10. Celeste
Chapter 10
Celeste
I throw my vibrator to the side, sighing blissfully. I don’t need to beg Caleb for anything. Even though I just imagined him while chasing my orgasm. And when I was doing laundry yesterday. And during my stretching session.
I pass, black swan.
The amount of humiliation that man has caused me would easily fill this apartment. But I can’t spend the day hating Caleb van den Linden. I need to figure out how to save my position, my visa, and my colleagues.
I sit up and take a painkiller. I haven’t slept well since Reinhard told me I’m fucked. And this morning, after tossing all night and falling asleep at dawn, some commotion and drilling in the hallway woke me up. Someone must be moving in or out, because it’s still going on.
I squeeze into my mini shower. God, that powder room in his house. Fuck, kill me for wanting something nicer in my life. Starting anew in France would set me even further back.
I let the hot water hit my skin and allow my tears to fall freely. If I cry in the shower it doesn’t count, because I’m already wet.
I wallow for a few more moments, enjoying the hot water while it lasts, then step out and wrap myself in a towel before I pad to my room. I’m sure Caleb never runs out of hot water.
Stop it, Celeste. Forget about that insufferable man.
My ringtone distracts me from my pity party.
“Saar, how are you, babe?” I sound way too cheerful.
“I have good news. Cal is going to help you out, after all.”
I freeze. “I don’t think so.”
“Celeste, stop being stubborn and take his help. I talked to him just now, and he agreed to try.”
Try being the operative word here. I should rejoice, but after Wednesday night, when I couldn’t get out of his loft fast enough, I can’t imagine facing him again, let alone living with him .
“Saar, I doubt he means it. And even if he did, what if something happens? We both know it’s bound to end poorly, and I don’t want that to come between us.”
She laughs. “I assure you, my brother’s sworn off love, so there’s no chance you’d break his heart. And the marriage would be fake, so I won’t have to pick a side in the divorce.”
“I offered to sleep with him,” I blurt out.
“Oh my God.” Her gasp carries over the line, shaming me.
“Don’t judge me, I was desperate.”
“I’m not judging. I’m just not particularly keen on imagining my brother having sex.”
“Then you’re safe. He refused me.”
The line remains mute. Her lack of reaction makes me want to cry again. Yeah, that’s how pathetic I am. The man who sleeps with any woman with a pulse rejected me. Kind of.
“Are you still there?” I ask.
“Yes, I’m here, I’m just… shocked.”
“That I offered to sleep with him?”
“That he refused.”
Not exactly refused. More like put conditions on it, but I’m not going to share that. My mind—and my pussy—are still riling from that statement.
Not until you want it, need it so much that fucking me is the only thought on your mind. Not until you beg me for it on your knees because your pussy weeps for my cock.
Even worse, now I’m attracted to him. His intense eyes, his broad shoulders, his feather-like touch, and those low-waist sweats. How casual and at-home he looked in his… well, home. Still his usual carefree self, but somehow with more substance.
The guitar in the corner, the books that looked used and not just for display, photographs on the shelves beside them. For some reason, I expected he’d live in a sterile fuck-pad.
While everything in that loft probably cost my yearly salary, it was all tasteful and didn’t feel like it was picked out by a designer, it felt personal. Because somehow he fit in the place perfectly. I don’t think a designer could have such an intimate touch.
Or one of his exes decorated the place. An unwarranted pang of jealousy swirls in my empty stomach. Merde.
“Yeah, which begs the question, why does he still want to help me?”
“He might feel he owes me, but… does it matter? Mid-life crisis adventure for all you care, as long as you can stay and dance.”
Yes, that’s the objective. I need to keep it in mind, and not get distracted by Caleb. Though the two seem to be well connected. “I guess. ”
“That’s your problem, Celeste. You were surprised that your colleagues stood up for you because you never believe you’re deserving of anything. And now you’re questioning Cal’s motivation because you don’t trust someone would just do something nice for you. That they want to.”
Someone in the background yells her name. “I have to go. Please let my brother fix this for you.”
Someone doing something nice for me? Why? Why would they?
I still have three hours before my rehearsal, but I can’t stand the ruckus outside my doors, so I decide to go to Cora’s.
I’m about to text her when a message arrives.
Unknown number
Meet me in an hour. Can you make it? Caleb
He’s attached an address, and a quick search shows it’s a walk-in legal clinic. A legal clinic seems like the last place you’d find a man like Caleb.
I confirm without asking more questions, because the best strategy to not derail this is to not talk to him.
The smell of paint hits my nostrils as soon as I step out of my place. Two men on ladders paint the walls in the corridor.
I squeeze around, wondering what prompted the management to spruce this place up. At the last owner’s association meeting, we couldn’t afford to fix the damn doorknob.
Of course, it’s just my luck that the Karen from upstairs stands by the entrance.
“Can you believe it, Celeste? Apparently that snob who broke our door the other day is some hotshot millionaire who sent these nice boys”—she smiles at two handymen who are installing what looks like a camera by the main entrance—“to fix the door, install a security system and retouch the paint. All for free.”
“How do you know it was him?”
“The super told me it’s a rich man who visited his friend here and became concerned with the safety of our humble dwelling.” She raises her eyebrows like she shared the biggest conspiracy. “That man’s a catch, Celeste. Lucky you.”
Yeah, lucky me.
“I didn’t take you for someone who uses the services of a legal clinic.” I sit across from Caleb in a small but tasteful boardroom.
