The Client

by Gadziala, Jessica

  Many of them led to mild bickering over their merit as art.

  But I had a feeling Wasp was going to have no problems with this particular image hanging on our walls.

  "You are uncharacteristically silent," Wasp mused, still oblivious to the way things were about to change for her. For us. For the future. "Did you..." she started, turning, taking a second to realize I was down on my knee.

  I'd gotten good at reading her over the past year, this woman who had trained her whole life to hide her real emotions to be able to effectively do her job. She wasn't, I found, as good an actress as she thought.

  It was all right there in her eyes.

  It always was.

  And right now?

  There was shock and awe and caution and anticipation.

  And most of all, hope.

  For a future she never would have envisioned for herself. For the happily-ever-after she so long believed didn't exist in real life.

  "Fenway..."

  "Marry me," I said, cutting her off, knowing I needed to get this out before she started listing silly reasons this might be a bad idea. "I know it terrifies you. I know you are never going to be fully ready. But I'm asking you to take a chance. Say yes. Go on a new kind of adventure with me."

  There was a telltale glistening to her eyes then.

  It didn't chase away everything else still reflected there.

  But this was Wasp. My Wasp. She had no fear. She was always ready for a new adventure.

  Her shaky hand lifted, stretched out toward me, allowing me to slip the ring on her finger.

  I could hear the camera shutter going off wildly behind us as I pressed a kiss to the ring, then looked up at her, finding a tear sliding down her cheek.

  Standing, I pulled her close, kissed her until my lips went tingly.

  She was the one to break away first, taking a deep breath.

  "Okay, let's have the ugly talk."

  "The ugly talk?" I repeated, brows furrowing.

  "Yes, the ugly talk. The prenup talk. It will come eventually. Better to get it over with now."

  "There is nothing romantic about discussing prenups."

  "Yes, well, I think we have long established that you are the romantic one here. I'm the pragmatist. Which is a scary thought seeing as I am the one who is not allowed to have her nieces spend the night anymore."

  "A belly button ring really isn't that big a deal," I reasoned.

  "Right? It's her body. But yeah. Since you are the flip one, I have to be the reasonable one. And the reasonable thing is to discuss the prenup now."

  "Okay," I agreed, leading her over toward the couch. "Let's talk about the prenup. I don't want one."

  "Well, then you're an idiot," she declared, eyes rolling. "What if I was running an ultra-long con on you?"

  "An ultra-long con, huh?" I mused. "Involving that time we both got food poisoning and both slept on the bathroom floor of the hotel, taking turns vomiting? If that was part of the con, darling, you have earned the money," I told her, smiling. "That damn lobster—"

  "We agreed you would never say that word ever again," Wasp accused, skin going gray at the memory. And, to be fair, that had been a rough long weekend. But how did you know you truly loved someone if you hadn't lived through mutual food poisoning together, and still wanted to be with them?

  "I think a small part of you is still worried I don't trust you because of our... unconventional courtship. I think this should wipe away any of those residual concerns. I trust you. You can marry me tomorrow and run away with half my fortune the day after that. That is how much I trust you."

  "That is very foolish," she told me, scooting closer, throwing her legs over mine. "But thank you," she added, resting her head on my chest. "What did you have in mind for the wedding?"

  "Something ostentatious," I declared, making her chuckle.

  "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

  "And I want it soon."

  "Of course you do."

  "And I want to invite everyone from the casino," I added. We'd been regulars there anytime we were in Navesink Bank.

  "And Eamon Awan as your best man?"

  "And all the fixers as my groomsman," I agreed.

  "Our wedding is going to be ridiculous. Your upper-crust, billionaire acquaintances. My arms-dealing brothers, a team of professional fixers, ex-conwomen..."

  "And we will have to find a way to make Leonard our ring bearer."

  "Of course we will. Maybe he can ride in on the farm pig," Wasp teased.

