Page 118 of A Temporary Forever

I let out a long breath. Not the conversation I hoped we would have, but he asked earnestly, so I don’t want to push my agenda.

“I took out a loan to expand the space, and just as I finished with renovations and was about to hire otherteachers…”

He turns from the stove. “Last year?”

“The plan was viable, and the client’s interest was there. It would have worked, but my cash flow was dependent on my paid gigs in the clubs. When Charles van den Linden”—the man doesn’t deserve to be called his father—“blacklisted me from work anywhere in the city, I couldn’t keep up with the payments.”

“And the loan?”

I look away.

“Fuck, Celeste, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s none of your business,” I snap, embarrassed by my situation.

I recognize that his father’s irrational vendetta against Caleb’s sister-in-law was the catalyst for my failure, but it doesn’t lessen the fact that I failed.

Frustration fills the kitchen while he prepares a plate for each of us. We sit beside each other at the breakfast bar.

“How much do you owe?”

“A hundred and fifty thousand.”

“How have you been paying it?”

“From my paycheck.”

I’m glad we’re beside each other and I don’t have to meet his eyes.

“Eat,” he growls.

“Jesus.” I shove a forkful of eggs into my mouth,mostly to stop myself from lashing out. My indignation melts away when the perfectly soft and impossibly creamy texture hits my tongue. “These are really good.”

“I’m not just a pretty face.” He kisses my shoulder casually, using the words I teased him with before. It helps me to put my pride to the side.

“I should renegotiate the terms, though. Maybe you can help me with that?”

He turns to me. “You didn’t talk to the bank after you closed the school? It’s been a year.”

“I know it’s stupid—”

“But you’re not stupid. You have a natural business sense, and I saw the books in your apartment. I don’t understand.”

“I have a bureauphobia,” I blurt out.

Swiftly he swirls my bar stool and his, and I’m wedged between his knees before I can react. I brace myself for his laugh or doubt.

“The day of our wedding…” he says instead.

I jerk my eyes to him. He remembers my near panic at the courthouse and in the bank.

I nod, searching his face and finding compassion. I think.

“Thank you for telling me. Now, I’m going to take care of your loan, and you’re going to accept it.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, and you will. In return, you give Mia dancing lessons for as long as she wants.”

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