“Oh, Miss Delacroix, don’t get distracted by my pro-bono work, I charge him handsomely for my services.” A tall well-dressed man saunters in and extends his hand to me. “Dominic Cressard, nice to meet you.”
I like him instantly. There’s a charming air about him that puts me at ease, which is an achievement in any official office. Though I must admit these offices are way fancier than any other legal clinic I’ve seen, even though I’ve only seen them on TV.
“Celeste. The pleasure is mine.” I shake his hand. A Rolex on his wrist further confuses the legal clinic aspect.
Dominic takes a seat at the head of the table and opens a folder. “Let me get right to it.”
“You usually stall to increase your billable hours,” Caleb says dryly.
“I’ll make them up on your next public indecency charge,” Dominic deadpans.
By the way Caleb’s jaw ticks, I wonder if the retort is based on actual events. Interesting.
I stare at him, hoping he’ll look my way and confirm Dominic’s statement. But Caleb has been avoiding my eyes since I entered.
I guess my no-talking policy meets his no-looking policy. What a great start to this union.
“Okay, so the process for a marriage-based green card is pretty straightforward. It takes ten to twenty-three months, but I can guarantee the shorter timeline. Maybe even shorten it further. ”
Twenty-three months? Merde. “Can I work while I wait?”
“You can get a work permit upon marrying a US citizen. The problem is, we can only apply for the green card with proof of a relationship.” Dominic’s gaze pauses at me, and then at Caleb.
“What does that mean?” Caleb looks at me for the first time and, if there was any heat or attraction there on Wednesday, it’s completely gone now. His entire countenance is aloof today.
“Joint accounts, photos, utility bills, mutual residence.” Dominic closes the folder in front of him.
Caleb sighs. “Okay, so we can’t apply until we gather all of that? And Celeste can’t work?”
“Well, we can try to cut the red tape if you don’t tell my wife.” He winks in a conspiratorial way. “But I’d suggest you marry quickly and open a joint account, kids.”
Caleb’s gaze meets mine and, for some outlandish reason, tears well in my eyes. I realize this is all fake, but the romantic in me is dying.
“If we get that all organized in the next few days, she can get a green card within a year? At the latest?” Caleb asks, talking about me like I’m not even here.
“That’s the hope.”
“So we can divorce within a year?” Caleb continues, and the words slap me .
A year of my life with this man? This man who’s doing a favor for his sister but looks like he’d give his left kidney to be anywhere else, doing anything else.
“Well, not exactly,” Dominic starts, and we both snap our heads toward him. “She’d get a conditional green card that’s valid for two years.”
I groan and drop my head to the table, tapping my forehead on the smooth surface.
“Three years?” Caleb’s tone could cut diamonds.
“Yeah, and let me be clear.” Dominic leans forward. “If they sniff out that this is just for Celeste to stay in the country, there can be serious legal repercussions. For both of you. Fines, or worse, jail time.”
Silence descends on the room, heavy with ramifications, tension, and the finality of the sentence we’re both considering.
Our gazes meet again above the polished table. My mind fires in all different directions. I think of my work, of the wonderful years I spent in New York, of my colleagues who would pay the highest price.
But I can’t expect Caleb to sacrifice three years of his life. We’re not even friends.
I wish I could read his mind, but he stares me down without so much as a hint of his thoughts. Just an unreadable mask.
“Do you want a minute to discuss this?” Dominic asks .
I’m about to nod when Caleb turns to his lawyer. “No, it’s okay, let’s continue.”
Dominic raises his eyebrows, as surprised as me.
“Caleb—” I start, but he raises his hand.
“Shut up, Celeste. For once in your life, don’t run your mouth.”
I still open my mouth, but no words come out while heat spreads up my throat to my cheeks.
Dominic doesn’t lose a beat and slides a folder to me. “Okay, so at Caleb’s instruction, I took the liberty to prepare this prenup.”
I hate that both of them can see how my hands tremble as I open the document.
“It sums up that you will get one million and an apartment of your choice upon your divorce, but no other claims can be made on my client’s assets.”
I gasp. “I don’t want your money.”
Caleb snorts and shakes his head.
“You may say that now, but three years with this one…” Dominic chuckles, ignoring Caleb’s glare. “And I shouldn’t be saying this, since Caleb is my client, but this deal is highly disadvantageous to you, given the current and future potential financial status of your husband-to-be.”
Is this some sort of test? “As I said, I don’t want his money, and I have an apartment.”
Caleb snorts again. “You’re not returning to that hell hall.”
Is this man for real? “That’s really none of your business. I think the most important clause in the prenup needs to be my autonomy. You don’t control my life decisions.”
Caleb huffs his exasperation, shaking his head. “Celeste, just sign it so we can move on.”
“Move on? What? Do you have more damsels in distress to save, or mistakes to fix so you can feel better about yourself?”
His jaw ticks. “Yes, my darling fiancée, I have an appointment at the courthouse to book. The sooner we get married, the sooner we can part ways.”
“If you don’t want…” My argument dies on my lips when I realize that this banter and bickering won’t get me any closer to solving my problem.
Why is he doing this? Why do I care? His motivation shouldn’t concern me.
For once, I can just accept someone’s help. I owe it, if not to myself, then to my colleagues.
Probably making the biggest mistake of my life, I scribble my signature on the contract with the devil.
Only this particular devil wants nothing in return. And yet my heart and my soul are bleeding.
As soon as I lift the tip of the pen from the paper, Caleb stands. “Great. Only two years and three hundred sixty-four days more.”