"They'll photograph us together coming out of the limo," Freddie tells me as we're on our way to the gala. "That okay with you?"
All these years, we've been using the "camera-shy, non-famous wife" angle as an excuse for me to stay out of the cameras as much as possible, while also still keeping me on the radar to maintain Freddie's Family Man/Loving Husband image. There were only a few times that Freddie ever brought me to red carpet events, and I was always wearing a mask back then. Once inside the venue, it's always a private event, and I can always opt out of pictures if I want to.
"I mean, I guess," I answer. "But will it complicate things, once we—" I pause, glancing at the driver's side of the car up front, then mime a knife-across-throat gesture. "You know?"
Freddie chuckles, then says in a low voice, "Didn't you know? 2023 is the year of Hollywood divorces and breakups, Hannah. It'll be fine."
"You keep up with that stuff?" I ask, surprised.
He gives me a deadpan stare. "It's kinda part of my job, don't you think?"
"Well, yeah, but I mean—" I make a face, which makes him laugh. "Okay, whatever."
"But it's okay, if you don't want to. We'll... find a way to get you in from the back door?"
"Oh, it's fine. This is a big day for you. I'll just be doing my job and stay attached to your side."
He glowers at me. "Don't say it like that. It makes me feel weird. It's not a job. I enjoy having you here."
"Well," I give him an apologetic smile, "I enjoy being here for you as well, Freddie. Just as long as you're positive that I'm camera-ready."
"You look hot. As usual." At my glare, he shrugs. "You want me to lie to you?"
"Okay, gee, thanks." Self-consciously, I look at my reflection in the tinted windows. My hair has been curled and put up in a low bun that took two hours to style, and I'm wearing a deep wine-red silk-satin gown, with a set of loaned diamond jewelry hanging on my neck and my ears. The make-up feels heavy on my face, even though the end result gives my face the soft glam, woke-up-with-glowy-skin effect. My eyelids shimmer and my lips are painted with glossy, dark red that matches my dress. I feel expensive, like I always do after being styled by the team Freddie hired to doll me up.
I mean, Freddie is right. I do look hot.
I also don't look like myself. Which... was why Jazmine and her people were hired in the first place. They even expertly covered any visible scars I have on my face and the exposed parts of my body in this off-shoulder dress I'm wearing. I know it's because I need to look like my government name suits me. I'm Jo Archer, the woman attached to the arms of the man of the night. Wife of Fred Archer, son of late media mogul Connor Archer, soon to be Head of FlixGo. Not Hannah Taylors, the flailing student-teacher who can barely move in these tight strappy stilettos. These motherfuckers can probably kill someone at the wrong angle.
"You look incredible, Han," he says, nudging my side. "Just hold on to my arm and smile to the cameras, but also ignore them. They're not here."
"I'm gonna trip in these stupid 57-inch heels," I mutter as I carefully fix a mask on my face, praying that my lipstick won't get smudged on the fabric.
"You'll be fine." He smiles at me. "You must be so excited for tonight."
That gets a confused scrunch of my forehead. "Sure." I guess I'm a little excited—I always am. I do enjoy fancy dinner events and getting to taste experimental dishes by famous chefs. And even though the dresses and heavy makeup and expensive jewelries can get intimidating, I love the rare occasions that I get to look hot as hell. The socializing can get exhausting, though. I'm not really looking forward to it.
Just as the car pulls up in front of the hotel lobby, my phone beeps with a text message, and I glance down at it to see the notification that pops up. It's Jonah.
We never got to meet on Tuesday—my day at the school unexpectedly ran late, and by the time I got off, I already got a few missed calls from Freddie—he thought that Lucy had caught a bug, but it turned out she was fine and that she was just a bit lethargic in the evening because she played too much at the daycare and didn't take a nap. He's a helpless nanny.
Hey. Do you have 5 minutes?
I frown at the notification banner, but I don't have time to check the message before the door on Freddie's side opens. I slip my phone into my purse and take Freddie's hand, letting him carefully pull me out of the car.
I jolt when the first flashes of camera hit my face, but remember to smile with my eyes—I'm a master at it. Still playing camera-shy, I glue myself to Freddie's side as he guides me toward the entrance.
Like he's told me to, I don't listen to the loud questions thrown at us. And to be perfectly honest, I can't really hear them anyways—all of these voices blend into one nonsensical amalgamation of noise, and I focus on keeping my feet steady on the ground.
From then on, it's all a blur to me. Vaguely familiar faces meet us inside, coming up to greet the man whose arm I'm glued to. I shake their hands, too, and answer their small talk as best as I can.
