Page 3 of The Client
My vision tunnels.
He pulls her in a graceful spin, so she ends up leaning back over his arm.
There’s a ringing in my ears now, so loud I can barely hear anything else.
And then my father leans down and kisses Celine, full on the mouth.
I’m about to rush the stage, pull him off her, and slug him across the face, but then I see her arm wrapping around his neck, the way her eyes are closed, the way she’skissing him back.
Bile rises in my throat, fury scalding through my veins. My whole body goes numb. It’s like I’m watching a movie of my own life.
A horror movie.
My father is speaking into the mic again, Celine’s arm looped through his, her head on his shoulder, and my stomach is clenching, the room is spinning.
“There’s another reason I wanted to gather all my friends and family here tonight,” he’s saying. “Which is to introduce you all…”
He takes a dramatic breath.
“To my new wife, as of this very morning: Celine Lefevre McConnell.”
The flute falls from my hand and hits the floor, splattering glass and champagne all around me. Nobody seems to notice. Their eyes are all glued to the stage, where Celine smiles radiantly, though not quite as radiantly as the massive diamond ring that has somehow magically appeared on her left hand.
I stumble back just as my father’s eyes land on mine. The glare of the lights stunts the pleasure on his face, but I see it. I feel it.
I can’t even wrap my head around what just happened. The woman I’ve spent the last year giving myself to, the woman I was about to propose to, and he just…swooped in like a fucking monster out of a nightmare and carried her off for himself.
He’s taken her from me. Taken exactly what he wants, when he wants it, without a single thought of the consequences to anyone else. Just like he always does.
Spinning on my heel, my footsteps crunching on glass and sliding on spilled champagne, I measure my steps until I’m outside, encased in cool night air. Doubling over with my hands on my thighs, I pull in hard breaths as I try to center myself. I need to calm down and get the hell out of here. I need to put this entire night behind me. Put Celine behind me.
The last year we spent together clearly meant nothing to her. How could I have been so stupid? This was a lesson I learned over and over again in my childhood.
This time, I won’t let myself forget.
If I never care about anything, it won’t hurt when it’s taken away from me.
1
IZABELA
“You better not tell himyou’re a virgin, Iza.”
I don’t give my roommate, Diya, a response as I pull my hair into a slicked-back ponytail and double-check my makeup. She’s standing close enough that I’m overwhelmed by the heavy vanilla scent of her perfume. Her worried frown is reflected at me in the mirror.
There are four of us crammed into this one-bedroom apartment, and while I’m used to cramped living spaces, the constant togetherness is stifling. Sometimes it’s hard to breathe with the other girls constantly in my face with their endless chatter and gossip. It’s been almost three months since I arrived in the United States, but acclimating has been difficult.
I miss my uncle’s small, tidy,quietfarmhouse. The smell of strong, dark coffee and freshnalesnikicrepes filling the house every morning, the warmth of the woodstove making us sweat no matter the time of year. Pulling an old pair of my uncle’s overalls over my pajamas to go out and feed the chickens, collect their eggs. A simpler life. That house was a sanctuary that I thought was stifling me, seemingly too small to hold my dreams.
And then my sister got sick. Her cries of pain and the sounds of her body constantly rejecting food and medications changed everything. My aunt and uncle were saints for taking us in after our parents died. But they hadn’t signed up for the helplessness that came with my sister’s sudden and devastating illness, or the cost of work lost while trying to fight the disease.
Then my dreams changed.
That’s why I’m in Chicago, and I’ll tolerate any amount of chaos or gossip and a true lack of personal space if it means sending them the money they need to send her here. Her doctors are doing everything they can, but everyone knows the best care in the world happens in the US.
“I’m serious,” Diya prods.
She gives my shoulder a gentle but firm shake. Catching her striking green eyes in the mirror, I reapply my lip gloss and blot my lips together.