  But make no mistake, I was taking notes.

  And in six month's time, there was going to be an African Gray perched on a saddle attached to a six-hundred-pound farm pig.

  I'd always been known for the ridiculous.

  Now we both would.

  Wasp - 5 years

  "Fenway, what the hell are we going to do with a ten-foot-tall giraffe stuffed animal?" I asked as he grabbed it around its middle, groaning a bit when he lifted the massive thing off the floor.

  "We are going to put it in the toy room, of course."

  "We'd have to anchor it to a wall. It could fall down and crush her."

  "She pointed at it," he insisted, shrugging a shoulder.

  That was all it took with him.

  Our little girl pointing at something.

  Then he was going out of his way to acquire it for her.

  Once, when she was just ten months old, she had thrown her chubby hand out of the window and pointed a pudgy finger at a massive dog on the street. This big white fluffy thing that likely weighed more than I did. And the only reason she pointed at it was because it looked like the dog in the picture book I read to her before bed.

  What did my husband do?

  Pulled over the car, hopped out, ran across the street, and tried to offer the owners an untold sum of money—I'd asked, he'd refused to tell me—to sell him their dog. Thankfully, the owners were attached and declined. I had my hands full with a baby and Leonard and, let's face it, my husband. I wasn't ready for a dog that was bigger than all of us.

  This giraffe, while not requiring feeding and washing and numerous trips outside, was equally as impractical as that dog had been.

  "Darling, this is Hamleys!" Fenway declared, as though that brushed aside my concerns.

  For Little Bee's—Beatrice's—third birthday, I had wanted to do something fun, but normal. Like a backyard barbecue with friends and family. Maybe ramp it up a notch with rented bounce houses and cotton candy and popcorn machines.

  Of course, Fenway had other plans.

  When it came to stubbornness, we were matched.

  But when it came to making plans behind the other's back, Fenway was the clear winner.

  Before I had even looked at cotton candy machine varieties online, he had somehow managed to get his jet and a hotel lined up, as well as called Hamleys to work out a deal to rent the world's largest and oldest toy store for the entire day.

  Now, was the toy store possibly the most epic place in the world for a child? Even I would admit that. It had an actual, working merry-go-round, a tube slide that went down two floors, a two-level fire engine to play in, a candy shop, and every single toy known to mankind.

  That said, Bee was three. She wouldn't remember this birthday. I wasn't against it as an idea, but tried to reason that it would be more appropriate for her fifth or sixth birthday. That way, she would remember it.

  What was my husband's response, you might be wondering?

  "Well, we can do it on her fifth or sixth birthday too."

  A part of me was exasperated.

  The other part, though, couldn't believe what an amazing father Bee got to have. One who cared about making her birthday the most amazing day in the world. One who stayed up at night researching the latest and greatest gadgets for her to enjoy. One who had gone to seven different stores in town to make sure he got a roll or two of every kind of colorful wrapping paper so that each of her packages at Christmas would be d
ifferent. One who sat patiently with her on Christmas morning after being up with me all night arranging the tree and put together every last toy she got, played with her until she started to fall asleep sitting up.

  I figured that, through Bee, Fenway was getting to experience the joy and wonder of being a new human, something he hadn't been able to have as a child with an overbearing, unfeeling father.

  That little girl had him wrapped entirely around her finger.

  Extra juice when I had already said it was time to switch to water? Go to Daddy. Ice cream for lunch when I was out running errands? Daddy had her back. Going to the fair every single night of the week for ten days while it was in town? Yep, Daddy made sure of that too.

  I had my concerns about what would happen when Bee was older and she realized she could get away with anything when it came to her father.

  When I'd expressed those concerns, Fenway had shrugged. He claimed that I had him wrapped around my finger too, and nothing bad had come from that. He'd been so sweet and sincere in the moment that I had forgotten my counterargument. Which was that I was a grown ass woman who had already been through struggles by the time I met him. Bee was a little girl who could very easily become a spoiled adolescent.

