I exhale slowly, letting the tension ease just slightly.
"Can you help me?" I ask.
Arthur doesn't hesitate. "Naturally. Money, I'm good with."
There's no arrogance in the statement. Just fact.
Evelyn enters the conversation, her tone measured but deliberate.
"This is about more than money management," she says. "You'll both need access to each other's lives. Inner workings that don't normally come to financial advisors and nannies."
Arthur nods once, like he already knew that.
I feel the weight of what she's saying settle over me.
This isn't advice. This isn't mentorship from a distance.
This is something far more intimate. Something that doesn't come with clean boundaries or easy exits. Something that I won’t be able to pretend is strictly professional.
Evelyn watches us both carefully, letting the tension sit.
I feel it then—the invisible narrowing of options. The way every solution in this room involves being closer to Arthur than I had planned.
Then she speaks.
"Given your profiles," Evelyn says calmly, "and the urgency of your circumstances, we recommend marriage."
The words hang in the air like smoke.
Arthur doesn't react immediately.
I don't either.
My brain stutters over the word. Marriage. Like it's been dropped into the wrong sentence.
I stare at her, then at Arthur.
Evelyn explains the specifics including prenups, NDAs and protections for each of us going forward.
The words blur together, my pulse loud enough that I’m surprised they can’t hear it.
All I can think is that this escalated faster than I expected.
Marriage.
To Arthur Dupree.
The man who used to sign my paychecks. Who I admired from a careful, professional distance. Who never looked at me like anything other than competent staff.
Until now.
I glance at him again.
He's not looking at Evelyn anymore. He's looking at me.
It's not romantic. It's not a proposal.
And somehow, that makes it easier to breathe.
