Chapter 2 - A Suit Without Armor
Adrien stared at his reflection as though I had committed fraud.
“I look different.”
“That was the assignment.”
“I didn’t give you that assignment.”
“You gave me permission to do it my way.”
His mouth tightened.
“Change it.”
“No.”
Emma dropped a box of pins in the workroom.
The crash echoed into the shop.
I ignored it.
Adrien turned slightly toward me.
“Most people reconsider when I say no.”
“Then this must be refreshing.”
Niko, seated near the window with coffee, smiled into his cup.
Adrien looked back at the mirror.
The new suit was charcoal, like his old one, but the resemblance ended there.
I had softened the shoulders.
Removed unnecessary structure.
Opened the chest.
Allowed the waist to follow his body instead of forcing it.
The jacket moved when he moved.
When he relaxed his arms, he looked like a man instead of a monument.
Nothing about him appeared weak.
If anything, he looked more confident because the clothing no longer seemed desperate to announce confidence on his behalf.
“You reduced the shoulders,” he said.
“I allowed your actual shoulders to exist.”
“The old jacket made me look larger.”
“You are six-foot-two.”
“Six-three.”
“My apologies. Obviously, we should alert the newspapers.”
Niko laughed again.
Adrien glanced at him.
“I don’t know why I keep bringing you.”
“Because I’m charming.”
“You’re unemployed.”
“I prefer independently scheduled.”
I stepped behind Adrien to check the collar.
The fit was nearly perfect.
A slight pull near the right shoulder told me he carried more tension there.
I marked it with chalk.
“What happened to your shoulder?”
His eyes met mine in the mirror.
“Nothing.”
“It sits half an inch forward.”
“I use my right hand more.”
“For what?”
Niko choked on his coffee.
Adrien stared at me.
I realized how the question sounded.
“Writing,” I said. “Driving. Golf. Throwing tennis balls at annoying cousins. I don’t care.”
Niko wiped his mouth.
“She’s definitely keeping the job.”
Adrien ignored him.
“Old injury.”
“That makes sense.”
I adjusted the line.
No interrogation.
No fascination.
People had warned me for years that curiosity was dangerous.
In tailoring, curiosity was necessary.
Nosiness wasn’t.
There was a difference.
Twenty minutes later, Adrien left wearing the suit.
I expected him back Monday demanding alterations.
Instead, he returned Saturday afternoon.
Alone.
The bell chimed while I was replacing buttons on a wool coat.
I glanced up.
Same suit.
No security.
No Niko.
I frowned.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I need another one.”
I put down the needle.
“What happened?”
His expression shifted.
“Why does something need to have happened?”
“Because Thursday you wanted me to change it. Today you’re asking for another.”
He walked toward the fitting platform.
“You enjoy being difficult.”
“It’s included in the service.”
He removed the jacket without being asked this time.
That surprised me.
I took out my measuring tape.
“You lost half an inch through the waist.”
“I ate lunch.”
“That isn’t how anatomy works.”
His mouth almost curved.
Almost.
Then he became serious.
“My nephew spoke to me.”
“Congratulations?”
“He’s sixteen.”
“That tends to happen eventually.”
“He told me something he had been hiding for four days.”
I stopped measuring.
Adrien stared ahead.
“He made a mistake.”
“What kind?”
“A significant one.”
I waited.
“He damaged a car.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“He expected me to be furious.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“At least you’re consistent.”
“But he told me.”
Adrien paused.
“He usually tells Niko things.”
“That seems like poor judgment.”
From the doorway came a voice.
“I heard that.”
Niko walked in carrying pastries.
I hadn’t even heard the bell.
“Do you live here?” I asked.
“I’m considering it.”
Adrien continued.
“An employee also came to me that evening. He had made a mistake on a construction contract. Expensive. Fixable, but only because he told me early.”
“And?”
“He said he almost waited.”
“But didn’t.”
“No.”
I watched Adrien’s expression.
He was trying to understand something that felt obvious to me.
“What did they say changed?” I asked.
He hesitated.
“The employee said I looked... approachable.”
Niko burst out laughing.
Adrien’s stare could have iced Lake Michigan.
“Sorry,” Niko said. “That was beautiful.”
Adrien continued through clenched patience.
“My aunt saw me at dinner.”
“And?”
“She touched my lapel.”
Something softened in his voice.
“She said I looked like my father did before everyone became afraid of him.”