  But, I figured, I had time to try to curve that before it was too late.

  Besides, I learned, being spoiled a little bit was nice.

  But the giraffe? That was where I needed to draw the line, right?

  I mean, Bee couldn't even actually play with it. It was too big, too clumsy. It was even too high for her to climb on. So having it in the house would just be more of a stupid status symbol that took up far too much space. Besides, we were in London. Getting the damn thing home would be a pain as well. We'd be tripping over it in the jet.

  "Okay, let's compromise," I suggested, planting a hand in the center of Fenway's chest, halting him.

  "But I don't wanna compromise," he said, imitating a child by stomping his foot, then giving me that big, boyish smile I never got sick of seeing. Even when he was being a pain in the ass.

  "How about we get her that whole Disney Princess wardrobe set?" I suggested. I had shaken my head at it when he eyed it earlier. The price tag just seemed astronomical for something she would grow out of in less than a year. But if it was between a massive, useless giraffe, or a wardrobe that Bee actually would have fun playing with? I was willing to be a little ridiculous.

  "And the dolls to match."

  "Fenway."

  "Don't make me demand the stuffed animal companions too," he said, eyes dancing.

  "Okay. We have a deal," I agreed, offering him my hand.

  He took it, and in true Fenway Arlington style, dropped down on his knees to kiss my knuckles while declaring to whomever was behind me, "Excuse me, but have you met the most beautiful and interesting," he added, smirking, "woman in the world?"

  "Well, seeing as she is my best friend in the whole world, yes," Raven said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "Bee would like to know if she can have that lobster stuffed animal thing from The Little Mermaid."

  My stomach, even all these years later, twisted at the mention of lobster. Yes, even a stuffed fictional lobster from a movie.

  "Don't even start," I told Fenway, pointing at him. "We had a deal."

  "I know. We did. But we forgot to include Bee in the discussion. Which is utterly bad business on our part, don't you think?" he asked, releasing my hand, getting to his feet, and taking Bee out of Raven's hands, raising her above his head until she giggled, then settling her on his hip. "You want all the stuffed animals, don't you, angel?"

  "She's going to be a little devil if you keep spoiling her," I called after him as he started to walk away.

  "She'll be fine," Raven said, moving in beside me. "Roman spoils the kids too. Which makes me have to be the bad guy at times. And the one to balance out all the crazy. But they have turned out alright so far. Bee will be okay too."

  "And if she's not, I can just blame Fenway," I agreed, smiling.

  Fenway - 11 years

  "Sit down," Alvy demanded, patience wearing thin with my pacing.

  "I can't," I said, heart hammering, thoughts swirling.

  "Making yourself sick isn't going to help Wasp," they reminded me, ever my voice of reason.

  Alvy had long since retired as my personal assistant, taking instead a corporate position in one of the family businesses, where they proved every bit as capable as they had been when they were keeping my messy life from falling apart.

  They had still been an ever-present part of our life, though. Babysitting Bee. Coming over for dinner parties.

  And, like now, sitting with me when I felt like everything was falling apart.

  "I wanted to get rid of that goddamn thing a decade ago," I ranted, raking a hand through my hair, fear a live wire through my system, sparking off of every nerve ending.

  "I know you did. But she was attached to it. You know that."

  "Yeah," I agreed, jaw ticking. "But I never should have let her take it out."

  "Fenway, this is Wasp we are talking about. If you told her she couldn't take Wanda out, she would have suggested kissing her ass. She wanted to take a little weekend trip for old time's sake with her best friend. No one could have predicted the driver of a semi passing out at the wheel," Alvy told me, making my gut twist painfully, the image playing itself out in my head for the millionth time since I'd heard the news.

  I'd never known panic like that before in my life.

  I'd been frantic when I called her brothers, getting one of their wives to take Bee so I could catch a plane, get to the hospital in North Carolina where they'd been struck.

