Chapter 11 Chapter 11
Emily's POV
The mirror in Noah’s apartment bedroom was too honest. It showed everything. The nerves tightening my shoulders. The careful way I kept adjusting the thin strap of my dress. The expression on my face that looked composed… until I looked closer. It just looked terrified. I smoothed my hands down the fabric again. It was not pink. That alone felt like a small betrayal of my identity.
I decideed to wear a soft champagne color dress. The kind of dress someone wore when they wanted to be taken seriously in a room full of wealthy donors and university executives. Not the kind of dress someone wore to pretend to be the girlfriend of Westview’s most notorious athlete.
I stared at my reflection again and practiced smiling. One version looked stiff. Another looked fake. I sighed and drop my hands. “Relax,” I muttered to myself. But the word felt ridiculous, because tonight wasn't just a dinner. Tonight determined whether the entire fake relationship strategy actually worked. And if it failed… The scholarship. The Johns Hopkins recommendation. Everything I’ve been working toward would be gone.
My stomach twisted at the thought of it. I closed my eyes for a moment and inhaled slowly, trying to steady myself.
You can do this, Emily.
You have done harder things. You have presented research in front of medical panels, survived three days of finals without sleep, and rehabilitated athletes twice your size who refused to listen to instructions. This was just… pretending. Except that I hated pretending and lying. Especially lying in front of cameras. I hated all of this.
There was a knock on the door. My heart jumped so suddenly that I almost laughed at myself. “It’s fine,” I whispered before I walked over to the door and opened it. I forgot how breathing worked. The air was knocked out of my lungs. My mouth parted a little, taking in his appearance in front of me. Noah stood in the hallway wearing a black tuxedo.
I have seen him in athletic gear, sweatpants, hoodies and disheveled post-practice exhaustion. But I’ve never seen him like this. The tux fit him perfectly, dark fabric sharp against his skin. His hair was slightly messy, like he tried to fix it but gave up halfway. His tie was loosened just enough to look intentional and effortless.
For a moment, neither of us say a word. We just stare at each other. Noah blinked at if snapping out of a trance and broke the silence. “Wow.”
The word made my spine stiffen instantly. “What?” I asked defensively.
His eyes moved slowly over my dress, then back to my face. “You’re not wearing pink.”
I rolled my eyes automatically, even though heat crept into my cheeks. “It’s called versatility.”
He smirked slightly. “I didn’t think you owned another color.”
I crossed my arms under my breasts. “Well, you clean up surprisingly well.”
His eyebrow lifted. “That sounded like a compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Something shifted in the air between us. There was space between us. He was tall, yet looked different... handome. He gestured with his hand down the hallway. "Are you ready?"
No, not even close. My heart was racing in my chest. “Yes,” I lied.
I walked passed him, feeling self-conscious. I could feel his eyes burn into my back. This dress exposed my back, so of course, he was going to look at my back. My hair was draped over one shoulder and I held my clutch bag in my hands.
Noah and I arrived at the Westview Foundation Charity Gala. We entered through the front doors, it was packed. It was exactly what I had imagined. Which meant it was overwhelming.
The ballroom looked like something out of a luxury magazine. Crystal chandeliers casted warm light over polished marble floors, round tables draped in white linens, and enormous floral arrangements rose from the center of each one. Waiters glided across the room with trays of champagne in their hands, balancing them perfectly. Cameras flashed constantly. Donors mingled with faculty members and athletes. Everywhere I looked there were people who held power over the university, over Noah and possibly over my future.
I straightened my posture instinctively. Professional mode on. “Okay,” I whispered to Noah as we walked towards the crowd. “Ground rules.”
He sighed quietly. “Already?”
“Yes.”
I glanced around to make sure no reporters were close enough to hear us. “Stand closer to me,” I murmured.
“We’re walking.”
“Still.”
He moved half a step closer. “Don’t roll your eyes if someone says something annoying.”
“That’s going to be difficult.”
“Try.”
“And?”
