Chapter 35: IS HE… CONTROLLING?

MIA

I woke up to find Dante already showered and dressed which was unusual because on Tuesdays he usually worked from home in sweatpants until noon, but today he was standing by the window in jeans and a button-down looking like he was about to head somewhere important.

"You're up early," I said.

"I'll walk you to your shoot."

I sat up slowly and tried to remember if I'd mentioned the shoot in detail because I definitely hadn't asked him to come. "It's just corporate headshots which would be super boring. You don't need to waste your morning."

"I want the walk. Fresh air, you know." He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "What time do you need to leave?"

"Half an hour. But seriously, it's in Midtown and you hate Midtown—"

"I'll wait outside to read and answer emails. It's fine." He was already pulling on his jacket. "Besides, I like knowing where you are when you're working."

That made my stomach twist but I didn't have the energy to fight with him because I was still tired from the editorial fight.

He walked half a step behind me the entire way to the office building, close enough that I could feel his presence but not quite touching, and when we arrived he positioned himself on a bench across the street with a clear view of the entrance.

"I'll be right here," he said. "Text me when you're done."

"It might be two hours."

"I have my laptop. Take your time."

The client was exactly what I'd expected from our email exchanges. Mid-forties, friendly in a professional way, running a startup that needed updated headshots for their website. He shook my hand, offered coffee, and explained what he was looking for.

"Your portfolio is impressive," he said while I was setting up lights. “I loved the new editorial series you published.”

"Thank you." I didn't mention that the published version was a compromised shadow of what it should have been.

"We're actually looking for a photographer for an upcoming campaign for product shots and some lifestyle content. Would you be interested in discussing it?"

My heart jumped because this was the first goodness I've had in a while. "Absolutely. I'd love to hear more about it."

"Great. I'll send details once we finalize the concept. Should be in the next week or so."

The shoot went smoothly after that. He was an easy person who took direction well and by the time I was packing up my equipment I was already mentally planning how I'd approach the campaign work he'd mentioned.

I texted Dante that I was finishing up and headed downstairs to find him exactly where I'd left him two hours ago, laptop closed, phone in hand, eyes fixed on the building entrance like he'd been watching the entire time.

"How did it go?" He stood immediately and took my equipment bag without asking.

"Fine. He was professional and easy to work with."

"He?" His tone had a sharp edge now. "The client was a man?"

"Yes. Did I not mention that?" I definitely had mentioned that in the email confirmation I'd shown him last night but apparently he needed me to say it again.

"You said corporate headshots but you didn't specify who." His jaw was tight and we were walking faster now, his hand on my elbow steering me down the street. "Was it just the two of you?"

"In the office? Yes. That's how headshots work." I pulled my arm free. "Why does it matter?"

"It matters because I want to know the situations you're in when I'm not there."

"You were there. You were sitting outside like a security guard."

"I was giving you space to work while making sure you were safe." He stopped walking and turned to face me. "Did he behave appropriately?"

The question made me want to scream because what he was really asking was did this man I'd just met dare to treat me like a human being instead of Dante's property.

"Yes. He behaved appropriately. He complimented my work and mentioned possible future projects." I started walking again because standing still made me feel trapped. "It was a normal professional interaction."

"What kind of future projects?"

"A campaign with—Why are you interrogating me?"

"I'm not interrogating you. I'm asking about your day." But his tone said otherwise and we both knew it.

We walked the rest of the way home in silence and by the time we reached the apartment I felt exhausted with the constant emotional labor of managing his jealousy disguised as concern.

“Hi Mia, I wanted to reach out about the campaign project I mentioned. Unfortunately we've had to put it on hold indefinitely due to budget constraints. I apologize for getting your hopes up. I hope we can work together in the future when the timing is better. Best, David”

I read it three times in shock.

"Everything okay?" Dante asked from the kitchen.

"The campaign project fell through."

"That's too bad." He didn't sound surprised or ask for details. Just went back to chopping vegetables like I hadn't just lost another opportunity.

"He said budget constraints." I turned in my chair to look at him. "That's weird, right? To mention a project and then cancel it the same day?"

"Not really. Budgets change and priorities shift." He was focused on the cutting board, not meeting my eyes. "Happens all the time in business."

"Did you contact him?"

The knife stopped moving. "Why would I contact him?"

"To express concerns and maybe mention I'm not available for projects that require working alone with male clients." My voice was rising again and I didn't care. "To sabotage another opportunity because you can't handle me having a professional life separate from you."

He set down the knife carefully and turned to face me.

"I didn't contact him." He said slowly. "But maybe he sensed you're not available. Maybe your body language or the way you talked about me made it clear you're in a committed relationship and he decided he wasn't interested in working with someone who wouldn't be receptive to whatever he was actually after."

"He wasn't after anything—"

"You don't know that. You met him once for two hours. I've been watching people my whole life and I can tell you that men who offer future projects to female photographers they just met usually have more than professional interest." He moved closer. "But you're too trusting to see it and too willing to believe everyone has good intentions."

"Or maybe you're too paranoid to accept that some people are just professional contacts and not threats to your control over my life."

The silence that followed felt dangerous.

"My control over your life?" He repeated. "Is that what you think this is?"

"What else would you call it? You monitor my shoots, interrogate me about clients, somehow every opportunity with a male collaborator mysteriously falls through—"

"For your protection—"

"For your comfort!" I stood up. "You don't want me to be safe. You want me to be dependent. You want me to need you so completely that I can't function without your approval."

He stared at me for a long moment.

"You're upset about the project," he said finally. "I understand but taking it out on me isn't fair when I'm just trying to look out for you."

The deflection was so smooth, so perfectly executed that I almost believed it myself but I was tired of backing down.

"I don't need you to look out for me at professional shoots. I need you to trust me to handle my own career without your interference."

"Then maybe you should stop giving me reasons to worry." He turned back to the vegetables. "If you conducted yourself professionally without encouraging personal attention from clients, I wouldn't have concerns."

The victim-blaming was so blatant it should have been laughable except it wasn't funny because he genuinely believed he had the right to police how I "conducted myself" with clients I'd never see again.

"I'm going for a walk," I said.

"It's getting dark—"

"I don't care."

I grabbed my keys and headed for the door before he could stop me and when I reached the hallway I leaned against the wall, trying to breathe through the realization that I couldn't have male clients without his surveillance, couldn't build professional relationships without his sabotage and simply couldn't exist in any space where I might encounter another man without his jealousy destroying it.

My phone buzzed.

“Where are you going?”

I stared at the text and felt the walls closing in because even five minutes alone in the hallway of my own building wasn't allowed without him tracking my location and demanding explanations.

“Just walking.”

“Come back. We should talk about this.”

“I'll be back in twenty minutes.”

“Ten.”

I turned off my phone and kept walking because if I went back now I'd never leave again.