13. Celeste
Chapter 13
Celeste
O h, the irony.
This man has been making me feel exactly that. Less than. Not enough. But I don’t have the option to remove him from my life for the time being.
But his words… They melt my insides like a chocolate truffle, sweet and decadent.
“At least for the next three years.” He smirks, jest crinkling around his eyes. God, he’s infuriatingly handsome.
“Two years, three hundred and sixty-three days,” I quip. “And yet you think I wouldn’t be interested in talking about your new business venture. Because I wouldn’t understand?”
He studies me for a moment. It’s slightly unnerving now after I experienced the explosion that kiss detonated, but I hold his gaze without wavering.
“I left my company because I realized I like fixing things. I like taking something that is broken, inefficient, and making it work. After Finn and I brought the company our father created into the twenty-first century and implemented—or at least planned—all the changes, I found myself at a loss. Like running a well-oiled machine became a chore. An unexciting existence. It must sound reckless.”
He shakes his head, as if he doesn’t like what he’s saying, what he’s feeling.
I dab the corners of my mouth with my napkin. “I mean, I enjoyed teaching dancing because there was variety. New people, and always some fire to put out. And I enjoyed when I danced in clubs because that was pure unpredictable chaos.
“In fact, my current job, that might seem like a pinnacle of success in my field because of its stability, and the triumph of the opening night, honestly feels a bit tedious. Don’t get me wrong, I love the performance, but the regularity and familiarity of it is…”
“Boring,” he finishes for me.
I smile. “Yes. I guess we’re both reckless.”
“Obviously, since we just committed a felony.”
“Oh, my.” I clutch my chest dramatically. “What are you accusing me of? I married you because you’re my one and only.” A grin pulls at my cheeks.
“One and only idiot available at short notice.” He raises his eyebrows, but the corner of his lips twitches.
I shrug innocently. “La fin justifie les moyens.”
He groans and closes his eyes momentarily.
“Are you okay?” I drop my fork.
“Yeah.” He gulps down his wine and refills his glass. “Anyway, I thought I’d take some time off and figure out what I want to do, but I ran into an old friend, and he has an opportunity that feels like the right fit.”
Something like regret hangs in his words, which doesn’t really fit the Caleb I know.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who pass on an opportunity because they had other plans.”
He laughs. “No, it’s just one of the partners hurt Saar years ago.”
Warmth spreads inside me. “You’re very protective of your sister.”
He sighs. “I love her, but she can take advantage of my affliction.”
“Oh, I can totally see that. This time, it worked to my advantage.”
I didn’t mean more than my visa, but the air between us fills with meaning beyond that. Our eyes meet again in a silent conversation I don’t understand, setting off butterflies in my stomach.
I fidget in my seat, rubbing my thighs together, because his eyes have arson-like side effects, setting my body on fire.
“I think Saar would understand.” I swallow around the lump in my throat, and Caleb nods.
How does a conversation about a business opportunity get this hot? This makes no sense.
And how is it that in the course of twenty-four hours, his jabs are funnier, and my need to razz him is softer?
Have we both just accepted we’re stuck together, so we’re playing nicer? Did that fake kiss that felt so honest reset our chemistry?
Have we reached some sort of unexpected truce without even discussing it? And why do I want him to kiss me again?
I feel comfortable and uncomfortable with Caleb, all at the same time. It’s like intellectually we’re barely finding common ground, but physically? My ovaries and panties are melting. But leaning into that desire would be a disaster.
It’s not like we can have a one-night stand where I’d leave in the middle of the night, itch scratched. Jesus .
“So how are we going to do this marriage? From what Dominic said, we need to prove this is real.”
“I can get you pregnant.” He tosses the napkin on his plate.
I choke on my fish, coughing and pounding on my chest with my palm. Caleb hands me a glass of water.
“Jesus, Celeste, it was just a joke. There’s no fucking way I’d have kids.”
“Never?” I blurt out before I can censor myself. Like I have any business to ask that.
“Never.” The resolution in his voice is so final, I get a feeling this is not a pose, but a deliberation he’s arrived at after serious consideration. “Are you okay?” He frowns at me.
God, why am I shocked? Visibly shocked. “Yes, of course. Could you stop joking and tell me how we’ll prove we’re together?” I retort, angered at myself but taking it out on him with my tone.
