Chapter 5 - The Cost of Being Seen
At 7:14 the next morning, Niko Moretti was standing outside my shop holding two coffees and looking nothing like his usual amused self.
“You’re early,” I said.
“You’re alive.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“I called three times.”
“My phone died.”
He stared at me.
“I hate you a little.”
“Get in line.”
I unlocked the door.
The electricity had returned overnight.
Nothing inside appeared disturbed.
The register was untouched.
The fabrics were exactly where I had left them.
That made the outage stranger, not better.
Niko put the coffees down.
“Adrien doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Why?”
“Because if he did, he’d be here too.”
“That would make opening the shop unnecessarily theatrical.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Niko exhaled.
“Claire, the development group trying to buy this building is Vale Urban Partners.”
I stopped.
“Vale.”
“Yes.”
“Veronica’s family?”
“Her brother controls it.”
I looked toward the front window.
Of course.
“Does Adrien know?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to know what you wanted before he found out.”
I turned toward him.
“That is surprisingly considerate.”
“Please don’t sound shocked.”
“I’m adjusting.”
Niko sat on the cutting table.
“Veronica’s brother buys struggling blocks, renovates them, pushes leases up, brings in luxury retailers.”
“This block isn’t struggling.”
“It will be on paper if enough tenants leave.”
A chill moved through me.
“Is that legal?”
“Usually.”
“Comforting.”
“I don’t think this started because of you.”
I frowned.
“Then why tell me?”
“They’ve been looking at this neighborhood for months. But your publicity made the property more attractive. You brought attention.”
“So Veronica didn’t create the deal.”
“Probably not.”
“Probably?”
“She may have accelerated it.”
I thought about the one-star reviews.
The rumors.
Her warning.
This kind of attention doesn’t last.
“Can you prove she’s involved?”
“No.”
“Then we don’t accuse her.”
Niko smiled faintly.
“You and Adrien are going to drive each other insane.”
“We already do.”
His smile faded.
“There’s something else.”
I waited.
“Adrien attracts attention.”
“I noticed.”
“I don’t mean cameras.”
I folded my arms.
Niko searched for the right words.
“Our family’s reputation is complicated.”
“That is a diplomatic sentence.”
“It’s also intentional.”
I waited.
He continued.
“Adrien inherited businesses, relationships, enemies, expectations. He spent twenty years making most of those businesses legitimate.”
“Most?”
“I said complicated.”
“So why tell me this?”
“Because people assume being near him gives them power.”
“I don’t.”
“Others will.”
I leaned against the counter.
Niko looked unusually serious.
“Some people will flatter you. Some will try to use you. Some will dislike you without knowing you. Some will assume you can reach Adrien for them.”
“Already happening.”
“Exactly.”
“So what should I do?”
“Decide whether being seen beside him is worth the cost.”
The sentence irritated me.
“Why does everyone keep acting like I made some choice? He buys suits from me.”
Niko’s eyebrow lifted.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“You really don’t see it?”
“See what?”
He laughed once, quietly.
Then stopped when he realized I wasn’t joking.
“Oh.”
“What does ‘oh’ mean?”
“It means my cousin has apparently found the only woman in Chicago who doesn’t know when he’s interested.”
I stared at him.
“Niko.”
“I’m going.”
“Niko.”
He stood.
“Ask him.”
“Ask him what?”
He walked toward the door.
“Niko.”
He turned.
“For the record, he has never bought four suits from anyone in three weeks.”
“He needed clothes.”
“He owns approximately sixty suits.”
I blinked.
Niko opened the door.
“Oh, and he hasn’t gone into a coffee shop himself in twelve years.”
I looked at the cup he had brought me.
“He didn’t buy that coffee.”
“Yesterday’s.”
He smiled.
“He did.”
Then he left.
I stood alone in the shop.
For approximately forty seconds, my brain refused to process anything.
Then Emma entered carrying breakfast sandwiches.
“You look weird.”
“Thank you.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“Apparently everyone can tell.”