  Roman had been on the same plane with me, both of us rushing into the hospital, begging for updates.

  Roman was the lucky one.

  Raven had been in the back of the skoolie when they'd been struck head-on, getting only a mild concussion and a couple stitches to her temple from slamming into a cabinet.

  Wasp?

  Wasp had been right there in the front.

  And it was a sad state of affairs when you had to be thankful the truck hit from the passenger side instead of the driver's, or we wouldn't be at the hospital right now. I'd be losing my shit at the morgue.

  As it was, she was in surgery. And no one had any updates for me. Not even after I offered to build a whole new children's wing onto their hospital to get some.

  "I won't feed you platitudes right now," Alvy said, taking a deep breath. "But I am going to suggest you hold off on losing your mind until you know if you need to or not."

  The woman I loved—the only woman I could ever love—was on a cold metal table in a surgery room with parts of her ripped open. I couldn't be fucking calm.

  "A new children's ward and a new cancer ward," I called to the nurse manning the desk a few feet away from me.

  "That won't be necessary, Mr. Arlington," a voice said at my back, making my heart fly up into my throat as I turned, finding a doctor standing there, his mask still hanging off of one ear. "Your wife is out of surgery," he started.

  All I could think was: out of surgery meant she was alive still.

  I could handle anything if she was still alive.

  No arms? I could feed her.

  No legs? I could get one of those wheelchairs that damn near did everything for you.

  She just had to be alive, damnit.

  "Tell me," I demanded as Alvy got up, came to stand at my side.

  "Your wife endured a blow to the head from hitting the window, a broken arm, and a laceration to her liver."

  "Her liver? Does she need a new one? She can have mine. I don't need to drink. Just tell me where to go to get cut open."

  "Thankfully, that won't be necessary," the doctor said, calm, professional, but his lips twitched ever so slightly. "The laceration was moderate. We managed to repair the damage. Her arm has pins. She has stitches to her forehead. But we suspect she is going to make a full recovery," he said,
clamping a hand on my shoulder.

  I was not, almost as a rule, affectionate with male strangers.

  But I threw myself at the good doctor, giving him a bear hug.

  "Do you have children? I will pay for their college tuitions. Grad school. Med school. Their weddings. You name it," I told him, pulling away, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes the relief was so acute.

  "That won't be necessary," he assured me. "I am just doing my job."

  "Can I see her?" I asked.

  "She is being moved to the ICU. Once she is settled, you can visit with her."

  "The ICU doesn't sound like she is fine," Alvy insisted, thinking more clearly than I was at the moment.

  "It's standard after a surgery like hers. I suspect she will move onto a main floor before the night is out."

  With that, the doctor walked away, leaving me so weak that I collapsed down into a chair, taking my first real breath in half a day.

  "Alvy."

  "Yes?" they asked, sitting down beside me.

  "We need to set up some sort of charity," I decided. "Helping pay for med school."

  "I will look into it," they assured me, patting my shoulder. "She's okay," they reminded me.

  "She has to be," I told them.

  "She is. And you will get to see her in a little bit."

  Forty minutes later, I was led into her room, finding her in one of the hospital beds, looking way too small, way too pale, way too weak for the Wasp I knew and loved.

  I'd never seen the woman look weak a day in her life.

  She'd gone into labor like she was going to war, screaming, cursing, barking orders.

  Seeing her look that way made a piercing sensation stab my chest as I moved toward her bedside.

  "Oh my God, Fenway. I'm not dead," she grumbled up at me as I sat on the side of her bed, reaching for her hand, feeling the tears that had been in my eyes before break free.

  "I worried you might be," I admitted. "I couldn't have lived with that. Not for a minute. You're not allowed to die first, darling. I forbid it."

  "I heard you were offering out random organs to save me," she said, giving me a soft smile.

  "Not random ones. Just the ones you might need."