Harvey, Freddie's boss and the late Connor Archer's successor, meets us in the middle of the room. They bear-hug, the elder man patting his back. I've only met the man a couple times outside of these public events, and we don't really talk much. He's always been a bit frosty on the surface, but always seems friendly enough whenever I see him.
I take his hand and give it a firm shake.
"It's always nice to see you, Johanna," Harvey says to me once I'm back at Freddie's side. "I don't know which dungeon Fred's been locking you in, but you should really come out more often."
I politely laugh. "Always a joy to be out here. A bit exhausting, though."
"I'll bet," he says. Then, his face softens a little. "How have you been, darling?"
I can feel Freddie's hand rubbing the side of my arm, feel his eyes looking down at me. I tell Harvey, "All just right, Harvey. Healthy as a horse, as you can see." I glance up at Freddie for a quick second. "But you'll have to excuse me if I have to tap out and sit down soon. These shoes are killing me already."
Harvey is one of the very few people outside of my immediate family that knows about my cancer. As the closest thing to a father figure that Freddie had even while Connor was still alive, we had to tell him about it. He bought the excuse for our quick wedding, though he agreed to keep the cancer part of it a secret when they published the two-page spread on our wedding day.
"Well, if I were you, Freddie, I wouldn't keep my gorgeous wife on her feet any longer. Come on, come on, take a seat at your table. Dinner should be starting soon, then we'll be presenting you on the stage like a lamb ready to be slaughtered," Harvey jokes, which Freddie responds to with a strained laugh, making me giggle to myself.
Freddie leads me to sit at the VVIP table at the center of the ballroom as more and more people trickle in. A few members of the Archer family arrive, just before the event starts. His aunt, the eldest remaining of the family, gives the opening remarks, dedicating the night to Freddie's father. There are more speeches by members of the board as food service begins.
Once the speeches are wrapped up, a video montage about the Archer Foundation plays on the big screen as we enjoy our five-course meal. I keep up with small talk with some of Freddie's cousins sitting at the table with us, in-between small spoonfuls of tasty fine dining food.
It's not until the entrée that I start to notice the familiarity of the dishes I've been enjoying, though I have yet to put my finger on it. The plating of the food looks unrecognizable to me, but I feel like I've tasted these exact same flavor profiles before, and I'm puzzled by the bizarre experience.
Dinner closes out with the dessert, as live music by the quartet band on the side of the stage is playing softly. One of the waiters serves the plate in front of me, and I take a quick look at it before dread starts to creep in.
I've seen this dessert before.
I study the dish. The plating is slightly different, but the elements on the plate are unmistakably familiar, now that it's a fairly simplistic-looking dessert dish with nothing much to hide. I remember loving it, loving the creativity of the dish, something I've never seen before. Pink mousse with rosé sorbet, with sprinkles of edible gold and dry-frozen rose petals all over the plate. I can already taste the unique set of flavors in my mouth. I've had this exact same dish just a few weeks ago.
In the back kitchen of a restaurant in Los Angeles.
Where I told the chef, I think I like this one better than the blood orange panna cotta.
I take a quick sip of water with my shaking hand before picking up the fork. No. It can't be. Maybe this is just a coincidence.
Then I think back of the four dishes I had before this, and my heart jumps to my throat. No.
Slowly, I pierce the velvety mousse with my fork, then bring it to my mouth. My heart thumps in my ribcage like a drum as I move onto the light pink sorbet, the distinct taste of rosé wine melting on my tongue. Familiar flavors burst in my mouth, but I can't find the joy in it anymore. I can only taste ash going down my throat.
"You okay?" Freddie asks next to me. "You really liked that one, huh? Wiped it down pretty quick."
Ash in my mouth and in my throat. "Yes. It was, um. Really good."
From the corner of my eyes, I can see that he's beaming at me. He's saying something else to me that I can't hear. I take another sip of water, trying to calm down. A coincidence. This is just a coincidence. There's no way, there's just no way—
... I'm developing a five-course menu...
... Fine dining event... It's a few months away...
... What do you think? The roasted duck or white fish with the broth? ... You don't think the rosé dessert is too funky?
... I don't know... I'd still love to know what you think about it...
I wipe my mouth with the napkin on my lap. Noises buzz around me as people's chatters become louder again, gushing about the dessert we just had. They take our empty plates away—dinner's over. There are sounds of applause. Harvey's taking the stage. He starts his speech by complimenting the meals that were just served to us. I swallow my dry throat, trying to pay attention with the loud buzzing sound in my ears, when the sound of his voice finally gets clearer, and my breath stops in my throat.
"With that being said, I'd like to take a minute to thank the man behind tonight's stunning dishes. Please give a round of applause for Mr. Jonah Gibbs!"
Author's note:
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*runs away*