She put the bag down.
“Did Adrien call?”
“No.”
“Are you disappointed?”
“No.”
Another lie.
Wonderful.
At ten, Mrs. Henderson arrived.
At eleven-thirty, I fitted a bride.
At one, a banker wanted three jackets.
At two-fifteen, Adrien walked through the door.
Alone.
Again.
He wore the first charcoal suit.
My coffee cup from yesterday sat beside the register.
I stared at him longer than necessary.
He noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That is not convincing.”
I picked up my tape.
“Jacket off.”
He obeyed.
The intimacy of routine unsettled me.
I knew which shoulder sat forward.
He knew I preferred silence while marking sleeves.
I knew he hated stiff collars.
He knew I forgot lunch when busy.
This was how things became dangerous.
Not dramatically.
Gradually.
A hundred small habits becoming familiarity before either person agreed to it.
I began fitting his third jacket.
“Did you know Vale Urban Partners is trying to buy my building?”
His body went completely still.
So Niko had told the truth.
“No.”
“That is the correct answer.”
“Claire.”
“No phone calls.”
“Veronica?”
“I don’t know.”
“I will.”
“Adrien.”
His gaze met mine in the mirror.
“She threatened your livelihood.”
“Maybe.”
“If she did—”
“I will deal with her.”
“How?”
“By being better at my job than she is at whatever this is.”
His jaw flexed.
“That isn’t always enough.”
“No.”
I stepped around him.
“But sometimes it has to be.”
He was silent.
Then said, “You think accepting help makes your success less yours.”
I frowned.
“That sounds dangerously insightful.”
“You think I haven’t noticed?”
“Apparently you’ve been busy buying coffee.”
His eyes sharpened.
Niko.
I nearly smiled.
Instead I continued measuring.
Adrien said quietly, “I don’t want to own your victories.”
My hands stopped.
The words landed somewhere inconvenient.
“I only want to make sure you get the chance to have them.”
For several seconds, I heard nothing but traffic outside.
I looked up.
His expression contained none of the arrogance I had expected.
No rescue fantasy.
No demand.
Just honesty.
“Thank you,” I said.
He nodded.
Then my front door burst open.
A teenage boy rushed inside.
Dark hair.
Backpack.
Panic.
He looked at Adrien.
“Uncle Adrien.”
Adrien turned.
The boy froze when he saw me.
“Niko said you were here.”
“What happened, Luca?”
“I need to tell you something.”
Adrien’s posture changed.
The invisible armor returned.
Luca saw it too.
His courage disappeared almost instantly.
“Never mind.”
He turned toward the door.
Adrien said, “Luca.”
The boy stopped.
But didn’t turn around.
I looked at Adrien.
Then at Luca.
I remembered what Adrien had told me after wearing the first suit.
His nephew had confessed a mistake because he finally seemed approachable.
Apparently, one suit had not solved twenty years of fear.
I placed my tape on the table.
“Adrien.”
He looked at me.
I nodded once toward his nephew.
“Sit down.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Luca glanced back.
I pulled two chairs into the center of the shop.
“You keep standing over him like a prosecutor, he’s never going to say whatever he came here to say.”
Adrien stared at me.
Then, slowly, he sat.
Luca turned.
I pointed at the second chair.
“You too.”
He sat.
I walked toward the workroom.
Adrien said, “Where are you going?”
“To mind my own business.”
“Since when?”
I smiled.
The workroom door closed behind me.
I couldn’t hear everything.
I didn’t try.
But twenty minutes later, Luca emerged with red eyes and a relieved face.
Adrien stayed seated.
He looked shaken.
Not angry.
Shaken.
After Luca left, I returned.
Adrien did not speak for a long time.
Then he said, “He doesn’t want to work for the family.”
I sat across from him.
“What does he want?”
Adrien looked toward the door his nephew had just walked through.
“To paint.”
May you like
And with those two words, I discovered that the next suit Adrien needed had nothing to do with fabric.
---
