Chapter 14 - Chicago Finally Learned My Name
The magazine cover happened by accident.
At least that’s what the editor claimed.
American Style had requested a six-page profile on Hart & Hem.
I agreed only after they promised the story would focus on the business.
No “mafia girlfriend” angle.
No body commentary.
No speculation about marriage.
The editor, Serena Wells, looked me directly in the eye.
“If anyone writes the phrase ‘unlikely beauty,’ I’ll fire them myself.”
I liked her.
The photographer spent two days in the studio.
He photographed hands.
Pins.
Chalk.
Pattern paper.
Emma laughing with a client.
My grandmother’s sewing machine.
The repaired ceiling stain we had decided not to paint over yet because it reminded us what the shop survived.
Then Serena saw Adrien arrive for a fitting.
“Absolutely not,” I said.
“I didn’t ask anything.”
“Your face did.”
She smiled.
“I want one photograph.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
Adrien looked between us.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said.
Serena said, “Stand on the platform.”
He looked at me.
I shook my head.
He stepped onto the platform.
“Traitor.”
“I’m following professional instructions.”
“Since when?”
Serena almost clapped.
The photograph was simple.
Adrien on the fitting platform.
Me pinning his sleeve.
Neither of us looking at the camera.
No romance.
No drama.
Just work.
The magazine put it on the cover.
Not because of Adrien.
Because, according to Serena, the photo captured the entire story.
The headline:
CLAIRE HART REFUSED TO DRESS POWER THE WAY POWER EXPECTED
For once, I didn’t hate it.
The article discussed my business.
My size-inclusive designs.
The cooperative.
My employees.
My grandmother.
My refusal to expand production overseas.
Adrien appeared in four paragraphs.
Four.
I counted.
The day the magazine launched, the line outside Hart & Hem stretched halfway down the block.
Mrs. Henderson arrived at nine.
She waved the magazine at me.
“You made the cover.”
“I noticed.”
She squinted at Adrien’s photo.
“He still stands too stiff.”
I laughed.
“Tell him.”
“I will.”
He arrived at eleven.
Mrs. Henderson did.
Adrien listened respectfully while she explained posture.
I loved him a little for that.
The realization struck so unexpectedly that I nearly dropped my chalk.
Loved.
Not liked.
Not fascinated.
Not drawn to.
Loved.
I looked at Adrien across the shop.
He was standing beside a seventy-six-year-old woman while she poked him in the shoulder.
He could have commanded rooms.
Instead, he was letting Mrs. Henderson tell him to relax his neck.
Love, apparently, had a sense of humor.
I didn’t tell him.
Not that day.
Because that afternoon, Caroline Devereux walked into the shop.
Tall.
Dark blonde.
Elegant.
Forty-two.
Wearing an ivory coat that looked custom-made in Paris because it probably was.
Adrien’s face changed when he saw her.
Not desire.
Recognition.
History.
“Caroline.”
She smiled.
“Adrien.”
Then she looked at me.
“So this is Claire.”
My stomach sank.
Nobody says so this is Claire when the next hour is going to be pleasant.
Adrien stepped down from the platform.
“What are you doing in Chicago?”
“I moved back.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
She kissed his cheek.
I did not care.
I cared enormously.
This was irritating.
Caroline turned toward me.
“I’ve wanted to meet you.”
“That makes one of us.”
Adrien looked at me.
I smiled innocently.
Caroline laughed.
“Good. Niko said you were direct.”
“Niko needs employment.”
“He’s said that too.”
She looked around the shop.
“This is beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
No insult.
No hidden edge.
That almost made her worse.
Adrien said, “Caroline and I grew up together.”
Caroline added, “And were engaged.”
There it was.
I looked at Adrien.
He closed his eyes briefly.
“You could have allowed me to explain.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Caroline asked.
I liked her less.
Or perhaps more.
Unclear.
“We were engaged fifteen years ago,” Adrien said.
“For four months,” Caroline added.
“It ended mutually.”
Caroline tilted her head.
“It ended because you were emotionally unavailable and I was in love with Paris.”
“That is almost accurate.”
She smiled.
Then looked at me.
“I came because I need a dress.”
Of course.
Everyone eventually needed a dress.
“For what?”
“My mother’s seventieth birthday.”
“When?”
“Saturday.”
“Today is Wednesday.”
“I was warned you’d say that.”
“Then whoever warned you should have explained calendars.”
Adrien’s mouth twitched.
Caroline walked toward the fabric wall.
“I’m willing to beg.”
“That helps.”
What followed was surprisingly normal.
Measurements.
Fabric.
Design discussion.
Caroline had excellent taste.
She also knew Adrien in ways I didn’t.
Old stories.
Family history.
Private references.
I told myself that didn’t matter.
It mattered.
When Adrien left, Caroline stayed for final fabric selection.
Then she said quietly:
“You’re good for him.”
I nearly stabbed myself with a pin.
“That sounds dangerously like approval.”
“It isn’t mine to give.”
“Good answer.”
She smiled.
“He used to believe love was something you protected people from.”
I looked up.
“What does that mean?”
“His mother left when he was twelve.”
I hadn’t known.
Caroline continued.
“She couldn’t live with his father’s world. Adrien decided needing people created weaknesses.”
My chest tightened.
“That explains some things.”
“He loved me.”
I kept my face neutral.
“In his way.”
She smiled sadly.
“But he never let me matter enough to frighten him.”
“What happened?”
“I left.”
“Paris?”
“Eventually.”
She looked toward the door Adrien had exited.
“You frighten him.”
I laughed.
“He’s Adrien Moretti.”
“Yes.”
“That man does not get frightened.”
Caroline smiled.
“Ask him.”
Then she left.
That night, Adrien called.
I almost asked.
Instead, I said, “Caroline seems nice.”
“She is.”
“Annoyingly.”
“That sounds like you dislike her.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“I dislike how reasonable she is.”
Adrien laughed.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“There is nothing between Caroline and me.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You were about to.”
“I was not.”
“You are a terrible liar.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then he became quiet.
“Dinner tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
After we hung up, I stared at my phone.
Caroline’s words stayed with me.
You frighten him.
Not because I could hurt Adrien.
Because I could matter.
I should have felt powerful.
Instead, I felt the same fear.
May you like
And neither of us knew yet which one of us would say it first.
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