Chapter Four: You Don't Get To Control Me

Alexander didn't answer immediately. He stood in the hallway with one hand on the doorframe, his expression unreadable.

"People will talk," he said.

"About what?"

"You having dinner alone with Adrian Cole. We're still married."

"You asked me for a divorce three days ago."

"We haven't signed anything." His voice remained calm. "Until we do, I expect you to consider how this looks."

I placed my hairbrush on the table beside the door, taking my time to steady my hands. "How does it look when you leave dinner early to take Catherine's calls? Or when you drive her home after a charity event and leave me to take a taxi?"

His jaw tightened. "That's different."

"How?"

"She's my friend. I've known her my entire life."

"And Adrian is a man who offered to review my business plan. I've known him for fifteen minutes."

"Vivian."

"No, Alexander." I stepped back, keeping one hand on the door. "I'm having dinner with him on Thursday. That's not up for discussion."

"I'm not discussing it with you. I'm telling you."

I met his gaze. "You don't get to tell me what to do anymore. You gave up that right when you put those divorce papers on the desk."

For a moment, he said nothing. His hand opened and closed at his side as he searched for a response.

"Goodnight," I said, closing the door before he could find one.

I leaned against it and listened to the silence on the other side. After a while, his footsteps retreated down the hallway.

*****

The restaurant Adrian chose on Thursday was small and quiet, with tables tucked away from the windows.

When I arrived, he stood to greet me and pulled out my chair. Once we sat down, he set his phone aside and turned his attention to the folder I'd brought.

"Let's see what you've got," he said.

I opened the folder and walked him through my plan, from the first twelve designs to the fabrics and the two workshops that had sent me quotations.

He asked about delivery times, production costs, and what I would do if one of the workshops failed to deliver.

I hadn't considered the last question, and I admitted it. He nodded, made a note on a napkin, and continued reviewing my figures.

"Your profit margin is too thin," he said, tapping one of the pages. "One delayed order, and you could lose money."

"I could increase the prices."

"You could. Or you could find a cheaper lining." He turned the page toward me and pointed to a figure. "You're paying almost twice what you need to here."

I studied the numbers and realized he'd caught a mistake I'd overlooked.

"Thank you," I said.

"Don't thank me yet." He leaned back in his chair. "I know three buyers who attend a private showing every year. They're willing to consider new designers if they like the collection. I can get you an invitation, but I can't guarantee they'll buy anything."

I looked at him, surprised by the offer.

"Why would you do that for me?"

"Because your plan is better than most of the ones I see, and you were honest about what you didn't know."

I considered his words. Part of me wanted to accept immediately, but I didn't want to mistake an opportunity for a favor I would eventually have to repay.

"I want a genuine chance," I said. "I don't want someone handing me money so I can pretend to be a businesswoman."

Adrian smiled, and this time, it reached his eyes. "Then you'll get a genuine chance. They might turn you down."

"That's fine."

"And if they like your collection, it'll be because you've earned their interest."

I took a breath. "Then I'd like to attend."

"Good."

He raised his glass, and I raised mine to meet it. We talked for another hour, he told me about the first company he'd invested in and how it had collapsed within eight months, I found myself sharing stories about the three jobs I'd held at once before I turned twenty, then stopped when I realized how much I'd revealed.

"In another life," I added, hoping to cover my mistake.

Adrian laughed but didn't press me for an explanation.

When the bill arrived, he paid. He walked me to the entrance and held the door open without trying to touch me.

"I'll send you the date for the showing," he said.

"Thank you, Adrian." He stepped aside to let me pass.

It had been a simple evening, but I hadn't felt watched, judged, or controlled. For once, I felt like an equal. On the drive home, I found myself thinking about the lining he'd pointed out.

*****

The house was dark when I returned. I slipped off my shoes in the entrance hall and headed for the stairs.

"You're late."

I turned toward the living room.

Alexander sat in the armchair by the window, the room lit only by the faint glow coming through the curtains. His jacket lay across the sofa, and a cup of untouched tea sat on the table beside him.

"It's ten o'clock," I said. "That's hardly late."

"Did you enjoy your dinner?"

"Yes. It was productive."

"Productive." He repeated the word as though testing it. "What did he want?"

"To review my business plan. He offered some advice and is introducing me to a few buyers next month."

"For free?"

"He isn't giving me money, if that's what you're asking. He's giving me an opportunity. Whether it leads anywhere depends on my work."

Alexander rose from his chair and approached me, stopping a few feet away. His collar was crooked, and he looked as though he'd been sitting there for quite some time.

"Does he want something from you?" he asked.

"He's interested in my business."

"Vivian." His voice dropped. "I'm asking you a serious question."

I studied his face. I could deny everything or admit something that wasn't true. Either way, I'd be giving him an answer he could use to interfere in my life.

"Then ask me directly."

He hesitated before speaking.

"Are you planning to build a future with Adrian?"

The house fell silent. Somewhere in the hallway, the clock ticked steadily.

"With or without you, Alexander," I replied. "That's the whole point."

I walked past him and headed upstairs without looking back but when I reached the landing, I stopped and listened.

He hadn't moved.