put away her brushes. “We’re giving you armor. When you look this good, you feel more confident. At least, that’s the theory.”
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. “Both of you. I know this was rushed and crazy, and you still made me look…” I gestured vaguely at my reflection. “Like this.”
“Like a goddess,” Mary Jo said with a nod. “That’s what we do here. We make goddesses.”
Annika squeezed my shoulder. “We were all new here once. I know how lost I felt when I first started at Blackwell. Buck—Adrian’s father—he took a chance on me when no one else would.
I was fresh off the boat from Sweden, barely spoke English, and he gave me a job.
I’ve never forgotten what that felt like, to have someone believe in you. ”
“I’m so grateful. This has been the most stressful day of my entire life.”
“And it’s only going to get crazier,” Annika said with a gentle smile.
“But you’re going to be fine. Just remember—smile a lot, but not too much.
Don’t show your gums if you can help it.
The camera amplifies everything, so try to stay as still as possible.
No fidgeting with your hair or scratching your nose or adjusting your dress. Whatever you do will be magnified.”
“No fidgeting. No nose-picking. Got it.” I clasped my hands together to keep them from shaking.
“And breathe,” Mary Jo added. “You’d be amazed how many people forget to breathe.”
“When you don’t know where to look, look at him,” Annika said. “It will make for great photos.”
I nodded again.
“Keep your chin up,” Mary Jo said. “Not high, but don’t let it drop. The pictures are atrocious from the angle.”
“Okay.”
The door opened and a young woman with a headset and a clipboard appeared, her energy frantic. “Elizabeth Laramie? We need you now.”
My stomach dropped to my feet.
“Break a leg,” Annika said, giving my shoulder one final squeeze.
I didn’t know how I made my legs do it, but I followed the headset-wearing woman out of the room.
She walked quickly. I had to almost jog to keep up with her in my heels.
They were a little higher than the ones I wore for what I thought was an interview, but they were comfortable.
Really comfortable. I supposed designer shoes should be worth the price and not kill your feet.
We moved through a series of hallways until we reached a door marked “Conference Room B.” The woman pushed it open and gestured me inside. “Wait here. Someone will come get you when it’s time. You look great, by the way.”
Then she was gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click that sounded like a prison cell locking.
I stood alone in the small space, taking in my surroundings.
It was clearly a staging area, with plain walls, basic carpet, and a few chairs pushed against one side.
One wall was actually a heavy curtain, and beyond it, I could hear voices.
Lots of voices. The murmur of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter, the clicking of cameras being tested.
The press. Oh man.
They were out there, waiting to see Adrian Blackwell’s mysterious new fiancée. Waiting to judge whether I was good enough, pretty enough, worthy enough to stand beside one of the crown princes of fashion.
My breathing started to speed up again. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Except it wasn’t working anymore. My chest felt tight, my hands were shaking, and the room was starting to tilt slightly.
“Elizabeth.” The deep baritone voice recentered me.
I spun around. Adrian stood in the doorway, looking impossibly calm and drop-dead gorgeous. His dark eyes found mine immediately. I watched his expression shift as he took in my panic.
He crossed the small space in three strides and took my hand. “You look amazing,” he said simply.
“I look terrified.”
“That too. But mostly amazing. And beautiful, if that wasn’t clear.” He studied my face. I could see him cataloging the signs of my impending meltdown. He was probably thinking he’d made a huge mistake.
“Thank you for saying that,” I murmured. “I’m not used to having the spotlight on me. It’s a lot.”
“I’m nervous too.”
I tilted my head and shot him a narrow-eyed look. “You are not.”
“I am. I hate these things. Always have.” He glanced toward the curtain.
“Then why do you do it?”
“Because it’s part of the job. And because sometimes the things that scare us are the things we need to do anyway.” He released my hand, stepped back, and dropped to one knee.
I took a step back. “What is happening?”
“Elizabeth Laramie,” he said, his voice taking on a theatrical quality. “Will you marry me?” He paused, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Hey, that kind of rhymes. Okay, wait. Let me try it again.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “Will you marry me, Laramie?”
He held out his hand, and I looked down to see a ring resting in his palm. My breath caught.
It was stunning. A large diamond—at least two carats, maybe more—surrounded by small sapphires. The band was platinum or white gold, delicate but clearly expensive. It looked like something you’d see in a museum case, not sitting in Adrian Blackwell’s hand in a backstage area.
Not something that should go on my finger.
“Yes,” I heard myself say, laughter bubbling up despite the nerves screaming inside me. “Yes, of course I will.” His silly proposal had somehow cut through my panic. I couldn’t have a full breakdown when he was being ridiculous on purpose. “What took you so long?”
Adrian smiled. “I’ll never forget the first time we met. It feels like it happened yesterday.”
