12. Caleb
Chapter 12
Caleb
I run to the street, loosening my tie. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Why did I refuse her the other night? And in some fucked-up power move, I told her she’d need to beg for it.
Now I can walk around with blue balls.
It didn’t make me yours.
And there I was, capturing her mouth like I had any business to do so. Because fuck.
Celeste Delacroix married me because she needed her visa fixed, but the only thing fake about me agreeing to the deal was my motivation.
Yes, she didn’t deserve to be dragged into the mess my father always leaves in his wake.
Yes, my sister begged me to help her .
Yes, I never plan to marry, so giving her my name for a few years is inconsequential.
And yet, the twisted, depraved bastard in me enjoys being around her. Taunting her. Being sassed by her. Annoying the shit out of her.
But why?
Because she can take it. She can rise to the challenge, and fuck if that’s not refreshing. And hot.
But she made it clear she wants nothing to do with me. Aside from that weak moment of desperation last Wednesday. Even then, she didn’t want me. She wanted to save her job.
What a fucking twist of fate. I can have—and have had—any woman I want, and here I want the only one that doesn’t care.
“Oh, you’re here.” Celeste’s voice brings me back to reality.
The air still smells of last night’s rain, its humidity heavier than usual for mid-spring. My gaze lands on her dress. It’s perfect. She’s paired it with emerald-green stilettos that match her eyes.
She looks like a movie star. Like a woman I want to parade around proudly, but also lock hidden away so nobody ogles her.
“Lunch?” I more bark the question than ask it. Always a gentleman around her.
Even if this woman had a seed of attraction for me, I’m making sure as hell it doesn’t sprout. What is wrong with me?
“Well, since you invited me so nicely, I guess we should have our wedding reception.” She gives me a saccharine smile. “Lead the way, husband.”
Husband.
The title has never had any meaning for me. Another side effect of witnessing how my father treated my mother.
He cheated and hurt her many times. And she suffered through it, until she gave up and leaned into their power play.
Because that’s what their marriage had always been. I vowed to never get married. That institution doesn’t stand for anything good.
I glare at Celeste, and she narrows her eyes. If she’s wondering what my deal is, that would make two of us.
If she’s wondering about that kiss and my exit, that also makes two of us. I’m completely unpredictable around this woman.
And I don’t like that one bit. And yet the animal in me wants her so goddamn much.
Grabbing her hand, I march down the street like I know where I’m going, dragging her with me.
Luckily, there is a cozy, inviting Italian bistro on the corner, and we get a seat in the window alcove overlooking a quaint side street .
We don’t speak, focusing on reading the menu and choosing our first meal as a married couple as if our life depended on it.
A chipper server in her twenties recites the specials to us. Celeste orders fish, and I ask for the same, because I have no idea what is on that menu.
“Will that be all?” the server sing-songs.
“I’ll have a double whiskey. Do you have a Macallan?” I smile at her.
“Sorry, sir, we don’t serve liquor. May I offer you our organic Sauvignon Blanc? It would go well with your halibut.”
“Sure. Get us a bottle.”
A ghost of a smile plays on Celeste’s face. “Are we celebrating?”
“You’ll learn, black swan, I excel at everything I do. And I plan to do that with this fake marriage as well.”
And if I have my way, there will be nothing fake about the way we enjoy this pretend marriage. However short-lived it may be.
“Should I be scared?” She opens the linen napkin and places it on her lap.
Such an automatic motion, but not when executed by Celeste. She turns even the most mundane move into a graceful dance.
“More than it scared you to enter the courthouse?”
Earlier today, she looked like she was going to bolt, like I was forcing her to be there. It made no sense, and I need to know what that was about.
Like I need—for some outlandish reason—to know more about this woman. Another mystery on my part.
I’d be better off staying away. Not speaking to her. And most definitely not kissing her again. Or maybe kissing her more.
That fucking kiss was like discovering the fountain of life. Okay, more like the fountain of pleasure. And that’s a concept I’m happy to get behind. Any. Freaking. Time.
She flinches.
So, there was something that set off her hesitation.
Quickly, she puts on that daring expression like she’s ready to fight with the world. “What can I say? It’s scary to marry you.”
I snort. A good save, but she’s lying. “I’m sure you can do much worse, black swan.” I decide to drop the topic. I’ll find out, eventually. We’re stuck together for three years, after all.
