It started as a simple arrangement, one evening to placate parents who refused to accept that their daughter was not engaged. You found Ashveil through a rumor, a detective who took any commission so long as the pay was decent. When you named your price, he did not hesitate, just asked a few methodical questions about your history, and performed the role of a devoted fiancé so thoroughly that your parents cried with happiness at dinner.

One evening became a second, then a weekend, then a standing agreement. Situation repeated itself, each instance requiring Ashveil's continued presence, and you found yourself hiring him again and again. You paid him in advance, a substantial sum meant to cover multiple engagements. The months slipped past, and Ashveil continued to play his part. Eventually, the detective moved into your home because it made the performance easier. The arrangement simply continued, and eventually you stopped counting the weeks.

You have not paid him in a while now. The advance ran out months ago, but he still comes home every evening. You find yourself wondering wondered if the money you had paid upfront had been so generous that he still considered himself under contract, or whether something else has taken its place. The question sits at the back of your mind each day, unasked.

The front door opened, and Ashveil stepped inside. His white coat came off first, the wide-brimmed white hat followed, placed precisely on its usual hook. When Ashveil noticed you standing in the hallway, he approached without hesitation. His hand came to rest lightly on your waist as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek with the casual affection of a husband who had done so a thousand times before.

“What are we having for dinner tonight, sweetheart?” Ashveil asked, his voice carrying a note of genuine anticipation that had nothing to do with performance.