The shop went quiet.
This time, not expensive silence.
Human silence.
I released the tape.
“That bothered you.”
Adrien looked at me.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
His jaw shifted.
“You do this often?”
“Measure inseams?”
“Tell people things they didn’t ask to hear.”
“Constantly.”
“And they continue paying you?”
“Sometimes generously.”
That faint almost-smile returned.
I walked toward the fabric wall.
“What color?”
“Black.”
“No.”
His expression flattened.
“You said my way.”
“For the first one.”
“The first one worked.”
“So trust the process.”
“I dislike that phrase.”
“Good. I hate saying it.”
I pulled a midnight blue wool from the shelf.
Under ordinary light, it appeared nearly black.
Under warm light, the blue emerged.
Adrien ran his fingers over the fabric.
“This.”
I studied him.
“That was easy.”
“Don’t become accustomed to it.”
I started writing measurements.
Then the front door opened.
Three women entered.
I recognized the first immediately.
Veronica Vale.
Old Chicago money.
Charity boards.
Society pages.
A face that seemed permanently photographed in rooms ordinary people couldn’t enter.
She had been in my shop once, two years earlier.
She had looked around for forty seconds before asking whether I carried “anything more exclusive.”
I told her everything in my shop was one of a kind.
She replied, “I meant expensive.”
She hadn’t returned.
Until now.
Her gaze moved from me to Adrien.
Then back.
“Adrien.”
He looked at her.
“Veronica.”
Her expression changed instantly.
Warm.
Polished.
Calculated.
“I didn’t know you came here.”
I felt Niko looking at me.
Adrien answered calmly.
“Neither did I until last week.”
Veronica stepped closer.
She glanced at the measuring tape around my neck.
“You’re making his suits?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes traveled over me.
Not quickly.
Not accidentally.
I knew that look.
Women my size knew that look.
The silent inventory.
Body first.
Competence second.
If competence was considered at all.
Veronica smiled.
“How unexpected.”
I smiled back.
“Fabric often is.”
She didn’t understand the sentence.
That made two of us.
Adrien did.
I saw it in his eyes.
Veronica touched his sleeve.
“This is lovely.”
“Claire made it.”
Claire.
The first time he had used my name.
Something about that landed harder than it should have.
Veronica looked at me again.
“Well.”
One word.
Perfectly polite.
Perfectly dismissive.
Then she turned back to Adrien.
“I’m hosting the Hartwell Foundation benefit next month. You are coming.”
“We’ll see.”
“I’ll consider that a yes.”
She smiled and walked away with her friends.
The bell closed behind them.
I resumed writing.
Niko stayed quiet for nearly thirty seconds.
A personal record.
Then he said, “She hates you.”
“I’ll try to recover.”
Adrien watched the door.
“She doesn’t know you.”
“She doesn’t need to.”
His attention returned to me.
“What does that mean?”
I shrugged.
“Women like Veronica decide what category you belong in before you introduce yourself.”
“What category did she choose?”
I wrote his shoulder measurement.
“Not one she considers competition.”
Adrien’s expression hardened.
“For what?”
I looked up.
That was when I realized he genuinely didn’t understand.
And perhaps neither did I.
Yet.
I handed him a fitting card.
“Tuesday.”
He took it.
“Eleven?”
“Two.”
“I have something at two.”
“Then three.”
He looked at me for a moment.
“Three.”
After he left, Niko lingered at the door.
“Claire?”
“Yes?”
“Veronica Vale doesn’t like being surprised.”
“Neither does my sewing machine.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. It jams whenever I use cheap thread.”
He sighed.
“You’re going to make his life very complicated.”
I looked toward the empty fitting platform.
“No.”
I picked up the midnight-blue wool.
“I think his life was complicated before I met him.”
Niko smiled sadly.
“You have no idea.”
I should have asked him what that meant.
I didn’t.
Because at that point, I thought Adrien Moretti was simply a difficult client with an intimidating reputation and unexpectedly thoughtful eyes.
I didn’t know Veronica Vale had spent six years expecting to become part of his life.
I didn’t know half of Chicago watched every woman who stood beside him.
And I certainly didn’t know that within three weeks, Veronica would stand in the middle of my own shop, look directly at me, and try to make me ashamed of the body I had spent forty years learning not to apologize for.
May you like
What happened next would change far more than Adrien’s wardrobe.
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