“Okay, black swan.” He raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll have a mover pick up your things tomorrow. You’ll stay in my guest room. We’ll take selfies and attend events together. I’ll pick you up at the theater after the show occasionally, and I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’ll have my people tip off the paparazzi to snap a few pics. I hate those assholes, but la fin justifie les moyens.” He throws my words back at me.
“You speak French?”
“Not really. Anyway, is that an okay plan? We can put your place on the market as early as tomorrow.”
“As I said yesterday, I’m not selling my apartment. I’ll return to it after the divorce.”
He rolls his eyes. “That makes no sense. You’ll get a better place in our divorce.”
“ That actually makes no sense. Why on earth would you give me anything?”
“Because I can, and I’m not going to treat you like…”
He stops and gestures for the bill.
“Like who?”
“Never mind. Let’s go.”
“I don’t think we need to do it today.” I step back, like the entrance of the bank is lined with poison.
“Yes, we do, Celeste. We need all the fucking evidence. We’re getting a joint account.”
Shit, after the ordeal of the courthouse, I can’t possibly set foot in another institution. My head is spinning from the rushed ending of our lunch, and now he’s pulling me into a bank.
Sweat trickles down my spine, distracting me. Is it going to show? Am I ruining this gorgeous dress ?
“Celeste,” Caleb groans, the automatic doors opening behind him.
“We can open an account online these days,” I offer.
He makes an exasperated sound, grabs my hand, and pulls me inside. Fucking bully.
But even I can see how unreasonable my behavior must be to someone who knows nothing about my anxiety.
Caleb says something to a young teller, and we’re immediately ushered through a door and into an elevator. Where are we going?
I should ask, but it’s hard to formulate a sentence over the loud beat of my pulse in my temples. I wish this dress wasn’t white and so precious, and I could wipe my clammy palms on it.
We follow a woman into a lavish office, I think, but it looks more like a living room. I let out the breath I was holding. This feels like someone’s house. My mind relaxes a bit.
“Celeste?” Caleb’s voice drags me from the fog of my near panic.
“Yes?” I blink a few times.
“Do you want a coffee?” he asks softly, and his voice wraps around me like cashmere.
I nod, and he puts his hand on the small of my back. I almost recoil. He leads me to a large sofa, rubbing his thumb up and down my spine.
Calming me. Without being privy to the storm inside me, he knows what to do. Or at least senses what he should do.
“Have a seat.” He helps me sit, like I’m a child, and saunters across the room to a fancy coffee machine.
“What is this place?”
The grinder echoes as I take in my surroundings: the soft carpet, the comfortable sofa, the glass table, the smell of coffee, the lavish decorations and expensive paintings on the wall.
“It’s a private office to conduct business.” He hands me a small espresso. “Milk or sugar?”
“No, thank you, I’m not a barbarian.” I take the cup.
Caleb chuckles and looks at me with admiration in his eyes. Like I passed some coffee-drinking test.
“This does not look like an office.” I take a sip.
Caleb shrugs. “They want their VIP clients to feel comfortable, I guess.”
“Oh, you don’t bank with the plebs downstairs.” I down the best espresso I’ve had since I arrived in New York almost ten years ago. There are advantages to being rich.
I have rich friends and former clients. Saar, I assume, is wealthy. They never made me feel less or poor. And I’ve never judged them for their riches, but listening to Caleb earlier, I realized my view of rich people has been mostly negative.
Yet, he talks about money with knowledge and care. While he doesn’t recognize his privilege, he also doesn’t flaunt it around like it’s his birthright. He’s business-savvy, for sure, and takes for granted what was granted to him.
But I’m realizing his surprise about my studio, or about me questioning where we are right now, is more ignorance than superiority. And not even a pompous ignorance. He’s simply never had the opportunity to see how the other half lives.
“Have you ever dated a poor girl?”
He jerks his head. “I don’t date, but I don’t ask women I hook up with about their net worth. I don’t care. There’s more to people than money.”
No dates, only hookups. Why does that disappoint me? It’s not like I would date him.
“Mr. van den Linden, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m Antonio Guerra, the personal banker here.”
I startle, but don’t look at the man who’s just spoken. I’m still looking at my new pretend husband like he’s a unicorn.
