Taking style advice from a man who once thought plain white T-shirts and beat up black Converse was a fashion trend hadn’t been particularly easy.

But as I sat in the blacked-out SUV and ran my hands over the light pastel purple column dress, I had to hand it to Dean … he knew what he was talking about.

Ever since I’d put on the dress that sported a high neckline and hugged my body like a glove all the way past my knees, he hadn’t been able to stop staring at me. And I hadn’t been able to stop blushing.

Since our shopping trip, things seemed to have thawed between us. Even at the club, Dean had been on his best behavior, not once looking at another woman.

Perhaps I’d jumped to conclusions too fast … the fury in his eyes at being accused of what he did all those years ago, that wasn’t the anger of a guilty man. That was the pent-up frustration of someone who had never stood up for their innocence, and wasn’t going to let me bad mouth him anymore.

And that kiss … all of the emotions he’d been holding back for seven years were spelled out between our lips. All of the nights I’d cried, every second we’d spent apart, each accusation and break of our hearts … it had all been laid bare when our mouths had collided. The world had broken open and bled with that kiss, my ears could hear at the speed of sound when Dean had put his lips on mine.

We hadn’t talked about it since, although Dean had been cordial. I don’t know if he wanted to forget he’d done it, if he was embarrassed, if he thought I wasn’t into it, or what? I still wasn’t sure how it made me feel … okay, that wasn’t true. I was confused, aroused, lustful, but most of all scared. I was so damn scared of my own heart being captured by this man again.

Despite all of my feelings about it though, I was foolishly disappointed that Dean hadn’t addressed it at all. Maybe it just didn’t mean the same to him, and that thought process right there was what put the stubborn organ in my chest in jeopardy.

The blacked-out SUV, the same one we always seemed to be driven in, speeds down the highway toward the middle of Los Angeles. The premiere we’re attending tonight is at the Staples Center, and Dean has already prepped me on how many media outlets and other celebrities will be there.

“So since we are going to be photographed to hell and back tonight, I thought it was time for this.” Dean pulls a red velvet box out of his impeccable black suit jacket pocket.

My heart ricochets in my chest, and my hands begin to sweat. “What is that?”

“You knew it was coming for a while now, Kara, so don’t freak out. You’ve been out here for over a month, and the contract clearly stated it. It’s time for us to be engaged, to show the world a united front, especially with the trial looming closer.”

He got his hair cut before tonight, so that the rusty blond ends are just grazing the tops of his ears. It’s still longer than I am used to, but he’s slicked it back in a sort of Charlie Hunnam style. There is more than a three-day stubble dusting his jaw, and he looks practically edible in the midnight black fabric perfectly tailored to his body.

When he pops open the box, the car swiftly changing lanes and jostling me, I get a glimpse of the gigantic, round diamond laid on a thin band of diamonds.

The speed of the car, the rush of attending my first red carpet, the ring, him … it’s all too much. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Dean’s brow furrows. “Don’t be dramatic, all you have to do is put this on your left hand. We both know it doesn’t mean anything other than what is stated in a legal agreement.”

He thinks I’m being a bitch, disgusted by the thought of wearing his ring, but in reality, my insides are frantic. This means way more than just the sections laid out in the contract I signed, and we both know it. For years, I’d dreamed of him actually popping open a ring box, getting down on one knee, making me his wife. Even in high school, we’d done the childish dreaming, picking out our venue, our children’s names, where we would retire to.

It made my stomach ache with missed moments and my eyes burned with unshed tears. This was never the way I expected any man to propose to me, to ask me to spend his life with him. Under some forced contract, because he was scared of the legal system. No, I wanted to be engaged, to be on the way to becoming someone’s partner, because they were in love with me and I with them. The tragic note of this situation didn’t slip by me, that the one thing that should be authentic was now just another act of playing pretend.

“Right.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, and tried to steady my hand from shaking as I stuck it out. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Those blue eyes swam with darkness, a ripple of midnight indigo running through them as Dean stared at me. Finally, he removed the ring from the box and placed it on my finger, pushing it down over my knuckle. I couldn’t bare to look at it, couldn’t bear that there was no happiness in this moment, no urge to call all of our family and friends and tell them the good news.

“We’re here.” He turns away from me, and the moment is over.

Now there is just his diamond sitting on my finger, the weight foreign and upsetting. I plaster a smile on, the shouts from media and photographers already starting as the car pulls up to let us out.

The minute the doors open, they descend upon us like seagulls down at the Jersey Shore. Flashes go off in every direction, and Dean laces one hand through mine as he raises the other one to wave to the crowd of screaming fans being barricaded behind metal gates. He helps me onto the carpet, which is swarming with celebrities, industry professionals, crew members, cameras, media types with microphones, and everyone in between.

“Dean! Kara! Over here! Smile! Kiss! Show us that attitude!”

People shout at us from every direction, and I just keep that sunny smile on my face and follow Dean, blind as to what to do right now. He maneuvers us expertly down the carpet, and then stops on a mark when a woman in all black clothing holds up a hand for us to stop. I look down the row, and there are celebrities I’ve seen on the covers of magazine standing on various marks down the carpet, the backsplash for the movie hanging behind us all.

“Smile, baby.” Dean looks at me, wrapping his arm around my waist in an intimate, picture pose.

I snap into action, draping myself appealingly over him, laughing on cue and making moony eyes at Dean every time we turn toward each other.

And then I make the ultimate move, placing my left hand on the breast of his suit jacket, my brand-new engagement ring catching the light. It only takes point three seconds for one of the media outlets to notice, and then it’s as if the world spins into chaos.

“Are you engaged?! How did he pop the question? When is the wedding?”

The pictures that end up splashed all over every website and morning paper show a happy couple, madly in love. And that’s what I’m being paid to portray.