I grinned back at him. “It happened an hour ago.”
“Time flies when you’re in love.” He stood and slipped the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly.
“It almost looks real,” I whispered, staring at the way the stones sparkled.
“Oh, it is real. Only the best for my future wife.” His voice was light, teasing, but when he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead, the heat that burned through my veins was anything but fake.
My knees went weak. The simple touch was almost brotherly, but it somehow affected me more than anything else that had happened today.
For just a second, standing there with his lips against my forehead and his ring on my finger, I let myself imagine this was real.
That Adrian Blackwell actually wanted to marry me.
The fantasy lasted about three seconds before reality crashed back in.
“Ready for your close-up?” he asked, pulling back to look at me.
“Nope.”
He chuckled and offered me his arm. I took a deep breath and hooked my arm through his. In the back of my mind, there was a girl doing cartwheels and squealing at the fact I was touching Adrian Blackwell. Together, we walked toward the curtain.
A man with a headset gave us a thumbs-up. “Thirty seconds. I’ll announce you, then you walk out to the podium. Sound good?”
Adrian nodded like this was completely routine. I managed something that might have been a nod or might have been a mild seizure.
I could hear someone speaking on the other side of the curtain now, amplified by microphones. “It’s our privilege to share some exciting personal news from the Blackwell family. Please welcome Adrian Blackwell and his fiancée, Elizabeth Laramie.”
The curtain parted.
The first thing that hit me was the light. It was so bright and coming from what seemed like a thousand different directions. Camera flashes created a strobe effect that made me dizzy. Beyond the lights, I could make out shapes that resolved into people. Lots of people.
They were all looking at us.
At me.
Adrian’s hand moved to the small of my back as he guided me forward. By guiding, I mean gently pushing. I was sure he could tell I was reconsidering everything. Running sounded like a much better idea than facing the vultures.
We walked together to a podium with the Blackwell logo emblazoned on the front. More cameras clicked. Someone shouted a question I couldn’t quite make out.
Adrian stepped up to the microphone. He looked so comfortable, like it was just another Thursday. I stood slightly behind him and to the left, trying to remember Annika’s advice. Smile. Don’t fidget. Stay still. Breathe. Chin up. No gums.
Look at Adrian.
Wrong move.
The man was too handsome to look at. He was built like a sex god. Tall. Muscular but not overly so. Square jaw. Confident. The confidence was what got me. He held himself like he owned the room, which he kind of did, but still.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Adrian said, his voice carrying easily across the room. “I know you’re used to hearing from me about fashion and business, but today I wanted to share something a little closer to the heart.”
He turned and looked at me.
“This is Elizabeth Laramie,” he said. “We met through a mutual friend several months ago, and what started as a conversation about design turned into something neither of us expected. She’s brilliant, talented, and somehow, she’s agreed to marry me.”
The room erupted with questions, voices talking over each other.
“When’s the wedding?”
“How long have you been together?”
Adrian held up a hand. “We’re still working out the details, but Elizabeth will be joining me for all the Fashion of Love Week events.”
More questions. More flashes. Adrian fielded all of them. He handled it like he’d been trained in PR. He gave vague but charming answers about our relationship and always deflected when anything got too personal.
I stood there and smiled with a little teeth and no gums while keeping my chin up and looking at a spot on the back wall.
I had no idea how the pictures were going to turn out.
I hoped I didn’t look like a Stepford wife or a zombie.
I blanked out, wondering how much longer the press conference could possibly go on.
My mind drifted. I thought about the job I would have once the engagement thing was over.
I would make real money, and more importantly, I would have some experience to put on my resume.
“That’s all the time we have for today,” Adrian said, snapping me back to the present. “Thank you all for coming. We’ll see you at the opening night next Friday.”
He guided me back behind the curtain while people shouted more questions.
I stood there, blinking in the sudden quiet, my heart still racing.
“You did great,” Adrian said.
“I was like a deer in the headlights.”
“You were perfect. If you’d been too polished, they would have been suspicious, like you were a mail-order bride or something.”
Mary Jo appeared and pressed a glass of wine into my hand. “You earned this.”
I looked down at the glass of white wine. The last thing I needed was alcohol, but it was exactly what I wanted. I raised it to my lips and drained half of it in one long swallow, then the rest a second later.
“Whoa,” Adrian said, eyebrows rising. “Easy there.”
“I’m good,” I muttered. “That was just to put me back on solid ground.”
He laughed and that’s when I realized I actually said that out loud. “Come on, let’s get you somewhere quiet before the adrenaline wears off and you realize what we just did.”
What we just did.
I looked down at the ring on my finger.
I wasn’t sure I would survive two hours, let alone a month.