This will be a culture shock for both of us. I thought I knew how the rich live, but clearly, I’m in for a surprise.
“It’s okay, Antonio. May I call you Antonio? We didn’t have an appointment. This is my wife, Celeste, and we’d like to open a joint account.”
Not even half an hour later, I walk out of there, not only having a joint account with Caleb, but the proud owner of a new credit card. Approved and issued just like that.
I flip the black card between my fingers before I put it in my small purse. “Do you trust me that I won’t ruin you?” I tease.
“Do you plan to buy several airplanes and yachts?”
I laugh. “As if I could—” My words die on my lips because Caleb wasn’t really joking. “I could, couldn’t I?”
He snakes his hand around my waist and pulls me to his side. “Since you don’t even want the apartment I haven’t bought you yet in our divorce, I think my assets are safe.” He pulls out his phone, aiming the camera at us.
“What are you doing?”
“Say cheese, Mrs. van den Linden.” He presses his lips to my hair, snapping a few pictures.
“You’re very dedicated to collecting proof of this relationship.” I jerk away from him, because his hand on my waist, his lips in my hair, his consideration of my needs, it’s all stirring something inside me. And we can’t go down that road.
He shoves his phone in front of my face. Even from his profile, he looks gorgeous, kissing the side of my head. I look stunned. “This will not sell it, black swan. You’re a performer, try a bit harder. I’m too pretty to go to jail for you.”
I roll my eyes and smile at the camera, and he takes a few more pics. This time, his lips stay away from me. The pang of disappointment is completely misplaced, but it still coils inside me.
“I guess if we’re done, I’ll go.” I jerk away from him, as if it’s his fault I’m feeling all conflicted about him.
“I’ll drive you. Peter is here in two. What’s the rush, anyway? Do you need your afternoon nap?” He smirks.
“I could use one, thank you very much, because someone decided to renovate my building.”
He raises his arms in mock surrender. “Sorry for improving your living conditions.”
This man with his savior complex.
“Has it ever occurred to you that not everybody wants to be saved by you?”
He shrugs. “Well, Grinch, usually people are grateful. You, on the other hand, have been fighting my willingness to help. I wonder why?” He steps forward, the fabric of his tailored jacket brushing against my dress. “ Why couldn’t you imagine a fake marriage with me, black swan? What scared you?”
He dips his head, and now his nose is almost touching mine. I fight the urge to step back. Or to fuse my lips with his. Either would work.
“I’ve just married you, haven’t I?” I croak.
“Don’t sound so thrilled.”
I step back. To keep my sanity. To cool down my body that seems ready to combust spontaneously in his vicinity. “The idea of three years with you is just so overwhelming.”
“If we last that long.” He turns and opens the door of his large SUV. I didn’t even realize Peter had pulled to the curb already.
I did, however, notice how much his words smart. They shouldn’t, because there is an expiration date on this sham of a union, but they do.
I slide into the car, and Caleb follows. The partition is up, so I can’t greet Peter, but the privacy gives me the opportunity to set boundaries.
Because I need them. I need him to respect them, so I can hopefully survive the next three years unhurt.
And yet I remain silent. Sleeping with him would be amazing. But I’m sure that our marriage certificate wouldn’t be enough to keep him interested long-term. And I don’t think I can watch him bringing home other women .
A one-night stand is not an issue, but a one-night stand with your roommate would be a disaster.
The car pulls to a stop. Caleb gets out and holds the door open for me.
“I’ll text you the time for the movers tomorrow,” I say, leaning into the practicalities to distance myself from the salacious scenarios in my head.
“I’ll get that organized. It’s one phone call to my concierge.”
I guess that’s my life now. I nod and start to turn, but stop.
Boundaries.
“For the record, I enjoyed that kiss. In fact, if that was a fake kiss, then I can’t possibly imagine what a real one would do to me…”
He cocks his head, and I continue before I find some stupid reason to give in to his charm.
“That being said, I don’t think we should do that or anything else physical. It would complicate things between us, and this”—I point between us—“is only an arrangement. Besides, I’m not getting down on my knees for you.” I refer to his rejection from the other night. “You haven’t earned the honor.”
Caleb smiles like he just won the lottery. “We’ll see about that, black swan.”