Chapter 2
The next morning, Daniel's mother placed her phone in the middle of the breakfast table.
The winner portrait filled the screen.
"Claire looked right beside him."
Margaret lifted her coffee as if she were reviewing a successful campaign.
"The press agrees."
I didn't look.
Daniel sat across from me answering emails. His award rested in the hotel suite, catching the morning light.
Margaret continued.
"You should be pleased, Evelyn. Daniel can hire any stylist in Los Angeles now, and he still keeps you."
My fork stopped.
"Keeps me?"
"You know what I mean. He's always looked after you."
I looked at Daniel.
He didn't raise his head.
"I'm his wife before I'm his stylist."
Margaret's mouth tightened.
"Then act like one."
Daniel finally put down his phone.
I waited.
He rubbed between his eyebrows.
"Can we not do this today?"
"Do what?"
"I don't want to spend the morning refereeing."
Refereeing.
As if this were a disagreement between two women.
Not his mother telling his wife she should be grateful he still allowed her to do the work that helped build him.
I stood and picked up my bag.
Daniel looked up.
"Where are you going?"
"To work."
At least there, nobody expected me to be grateful for my own ability.
At eleven, I was pinning the waist of an ivory gown on my client Lena when Claire's voice came from the television.
"He told me about the navy suit."
My hand stopped.
Onscreen, Claire and Daniel sat together for a morning interview.
"The famous one?" the host asked.
Claire smiled.
"He said it was the first time he put something on and thought maybe he belonged in those rooms."
Daniel laughed softly.
He didn't add anything.
He didn't say who bought it.
We had less than four hundred dollars in our account that year.
I maxed out my first credit card for that suit.
The night before his first real industry dinner, I knelt on the floor of our tiny apartment and altered the trousers by hand.
My own winter boot had a split sole.
I wore tape over it for two more weeks.
Before Daniel left, he looked at himself in the mirror.
"Do I actually look like one of them?"
I flattened his shoulder.
"You don't look like them. You belong there."
On television, Claire said, "He still has it."
The host grinned.
"So you know a lot of the old stories."
Daniel didn't correct that either.
"Evelyn?"
Lena was watching me through the mirror.
I realized I was still holding the pin.
"Sorry."
I finished the fitting.
After Lena left, I called Daniel.
"The blue suit."
A pause.
"What about it?"
"Why is Claire telling that story?"
"The interview needed history."
"That was our history."
Daniel exhaled.
"Evelyn, no one knows it was yours."
My fingers went cold.
"I do."
"You're making everything too personal again."
I didn't argue.
Twenty minutes later, an email from his team arrived.
[COUPLE CONTINUITY: Please review Daniel details for accuracy]
I assumed they needed professional notes.
I opened it.
[Coffee: black after 10 p.m. Oat milk in the morning.]
[Before major events: prefers silence in the car.]
[When anxious: adjusts left cuff.]
I kept scrolling.
More slowly now.
[Favorite winter getaway.]
[Private nickname possibilities.]
[Relationship story references.]
Then I saw the restaurant.
Marlowe's.
The place Daniel and I went every year for our anniversary.
Beside it:
[Potential romantic location. Intimate. Personal history feel.]
The scroll bar was still near the top.
There were dozens of pages left.
The blue suit hadn't been an accident.
Someone was building Claire a history with my husband, and they expected me to check it for accuracy.