Page 114 of The Substitute Fiancée

The IPO is in two days. I allow myself a break—the first in a long time—and go out shopping. I want to get him a gift. Something simple. A way of being present, even if our schedules are completely incompatible.

My budget is modest, but that’s not what matters. It’s the intention. The fact that, despite everything going on in my life, he’s still the one I think of first.

I quickly find what I’m looking for at Galeries Lafayette: a pair of understated cufflinks in matte silver. Perfect. He’ll be able to wear them that day, have them against his skin, knowing that I’m with him. That even if I’m not physically there, my heart and my thoughts are with him every moment.

Back at the apartment, I take out my India ink, my brush, my blank cards. I paint the Eiffel Tower in the style of Japanese calligraphers. Clean lines. No room for error.

The first attempts are failures. Too hesitant. Too heavy. The brush refuses to follow my thoughts. Then, little by little, the gesture sharpens. My breathing steadies. On the tenth attempt, I get one that satisfies me. I leave it to dry on the table, then write a few words on the back before carefully wrapping everything.

For a moment, I consider delivering the package myself. Imagining his face lighting up.

But no. He needs to stay focused. No distractions.

I pay for express delivery for the big day, seven a.m. It costs me a small fortune, but that doesn’t matter.

On the day itself, I’m jittery, unable to concentrate. I picture Alexander in a glass-walled office, at the heart of the most important moment of his career.

No message telling me what he thinks of my gift. That’s okay. He must be overwhelmed.

At six p.m., I read the news.

MatchMapping: a strong IPO debut.

The numbers match what he was hoping for.

He made it.

I’m so happy for him.

The evening drags on. Still nothing. He must be celebrating with his colleagues.

Eleven p.m.: he’s not going to call.

I’m disappointed, but I understand. He’s lived through a monumental day. Even so… a simple message would have been enough.

I write to him anyway.

Sam: I know today was intense for you. I thought about you all day. I would have loved to hear your voice tonight, but you must be exhausted. I’ll call you tomorrow. I miss you.

No reply.

Still, I wait.

The minutes stretch on. I toss and turn in bed, change positions, stare at the ceiling.

The silence of my phone becomes deafening.

Exhausted, I close my eyes, my phone pressed tightly against my chest, just in case it vibrates during the night.

But it stays stubbornly silent.

*

The next day, I go to class even though my heart isn’t in it. I try to focus: tomorrow, part of my future will be decided. Tomorrow, I will appear before the academic committee. I will find out if I am allowed to complete my year. In the studio, my classmates—who all know about my setbacks—are especially present. They stop by, encourage me, support me.

It warms my heart. But Alexander’s silence weighs on me more and more.

As we’re leaving, Dorian calls out to me.