She lets out a chuckle. “I doubt that.”
“And yet you pursued me relentlessly.” I lean forward, grinning.
There’s a table between us, but that flowery scent of hers assaults me, making my cock twitch. The woman puts an aphrodisiac in her perfume .
“I pursued a business arrangement with you. That’s all this is.”
But I’m not against mixing business with pleasure.
The waitress brings our wine, and we stare at each other while she serves us. The air is more charged than usual, but the charge is lighter.
We tease, we don’t argue. And I can’t say I hate it.
“You forgot that I have nothing to gain, so I wouldn’t call it a business arrangement.”
“Perhaps you’re just a shitty businessman and I got a better deal.”
I laugh. “Touché. Should we toast to this union?”
She raises her glass. “To not killing each other.”
Snorting, I toast. “To getting you your job back.”
Her eyebrows jerk up, like my wish surprises her. Like she wouldn’t expect I would wish something good for her.
She takes a sip and puts the glass down in that signature elegant way of hers. “Why are you being nice to me?”
Her lips are slightly parted as she waits for my answer. The sad part is that it’s a reasonable question. Somehow, somewhere, I made it my life's mission to be horrible to her.
This woman who has a tiny studio decorated like a true home. Who collects valuable art beyond her means. Who has books stuffed in her cupboards. Whose body is made for sin, and whose wits are refreshing.
A woman I typecast at one point, and now I’m confronted with layers of her that don’t match that mold.
“To be perfectly honest, when I agreed to help you, I didn’t realize I was making a three-year commitment. So upon careful reflection, when I reviewed my calendar for the next three years”—I smirk—“I decided that keeping the peace with you is probably the best course for my—our—sanity.”
She sighs with a dejected chuckle. “You could have backed out.”
“Well, black swan, another thing you’ll learn about me is that I’m a stubborn bastard.”
She shakes her head, a smile lingering on her lips. “Is that why you organized everything overnight, so you’re not tempted to give up before you commit?”
“No, that was for the benefit of your visa and your work.”
Now she shakes her head, rolling her eyes like I’m full of shit. Okay, partially I am. I was hoping for a fast resolution—not that that’s an option anymore, with the three-year-long red tape wrapped around Celeste’s little problem.
“Besides,” I continue, with another part of my motivation for the speedy resolution to her problem. “I have a business deal to close that requires my full attention.”
The server places our meals in front of us, the scent of thyme and spices invading the air.
Along with anticipation. Or maybe it’s just me who’s hoping we’ll continue that kiss after our wedding reception for two.
“What kind of a deal?” Celeste flakes off a tiny piece of fish and brings it to her mouth. Again, the movement is an art.
“I’m considering joining a business venture that interests me as an occupation, and would certainly make me richer.”
“Why would you need to get richer?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She takes a sip of wine, and I swear watching her is like an artful form of porn. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Don’t you have enough?”
“My enough redefines with the more I have.”
“So you make more to spend more?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
She eats for a moment, a line splitting her forehead. “I’ve never thought of it like that. But yeah, if I had more, I’d get a bigger apartment, new clothes, take a vacation.”
“Of course. And you’d probably invest in more art, support more causes. I spend only a small portion. I invest, so the money makes me more money.”
She laughs. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It is easy, but it’s hard work at the same time, I guess.”
The halibut tastes fantastic. I’d have never ordered fish on my own, but now I’m a fan. Just like that, two hours into my fake marriage, the woman is influencing my habits.
“So what is this new venture?”
“It’s mergers and acquisition. I don’t want to make you fall asleep.”
“Because I’m just a simple dancer?”
I snap my head to her. Why would she assume that? “What the fuck, Celeste?” I saw her business books. I know she can discuss this.
“Isn’t that what people generally think?”
“I sure hope not. Is that what you believe?”
“That’s the opinion I’m faced with regularly.”
I drop my fork, annoyance edging its way through me. “I’m asking if you believe it.”
“I don’t particularly care what people say, but it’s not like any of your friends, or even you, would want to discuss anything substantial with me. Because I’m just a sexy dancer.”
I grind my molars. She’s trying to sound casual, but there’s hurt in her voice, in her expression, as she avoids my eyes, suddenly dedicated to cutting a cherry tomato on her plate.
“For the record, black swan, if anyone makes you feel inferior, you remove them from your life. Or they’ll have to go through me. Don’t ever buy into that bullshit.”