“Smile when people talk to you.”
“Do I have to mean it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Before I could say anything else, a photographer called out. “Noah! Over here!”
My stomach dropped.
“Showtime,” Noah muttered.
We walked towards the photographer, and suddenly the cameras were everywhere.
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
“Couple shot!” someone called out.
I steppeed beside Noah, trying to look natural, except I was standing too far away.
The photographer sighed dramatically. “Closer please.” I shifted an inch closer. “No, closer.”
I glanced at Noah. He hesitated for half a second and then his arm moved around my waist. My entire body froze. The warmth of his hand was warm on the skin of my back, it felt shockingly real. My heart raced.
The photographer laughed. “Relax guys, you’re supposed to be dating.” I forced a smile for the camera while internally spiraling.
Don’t look stiff.
Don’t look uncomfortable.
Don’t panic.
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
Noah’s hand remained on my waist just long enough to look convincing and all too suddenly he let go and the warmth disappeared with his hand. I released a breath. “That wasn’t so bad,” he murmured.
I glared at him. “I almost died.”
“You’re still standing. Let's get seated for dinner." He said and then we walked over to where our seats were. I just wanted this evening to be over and done with.
We reached our table, Noah pulled a chair out for me and I sat down, placing my clutch bag in my lap, before he sat next to me. We were seated with three major donors and two university board members. This Dinner just got worse. Every person at the table looked like they could casually fund an entire research department.
One of the donors leaned forward, smiling warmly. “So,” he began, folding his hands. “How did you two meet?” He asked.
My brain went blank. This was not great. “Oh. At the training center.” I replied quickly. At the exact same moment, Noah had chimed in.
“At a rehab session,” Noah said.
We both stopped.
The donor’s smile widened slightly. I wanted to disappear under the table.
Coach Bennett cleared his throat. “Noah injured his shoulder during practice,” he explained. “Emily was assigned to his rehabilitation case. He was so impressed with her discipline that he started requesting extra sessions.”
The rest of these guests at the table laughed. I just smiled politely. On the inside, I was screaming. Next time, we better rehearse this story.
Noah leaned closer and whispered under his breath. “Nice teamwork.”
I kicked his shin under the table. “Behave,” I whispered.
He smirked. Throughout dinner he continued whispering commentary. “Do you think these donors know how many yachts they collectively own?”
I kicked him again.
After a while, “If that guy says ‘athletic excellence’ one more time I’m leaving.”
“You’re not leaving.”
“Kidnap me then.” Despite myself, I almost laughed at him. At least he was making me forget about this horrible table that we were seated at to get me through.
Halfway through the evening, I noticed Noah slipped away from the table. I followed his movement across the ballroom. He walked towards a small group of younger athletes sitting near the stage. One of them had a shoulder brace. Noah knelt beside him and something about him changed completely. The sarcasm disappeared. He listened carefully as the kid spoke, gesturing to his injury. I stood up from the chair and walked closer to them.
Noah asked thoughtful questions. Encouraging ones and at one point he demonstrated a rehab movement with his own arm. The younger athlete lit up. I stood there watching, confused. This version of Noah didn't match the headlines. He was patient, kind and gentle.That realization unsettled me that I was viewing him as someone completely different. Maybe there was more to him than I had thought.
And then another photographer waved us over.
“Noah! Your...plus one...or new woman! One more shot!”
I stepped beside Noah again. This time he leaned slightly closer. “What?” I whispered.
He lowered his voice. “If one more donor says ‘philanthropic impact,’ I’m pretending to faint.”
I snorted. I actually snorted. The laugh escaped before I could stop it.
Flash.
The camera captured the moment. The photographer checked the image preview and beamed. “Perfect. That looks real.”
Real. The word echoed strangely in my chest. I glanced at the photo briefly. It did look natural and convincing, like we were genuinely enjoying each other’s company. And the most unsettling part? For that split second… It didn’t feel fake. My smile faded slightly, because that thought scared the hell out of me far more than the cameras ever could.