He then threw me the coat hanger wearing a black servant’s uniform: white apron and headband included.
“Put this on.” You will serve the drinks. That’s the only thing you know how to do, isn’t it? And something else… Don’t tell anyone you’re my wife. You make me ashamed. Say that you are employed by the hour.
I felt something break inside me. I wanted to shout at him that I could buy the company where he worked. That I could fire him with a simple call. But I remained silent.
It was the last test.
“Very well,” I replied in a low voice.
As I went down to the living room of our house in the 16th arrondissement of Paris, I saw a woman sitting comfortably on the sofa. It was Camille, her secretary: young, beautiful and sure of herself.
But what took my breath away was what she was wearing.
My grandmother’s emerald necklace, a Morel family heirloom that had disappeared from my jewelry box this morning.
“My love, does it suit me well?” asked Camille, stroking the necklace.
“It suits you perfectly,” replied Laurent before kissing her. He makes you look better than my wife, who has no style. Tonight, you’ll be sitting with me at the head table. It is you that I will introduce as my companion.
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