Page 137 of The Substitute Fiancée

“The exam is approaching,” Ms. Mainville announces. “Each of you will be assigned an exhibition space. You’ll be able to visit the rooms beforehand, but you’ll only have one day to hang your work.”

She then hands out, in alphabetical order, the address of each student’s exhibition venue.

I unfold my sheet.

Samantha Chevalier: Outdoor gallery of the Richelieu Library.

My heart stops.

I read the name again, as if the words might change.

The Richelieu Library.

My God—how is that even possible?

Usually, graduating students exhibit in cultural centers, youth centers, community halls, or neighborhood libraries. Never in a place this prestigious. This library is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful in the world. Even if I’m not exhibiting in the Oval Room, it’s an incredible honor.

Around me, my classmates stare at me in disbelief. We all know this place. We’ve spent hours wandering its shelves, consulting the printed works of the greatest artists.

“It so happens that the library is working on a theme very close to yours,” Ms. Mainville continues, fixing me with a steady gaze. “Given your project, they wanted to associate our school with their exhibition. Don’t disappoint us.”

The weight of her words settles on my shoulders like a lead blanket.

Don’t disappoint. Represent the school. Be worthy.

A dull anxiety rises inside me. I’ll need to frame my work. And in a place like that, I can’t settle for makeshift solutions. How am I going to do this? Where am I going to find the money for proper frames, frames worthy of the name?

I feel my breathing quicken. My palms grow damp.

Absentmindedly, I pull out my phone to save the date and address.

A message from Alexander appears on the screen.

Alexander: Lemurs throw rave parties—some species dance to the techno-like sounds they produce themselves, like they’re in a nightclub.

I read the message twice before it sinks in. An image of little lemurs bouncing around wildly flashes through my mind. A laugh escapes me.

“Miss Chevalier, would you like to share with the class what’s making you laugh like that?” Ms. Mainville asks in an icy voice.

All eyes turn toward me. I feel myself shrinking in my chair.

“My apologies,” I say flatly, slipping my phone away.

Silence falls over the classroom.

But oddly enough, I feel far less stressed. As if that absurd message had been enough to loosen the grip tightening around my chest.

Alexander has a gift for bringing me back to what matters, without ever overwhelming me.

46. Back to Life

Alexander

At the end of April, the quarterly results come in: 8% growth instead of the 12% announced to investors.

I take the news in stride.

Thanks to the work I’ve been doing on myself, my career is no longer my sole priority. I no longer measure my personal worth exclusively through professional success.